Tag Archive | Hidcote Manor Gardens

Last Day in London

Aug3

Monday, August 2, 2010
London

Excitement of getting home to Southport after 6 weeks kept me awake half the night. I awoke at 6. oo am with the intention of getting my bags ready for the cab which was supposed to arrive at 7. 30 to get me to Heathrow at 9 am–traffic is awful in the morning, the cabbie said. We’d best be off early. Last-minute stuff was thrown into my backpack, more edibles I’d stored in the freezer were stashed in my bags and just as I sat down to a bowl of cereal at 7. 15 am along came the overly-enthusiastic cabbie, 15 minutes too soon!

Goodbye and Thank-yous all said, I was on my way, not along Cromwell Road (my favorite way out of the city) where the cabbie assured me there’d been a accident, but along Euston Road (less interesting). Of course, because we were early, there was no traffic at all and I arrived at Heathrow at 8. 30 am for my 12 noon flight! Once I’d checked in and re-distributed weight (my bag was three and a half kilos too heavy), I had all the time in the world to shop duty-free–so off to Harrods I went for mementos for Chriselle (found her the cutest Ferris key chain) and a Christmas pudding for our family and off to Jo Malone I went (for Pomegranate Noir perfume for me–saved almost $20 on a bottle) and off to the cosmetics counters I went for more sample spritzes and off to the Bacardi counter I went for a complimentary mojito (which after all the tension over my baggage I sorely needed) and then I was ready to make my way to the gate and sink down in my seat.

There was time after I’d whispered a prayer for a safe flight to reflect on my two weeks in London and to realize how singularly fortunate I’d been that I hadn’t seen a drop of rain in 2 whole weeks! I’d covered almost all the items on my To-Do List including visits to the National Trust’s out-of-the-way Hidcote Manor Gardens in Oxfordshire and Hever Castle in Kent, had eaten in a few of the restaurants I’d wanted to visit (St. John’s Bar & Restaurant where I went specially for the Roasted Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad) and Cafe Spice Namaste where I had the chance to hobnob with the chef Cyrus Todiwala and his wife Pervin and Patisserie Valerie where the Tarte de Citron is not half as good as Carluccio’s. I’d visited 4 of the 6 new museums on my list (the London Transport Museum, the Science Museum, the Foundling Museum and the Serpentine Art Gallery (the only one I didn’t get to was the newly-reopened Florence Nightingale Museum but I shall keep that for a later visit and the Brahma Museum of Tea and Coffee has closed down). I saw two good plays (the outstanding All My Sons with David Suchet and Zoe Wannamaker and Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theater. I reconnected with so many close friends over pub grub and longer meals or shorter drinks. But perhaps the Highlight of my visit this time was the tour of Lord Leighton’s House in Holland Park. And another highlight was that despite being ill and fighting a terrible flu-like lethargy, I managed to make it to the Anglo-Indian Mela in Croydon which was really the main purpose of my visit to London during this time of year.

On the flight back, the UK slumbered brownly under partly cloudy skies. We flew westwards along the northern coast of Devon before skimming over the Atlantic. As soon as we broke land again over the Northern coast of Canada, I spied the jagged edge of Newfoundland and the region around Halifax (how pretty it all looked) before we flew over the Gulf of Maine, the Massachusetts coastline and along the vertebra of Long Island (did not realize how many swimming pools there are on the island–almost every house seems to have one the further east one goes) before we made a smooth touch down at Kennedy airport under cloudless skies.

American Airlines made me wait a whole hour at the conveyor belt for my baggage and as I sweated bullets wondering how Chriselle was faring on the other side (and hoping she wasn’t despairing of ever hooking up with me), I finally did sail through Customs and made contact with her. Apart from our affectionate reunion after 2 weeks, I received the most uproarious welcome from Ferris–indeed it is worth being away from home for 6 long weeks when one has this sort of welcome to anticipate. Chriselle drove on the way home which gave us a chance to catch up on all the happenings of the past couple of weeks since we’d parted in Bombay and then it was time for us to pull into the driveway of Holly Berry House as my travels came to an end and I surveyed all that I had left behind.

We had a cuppa in the garden which is badly weed-ridden–what with all the rain–and I realize I have exactly five days to bring it up to snuff before Llew and I leave on our trip to Canada at the end of the week.

As I bring this blog to yet another close, I say Au Revoir and Many Thanks to my followers. If only you (apart from faithful Feanor) would write me a line back sometimes to reassure me of your presence!

As they say in the UK, Cheers!

Coursing Around the Cotswolds…

Jul27

Monday. July 26, 2010
The Cotswolds and Oxford

It apparently came down in buckets in London today…but I wouldn’t know. I was far away in the Cotswolds, one of the prettiest parts of England and one of my particular favorites, where it remained dry though overcast–perfect conditions for a drive into the country and for gentle strolling. And indeed there is so much to absorb–from honey-toned villages composed entirely of the famous Cotswolds stone to ‘wool’ churches created by wealthy wool merchants in the Middle Ages when the area was the center of English trading; from cute shops stocked with trinkets and edible goodies (I almost bought out the entire stock of Border’s Dark Chocolate Gingers–my favorite English biscuit–in Stow-on-the-Wold) to stately homes (Kelmscott Manor, home of William Morris, for instance) to spectacular gardens (such as Hidcote Manor, which is world-famous). Unfortunately, though Kelmscott was one of my targets, I realized before my friend Bash and I left London by car with him behind the wheel, that it is only open on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Faulty scheduling on my part meant that we had to keep this treat on hold for another day–but then I will take any excuse to re-visit the Cotswolds.

I met Bash outside Northhold Tube station which allowed us to zip on to the M40 Motorway to Oxford at a leisurely pace. Hard to believe it was just another manic Monday–there was no traffic at all, at least none leaving London. While the rest of the poor sods were making their way into the city to start their work week, we drove under overcast skies into the countryside. Good job I’d borrowed my friend Barbara’s UK Road Atlas which was very useful indeed as Bash has no GSP and relied on my navigational skills. Thankfully, I adore maps and map-reading and was fully in my element as I negotiated a way for the spunky silver Suzuki Swift to make its way around a network of leafy country lanes.

Stow-on-the-Wold:
Our first stop was the Cotswold village of Stow-on-the-Wold, renowned for its weekly market held on the square since medieval times. Since Bash had driven for almost 2 hours, it was time for a coffee break and we found a quaint tea room overlooking the square. Just next door, in a shop that stocked local Cotswold honey, home-cured cold meats, artisinal cheeses and pots of homemade jam, I spied my Border’s dark chocolate ginger biscuits and bought the lot–seven packages, one of which I promptly opened and bit into right after paying for them. So that’s one item off my ‘To Purchase List’ that I could tick off. We had a bit of a hairy time trying to find our parked car–all lanes look the same and we couldn’t find it but with a bit of asking around, voila, there it was–exactly where we’d left it!

I thought so much about Llew and Chriselle and ached for their presence as we’d first toured the Cotswolds as a family (with Llew behind the wheel), at least twelve years ago, on a driving trip around the UK when Stow-on-the-Wold (which simply means ‘hill’ in Old English) had been one of our stops.

Moreton-in-Marsh:
Next stop: the village of Moreton-on-Marsh which is the only Cotswold village that has a direct rail link to London and is a popular tourist destination. I exchanged dollars for pound sterling at a quaint bank where wood panelling probably goes back centuries (I was asked for my passport which I’d left at home but my Connecticut driver’s license provided adequate picture ID) before we took a “quick chuckkar” around yet another Cotswold town square. For me, one of the pleasures of visiting old villages steeped in history of this sort is the chance to nip into its thrift stores to look for vintage jewelery. Though I don’t always find a treasure, I love poking around other people’s cast-offs…plus serendipity has often led me to unique finds. Bash, who’d never been into such a shop in his life, found himself leaving with a big bag of finds after marvelling at the prices!

Meanwhile, I took a call from my London-based friend, Rosemary (Roz), who said, “I’m so sorry the weather is so bad today”, as if she were personally responsible for the rain in the city!

“No worries”, I responded, “I’m far away in the Cotswolds where it’s dry as bone”.

“Hahaha. Are you still cramming as much as you possibly can into each day?” she went, her voice muffled with laughter.

“You know me too well”, I responded. We made plans to meet for dinner shortly before I hung up.

Hidcote Manor Gardens:
It was only a short drive to the Hidcote Manor Gardens which, like Wisley and a great deal of National Trust treasures, seem to be squirreled away in hidden corners of the country and remain totally inaccessible if you don’t own wheels. That’s why I was so grateful for Bash’s chauffeuring skills. I always seem to find like-minded explorers who are content behind the wheel and willing to follow where I lead–the spirit of my friend Stephanie (now posted in Bangkok), for instance, was very much with me as I enjoyed the country vistas and I am ever grateful to my dear Llew (whom I miss dearly) for his own steering skills and his willingness to take me to tucked-away corners in the middle of nowhere.

The Hidcote Manor Gardens were the dream creation of an American horticulturist named Lawrence Johnstone who, in the early 20th century, fashioned gardens surrounding his Cotswold stone manor with a truly unique vision–he envisaged his garden as a series of ‘outdoor rooms’, each area superbly demarcated through the use of towering hedges. This concept was so creative that it inspired other passionate gardeners such as Vita Sackville-West and her husband Harold Nicholson, who at their home in Sissinghurst in Kent, replicated the idea in a garden that was one of the highlights of my stay in the UK last year. Though not as immaculate as the gardens at Wisley, Hidcote Manor is lush though smaller-scaled and, therefore, more intimate. Again, unlike Wisley which provides the visitor with glimpses into a sheer variety of botanical species, Johnston had a fondness for certain flowers that he planted profusely in a repeated pattern–he seemed particularly partial to phlox, for instance, and day lilies, cannas, hydrangeas and roses. In fact, his garden could belong to any one of us–there is nothing fancy to be found in it and I was easily able to identify most of the plantings.

Like Wisley, Hidcote Manor offered plenty of wrought-iron benches and bowers in which to sit and absorb the vistas. We ate a picnic lunch on one such bench before twirling around the circular pool (such a pity its fountain was not playing), entering a Mediterranean-style patio complete with tiles set into the walls, admiring a typical Elizabethan Knot Garden filled with fuchsia and plucked some of the leaves from more unusual herbs (lemon verbena, for instance) in the Vegetable Garden. The water-lily pond was in full bloom (Monet would gleefully have reached for his tubes of paint) and on the outskirts of the garden, we watched enchanted as recently-sheared Cotswolds sheep jumped awkwardly to grab a mouthful of low-growing branches from spreading oak trees.

It was idyllic, it was bucolic, it was paradisaical. I was thrilled I had finally reached a place I had long dreamed of visiting.

Oxford, City of Dreaming Spires:
It was with reluctance that we left Hidcote but I did want to have some time in Oxford where I offered to give Bash a walking tour. We coursed through more picturesque Cotswold villages such as Chipping Campden and Broadway, revelling in the uniform structure and color of each of these settlements before we arrived, an hour later, into Matthew Arnold’s City of Dreaming Spires where I have only ever arrived by coach and found out that parking was a nightmare. We circled the city before we gave up finding a parking spot and since it was time for a drink and dinner, I recommended we drive to Wolvercote to park ourselves at the famed Trout Inn, one of Inspector Morse’s favorite watering holes.

The weir was not in operation–it usually creates a striking aural backdrop for one of the riverside meals the ancient pub offers–so we were not too disappointed to find a table indoors (the wait for outdoor seating was 45 minutes). Hearing of my fondness for perry (pear cider), Bash introduced me to an alcoholic ginger beer called Crabbies (which I found to be very nice indeed) and over a shared starter of superb Devilled Mushrooms on Toast and then Pasta Carbonara for me and Ribeye Steak and Chips for him, we had ourselves a very delicious meal. Once again, the spirit of my other fond friends washed over me in this space, especially my dear Italian buddy Annalisa and her sons Giovanni and Giacommo with whom I’d once shared a drink at this venue after traipsing for miles through adjoining Port Meadow and Godstow Lock along the banks of the Thames.

On our way back to London, we did find parking at St. Giles (just as I’d expected) and I could not resist living up to my promise and playing walking tour guide as I took Bash around the most significant buildings such as the Christopher Wren-designed Sheldonian Theater, the Bridge of Sighs, the Clarendon Building, the Radcliff Camera and the Church of St. Mary the Virgin. Back on the High Street, I pointed out several colleges (though we couldn’t enter any of the quadrangles) and the Examination Hall before I ducked into the tiny Wheatsheaf Alley to take him to Gill and Co, Ironmongers, that have been in the same family since before the birth of Shakespeare. It was while I was in Bombay, last week, that my Mum pointed out an article to me in The Times of India, saying, “Here, take a look at this item. Do you know this hardware store? It is older than Shakespeare himself and is closing down at the end of August.” Gill and Co. was one of the favorite stores of author Colin Dexter who lives in North Oxford and is the creator of the beloved Inspector Morse. He would often pop in to hang out with the owner and decided, therefore, to write the place into one of his murder mysteries. The producers of the TV series actually used it as a location for one of their highly-rated episodes. So much history, so much folklore has developed around an ironmonger’s shop. What a crying shame it will be to see it disappear. “We simply can’t compete with the B&O warehouses,” says the owner, who will close it down next month after five centuries! Now in Southport, I am sure the local residents would have clubbed together to find a way to ‘save’ it, if not as an ironmongers, then as a local landmark!

Anyway, dusk had fallen over one of my most beloved cities in the world (together with Florence, Paris, Prague, Jaisalmer and Bruges) so it was time to get back to London. I was dropped outside Amen Corner a little after 11.00 pm after what had proven to be another very tiring but truly productive day.

Whizzing Off to Wisley Royal Gardens!

Jul25

Sunday, July 25, 2010
London

On a day that was tailor-made for exploring gardens, I set off for Wisley Royal Gardens…but not before I attended 8.00 am Holy Communion service at St. Paul’s Cathedral with Aidan Colclough, son of mine host, Michael, Bishop of Kensington and his wife Cynthia. Another feeling of deja-vu gripped me again as it was at precisely this service, two years ago, that I had first met Michael and Cynthia who have grown to become such close family friends. The ways of the Lord are mysterious–especially in the manner in which He brought such fabulous people into my life while I lived in London.

After a hearty oatmeal breakfast, I caught the Central Line Tube from St. Paul’s Station to Northholt (the compartments were packed–where was everyone going so early on a Sunday morning?). I’d made plans to hook up with my friend Bash. His funky little silver Suzuki was parked near at hand and off we whizzed to Wisley Royal Gardens which are tucked away in a corner of Surrey close to Woking in a place called Ripley. How great it was to see him again! I’d met him at the tail-end of my year in London but had hit it off with him immediately and not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, I’d gladly taken him up on his offer to drive me around to places I wanted to see on my present visit. Besides, he’d never been to Wisley himself (not a very macho thing for a single man to do, he informed me) which made it worth his while.

At 9. 50 pounds entry fee for perusing a garden that goes on for what seems like miles, it was the best bang for its buck, he opined. At the very full parking lot, we realized that loads of people had beaten us to it and intended to spend, what shaped into a gorgeous day, literally smelling the roses. Wisley is well beloved of the local Surrey country folks who seem to spend every summer weekend in its verdant midst.

Bash and I spent the next few hours surveying the vast property which has been brilliantly landscaped to feature a variety of gardens–a Rock Garden, a Rose Garden, an Italianate Garden with a Loggia, an Islamic-style Genaralife garden as seen in Granada, a Cottage Garden, a Cactus and Succulent Garden, a Zen Garden, extensive glass houses or conservatories, a Tropical garden reminiscent of the ones found inside the bio domes of the Eden Project that I’d visited in Cornwall, dozens of herbaceous borders punctuated with striking statuary, sculpture, sun dials and other ornamentation that one finds sprinkled liberally around the gardens of England.

We stopped frequently–to partake of a picnic lunch I’d fixed of smoked ham, Wensleydale Cheese with ginger and apple sandwiches using Waitrose’s excellent walnut bread and fresh apples. We paused for a tea break when we sipped excellent cuppas served in metal teapots as only the English can do and slices of Coffee and Walnut Cake, or simply to rest our feet in shrouded bowers and on shady benches. Even someone like Bash who describes himself as having “brown fingers” enjoyed the romps so very much that he has threatened to bring his sister Zack to the garden the next time she visits London from Lancaster. For those who have never been to this place, it is the last word in serenity and I honestly couldn’t think of a better way to pass a Sunday in summer if I’d put on my thinking cap and wracked my brain for hours! So get you to its website, pronto! And start eating your heart out.

When we’d had our fill of gardens, we drive to Southall, London’s Little India, where we had a nice stroll together along its main artery past shops selling Punjabi ‘suits’, 22 carat Indian gold jewelry, sticky sweetmeats, halal meat, every condiment that the Indian sub-continent produces and packages, mangoes galore ( I bought a box of Indian ‘dusseries’ for Cynthia who adores them), restaurants up the wazoo…it was like walking in Delhi’s Chandni Chowk, only cleaner! I could easily have settled for a meal in Gifto’s Lahori Karahi, but Bash suggested a place called Barrish in Harrow, close to Wembley. So off we went and in a few minutes, we were in another part of London frequented by folks from the Indian sub-continent (desis).

Our dinner was very delicious indeed if rather a noisy experience as the place was taken over by a large post-wedding party of boisterous middle-aged males who’d gathered in London from the US, Canada and India. I ate some really interesting Indian dishes such as Chilli Paneer, Virgin (yes, you read that right!) Chicken and King Prawn Masala which we washed down with Bulmer’s Cider. I haven’t yet managed to find Perry (pear cider–which few bars seem to stock) but I will come upon it before I leave.

It was a little before 11.oo pm when Bash dropped me home to Amen Corner and I realized as he departed that I’d left my box of mangoes in his car…shall pick them up from him tomorrow as we are off for the day to Oxfordshire.

I felt exhausted by the time I hit the bed but had to download my pictures from my camera or I will have no room for any more pictures of the Hidcote Manor Gardens near Oxford that I plan to see.

I am so glad that Bash is in cahoots with me in getting “every box ticked,” as he puts it, on my To-Do List. So nice to have a partner in crime!

Oxford Rediscovered! Random Rambles in a Favorite City.

Jul1

June 30, 2009
Oxford

I awoke way too late today–after 8 am, rushed through a wash and got dressed to join my fellow lodgers at breakfast–which included the very English prunes soaked in cold tea! I said goodbye and thanked Mrs. Longrigg and requested that I be allowed to stash my baggage in her home until the end of the day. Then, I returned to my room, packed up and left for my last day in Oxford. I had intended to spend this day traveling to Kelmscott Manor (home of William Morris) and to the Hidcote Manor Gardens–but both were impossible to get to without expensive taxis, so I decided to stay in Oxford and see the bits and pieces of it that I have never seen before.

Sightseeing in Oxford:
By the end of the day, I was amazed at how much I had never seen before! I started off across the Banbury Road to Woodstock Road where at St. Bernard’s Road, I cut across into Jericho and went in search of The Bookbinder’s Arms Pub, frequent location in Morse films. This brought me to the Church of St. Barnabas, an Arts and Crafts Church, into which I took a peak and discovered marvelous Pre-Raphaelite style mosaics on the walls. More walking in Jericho (now a rather upscale neighborhood, but once a dodgy area that provided cheap housing to Oxford’s working class folks–most of whom now can only afford to live in faraway villages like Witney and Eynsham) took me past small terraced housing painted pleasingly in pale, pastel colors. I nipped into a few enticing shops but found nothing and then arrived at The Freud, a lovely restaurant that was once a church–its Neo-Classical pillars were most impressive. I was also delighted to chance upon the imposing Neo-Classical building of Oxford University Press as my Dad had started his career, many moons ago, as a lowly clerk in the offices of Oxford University Press in Colaba, Bombay.

Christ Church College Picture Gallery:
When I found myself at St. Giles, I nipped into Sainsbury’s to buy a meal deal–a roasted chicken baguette with a packet of Prawn Cocktail flavor chips and a bottle of Diet Coke. It is intensely hot and humid now and walking on the streets is no longer the pleasure it was a month ago. Everything seems more oppressive in the heat. I found my way to Christ Church College and the Picture Gallery in one of the quads at the back of the main one as it was my intention to see the small but very lovely art collection that the college has accumulated over the centuries. The emphasis was very much on Italian Renaissance art though there were some fine large canvases by Annibale Caracci and some really good Van Dykes. However, it is a small collection and very easily examined and I was then looking for a way to get along beautiful Merton Street (the only cobbled one in Oxford) to the Oxford Botanic Gardens with the idea of picnicking by the water. My ID card allowed me to get into all these places for free, so it was really a boon.

The Botanical Gardens:
Roses are in bloom at the entrance to the gardens but to get deep into the glass houses and by the riverside, visitors need to pay three pounds. I walked directly to the familiar path along the river, found myself a shady tree and sat there to eat my lunch as the punts floated lazily by, a few row boats and paddle boats also joining them occasionally. On Magdalen Bridge, the red buses passed by and garden-loving visitors stepped by examining another interesting specimen. When I had rested for over an hour, I decided to go and check out the garden and was delighted to see the most abundant herbaceous border along one brick wall. I took many pictures of it and have reached the conclusion that the flowers and plants that I cannot name are the ones most suitable for growing in perennial borders–a lesson to keep in mind if I am trying to create border beds in my own garden.

Magdalen College and Deer Park:
Then, I crossed the High Street and arrived right opposite at the Main gates of Magdalen College which my fellow lodger Marnie had told me I should not miss. She had directed me to the back gardens and the Deer Park and that was where I headed, again past some lovely herbaceous borders–but they were nowhere as colorful as the ones in the Botanic Garden. For the first time, I saw hosta make up the bulk of a perennial border–exactly like mine in Southport, where astilbe, hosta and day lilies make up the bulk of our plantings.

Having spent some more time inspecting the gardens, I headed up to the Dining Hall of Magdalen College. It is always a pleasure for me to look upon the faces of first-time visitors to these spaces and see the expressions of wonder and delight as their eyes take in the hammered ceiling beams, the many oil portraits on the walls and the long dark wooden tables at which students normally eat their meals. Then, I made my way downstairs and asked for directions to the Chapel–very similar in design to New College Chapel that I had seen a few days ago on the Harry Potter Tour.

Visiting the Famous Libraries:
My next stop were the libraries and when I passed by the Radcliff Camera which today serves only as the Reading Room for English and Theology, I entered it with my ID card and surveyed the Rotunda and the reading room downstairs. Should future research ever bring me again to Oxford, this is where I will do some of my reading, I decided! I recall, many years ago, this building served as the call room for materials that we students wished to borrow–now with the database going online, students no longer need to look at card catalogues to get books out! How things change!

Then, onward I went to the Bodleian Library as I was keen to get upstairs to see the famous Duke Humphrey’s Library which was used as a location for one of the Harry Potter films and which is strictly out of bounds unless one has an Oxford ID card. Indeed, it is a gorgeous room, the ceiling richly painted with the crests and family coat of arms of the many eminent contributors to the university and each reader sitting in superbly decorated ‘bays’ to do their quiet private reading. I saw so many of them browsing through original manuscripts written in the handwriting of the folks they were researching. This library is only open to senior scholars and researchers–not to Oxford’s undergraduates.

Next, I walked across The Broad (through The Clarendon Building) to get to Park Street where the Indian Institute Library is located in the New Bodleian Library. It was in this library that I had done most of my reading on the works of Kamala Markandaya while pursuing doctoral research. It has all been heavily wired now and security fobs and keys are needed to get anywhere inside…but I went through the steps that got me inside where only two students were reading quietly. Again, were I doing a project that would require me to examine South Asian material, this is probably where I would be seated. It doesn’t have the same reverent atmosphere of Duke Humphrey’s Library but it does have some very lovely view of Oxford’s dreaming spires that jut out into the sky from every surrounding building.

The Turf Tavern:
Across The Broad again, I asked for directions to the Turf Tavern, another common location in Morse films and one of Oxford’s oldest pubs. It is really strange that I do not know where a single hidden pub in Oxford can be found–as drinking was obviously never one of my priorities while I was there. Indeed, the Turf Tavern is very well hidden in a narrow passageway where Jane Morris, wife of William Morris and Pre-Raphaelite Muse often featuring as a model in some of the Group’s best-known paintings, once lived. The Tavern itself is a little medieval gem, built in the 1300s and serving traditional real ales–unfortunately though these are really good, they are never served cold…and on a day like this, I was craving a long cold drink! After taking a few pictures in a watering hole that was supposedly Bill Clinton’s favorite during his Oxford years, I left and walked along The Broad to Turl Street and finally entered Exeter College, which is always rich in wonderful memories for me.

Finally, at Exeter College:
As it happened, it was Open Day in Oxford’s Colleges and all the quadrangles were open to prospective students coming in to check out the premises with their parents. Hence, the ‘campus’ was especially lovely with red geraniums lining the steps leading up to the Dining Hall which was open for perusal. After 22 years, I had the chance to return to the spot where I had eaten so many memorable English meals and puddings–and a really awful rhubarb pie, which was completely lacking in sugar! Of course, I took pictures everywhere and admired once again the artwork on the walls, the glorious medieval wooden ceiling and screen and the dark wooden tables at which we had sat! Lovely memories indeed and I was delighted to relive them all.

Then, I entered the chapel, newly refurbished and cleaned and looking spanking new–several of the statures of saints that encircle the chapel on the outside have had to be fixed–at an expenditure of a million plus pounds (according to the very efficient student guide Tim who escorted me around for a private tour). Inside, the mosaics surrounding the altar have been polished and are glinting brilliantly. Organ practice was on while I was there and I stayed for a few minutes to take in the ambiance in the midst of several other visitors.

Then it was off to the Margary Quadrangle where my room was located and I went off to the second floor to see if my room was open by any chance–which it was not, sadly! However, I did peak into the bathrooms and saw that they have been modernized. There are now modern showers there, which in years gone by were non-existent. Right above this set of rooms, one of which I once occupied, is a new sculpture of a nude man by Antony Gormley–this looks down upon the Broad from the corner of Exeter College that intersects Turl Street.

Overall, it was a deeply nostalgic experience for me to return to Exeter and I badly missed my dear friends who had made my time there so memorable. We have been talking for years about an Oxford Reunion but somehow it hasn’t happened and though three of us have arrived in Oxford at different times, we have never managed to do it together as a group!

Then, I went in search of the Saskatchewan Lecture Room where I will be giving my lecture on July 22. It is an underground basement room , which, unfortunately, was not open, but I did see its location. My next stop was the Fellows Garden at the back and the Library (not open to visitors) and the steps leading to the ramparts of the college that overlook Radcliff Square. I was amazed because I don’t believe this was ever there when I was at Exeter! Or if it was, I had never climbed those stairs for those lovely vantage views of the Radcliff Camera and Oxford’s other best-known buildings including the Church of St. Mary the Virgin .

At the White Horse Pub:
Well, I truly enjoyed my hour of touring Exeter and learning new things about the college. Once I got out and on to Turl Street again, I decided I badly needed something to drink and what better place than The White Horse Pub right next door to Blackwell’s where in honor of Morse and Lewis, I thought I would get myself a swift half of traditional ale. Well, who should I find when I got in there but Marnie, my fellow-lodger from New Zealand! She was waiting to have her very early dinner served to her and as she went through her roast lamb with Yorkshire pudding and vegetables (which she told me was the best to be found in Oxford!), I sipped a very refreshing ale but I do wish it had been colder!

The Holywell Music Rooms:
Well, then after I had spent an hour with her, there were still a few things I needed to see before I took the bus back to London: Holywell Music Rooms, supposedly one of the most picturesque buildings in Oxford (it turned out to be a rather plain white building) with a lovely round music room inside which acts as the setting for the music competition in the first episode of Lewis, the series that is a spin off from Inspector Morse. There were a few people inside but though the place was technically closed, they did allow me to potter around and take it all in. Its interior reminded me very much of the stark colonial Episcopalian churches we see all over New England.

Rhodes House:
Then down Parks Road, I walked in search of Rhodes House, the great institution that arose out of the contribution of Cecil Rhodes who made his fortune in diamond mining in Africa. He set up the famous Rhodes Scholarships that are offered to scholars all over the world. This building was also closed but the Porter who saw me prowling around volunteered to let me in for a few minutes. This gave me to access to the Central Rotunda which is quite beautiful architecturally and to the dining room used for conferences today. The administrative offices of the Rhodes establishment are also housed in this building, which provides a central post for the scholars to meet and get to know each other. The gardens were also lovely and very conducive to quiet contemplation.

The Chapel of Keble College:
One more thing required to be seen: The Chapel of Keble College, which Marnie had told me not to miss. So, a few minutes later, I walked into the magnificent Victorian quadrangle of Keble, a space that is absolutely stunning. It has a rather unusual sunken lawn and again because it was Open Day, there were loads of people filling it and visiting its various corners. I walked into the Chapel and enjoyed its very austere atmosphere. Yes, it is not medieval Gothic in design but full of Victorian excess–mosaics of scenes from the Bible marching around the higher walls–similar to the Arts and Crafts Church of St. Barnabas in Jericho.

Back Home to London:
Well, it had truly been a day of superb sightseeing in Oxford for me and as you can imagine, I was ready to drop once I made my way back to Norham Road to pick up my baggage. I walked with it to Banbury Road from where I caught a bus to the City Center–the driver realized that I wished to get to Gloucester Green and took me right by the bus terminus! Once in The Oxford Tube, I relaxed, took off my shoes (my feet were aching) and ate my dinner–the rest of my baguettes, cookies and an apple. I got off at Notting Hill Gate and took the Circle Line back home to Farringdon where I reached at exactly 10 pm.

I spent the last few minutes of the day downloading my pictures and getting set up with wireless internet once again and then I went to bed after what had been an exhausting but deeply fulfilling week in one of my favorite cities in the world.

Exploring the Cotswolds and A Walk on the Thames Path

Jun29

Monday, June 29, 2009
The Cotswolds and Burford

I dreaded awakening this morning to discover that I could not move as my knee had swollen double through the night. Fortunately, nothing of the kind happened and though I awoke very late (at 8.00 am) and rushed to wash and dress and get to breakfast, I was relieved to find that the pain in my knee was much better than it had been before I fell asleep last night.

I ate a hasty breakfast, then returned to my room to continue working on my lecture. I worked steadily for the next two hours, making steady headway and only leaving my room about 11 am. I stopped en route at the Maison Francaise which is at the very beginning of Norham Road to check out the accommodation there as Amanda, the lodger from the States who left yesterday, had told me that their rates were better than what I am paying here. An assistant called Coreen took me around the premises and gave me a rate sheet. The place is very nice indeed—very quiet and the rooms are spacious. There are common baths at the end of the corridor but there is one en suite double room. These rooms are available during the months of June, July, August and a part of September only. A good place to consider if ever I return to Oxford again.

Then, I walked along Bevington Road to St. Antony’s and did finally get my ID card today. Not that I am going to be able to use the library and I am leaving tomorrow—but most of my library research is being conducted at the British Library in London anyway! I can use the card to get into the colleges, though, and that I shall do tomorrow. With my knee not doing too badly, I decided to buy the Stagecoach Daypass again and ride all the way to Burford which is the beginning of the Cotswolds.

Bus S2 came along in about fifteen minutes and took me to Witney where I had to change buses. This gave me a good 45 minutes in Witney to explore. I stepped into a few shops in the main Market Square and left with a fantastic buy—a brand new pair of Bally shoes with matching handbag which I snagged for only a few pounds. I just couldn’t believe my luck! I also found another cup and saucer (Aynsley) to add to my collection at home. Then, I stepped into the Information Center where I found bus time tables and was told again that it is very difficult to get to Kelmcott Manor and the Hidcote Manor Gardens without a car. So, since tomorrow is my last day at Oxford, I shall stay in the city itself and see those bits of it that I haven’t yet explored.

At 1. 20, the connecting bus (233) took me to Burford. It was a single decker, so I could not get the wide reaching glimpses of the beautiful Cotswolds countryside through which we drove. It was frightfully hot and people were frantically trying to stay cool. It was only 7 miles from Witney to Burford, a journey that took less than fifteen minutes and before I knew it, we were there.

Beautiful Burford:
I had never been to Burford though when I was at Oxford, many years ago, there had been a student trip organized to the town. It is really a very tiny village but quite visually pleasing because of the uniformity of the structures—all yellow Cotswold stone and black slate roofing, low ceilings, houses with exposed beams which seem to sag under their own weight.
Burford is constructed down a single High Street from which smaller lanes branch out, lined on both sides by similarly quaint houses and gardens brimful of summer flowers—clematis, hollyhocks, delphiniums, hydrangeas, roses and loads and loads of lavender. The English, as the whole world knows only too well, love their gardens and they lavish lots of time, effort and expense in keeping them pristine, Everywhere I looked, I was enchanted by the abundance of hanging baskets spilling over with petunias and bizzie-lizzies and window boxes full of fragrant blossoms. Truly, summer in England is an endless sensual delight.

Right behind the Main Street is a massive stone church—the Church of St. John The Baptist, which is reached by a short stroll along Church Lane. I explored the church yard with old, graying and moss-covered grave stones and memorials and paid a short visit. I had two hours to kill in this peaceful village, fortunately not yet mobbed by tourists or coach travelers. There were antiques stores and sweet shops, several good restaurants and the inevitable tea room and behind the church, a river with water front benches and picnic tables where I sat for a long while in the shade and watched the ducks and ducklings waddle by. It was much too hot to do anything very exciting and I have to say that climate change and global warming is certainly evident in England. Twenty-two years ago, I remember wearing a cardigan throughout the summer and not a single day saw me in a T-shirt. After two decades, I have to say that it is oppressively hot and humid and I was deeply uncomfortable being out in this weather and I badly missed my shorts and sandals.

Seeing a Doctor at the NHS:
 Julie Irving at the Senior Associate Members Office at St. Antony’s College had made an appointment for me with the local NHS facility called the Summertown Health Center so that a doctor could take a look at my knee to make sure there was no cause for concern. Sine my appointment was for 4. 40 pm, I rushed back on the first available bus and reached North Oxford at about 4. 40 pm itself. It took me ten minutes to walk from the bus stop to the Health Center on Banbury Road which I reached from Woodstock Road by cutting across Lathbury Road. And as I walked across it, I spied a blue plaque on one of the gate posts of the houses which announced that Nirad Chaudhuri, Writer (from India, of course) had lived there for almost fifty years of his life. His best-known work is The Autobiography of an Unknown Indian and it is odd that I passed his house as I am in the process of preparing my lecture and have been looking at the earliest Indian Writing in English that came out of the UK and, of course, Chaudhuri features quite prominently in that category.

Well, the doctor did examine me—and in the old-fashioned manner in which medicine is still practiced in the UK as I have grown to realize, he diagnosed my condition right away without putting me through a battery of X-rays and tests. He simply told me that there was no fracture and no torn ligaments and no liquid accumulation in my knee. In other words, but for the trauma suffered by my knee cap at the point where it made impact with the ground, there was nothing more serious and I need not worry at all. He told me that the pain would probably persist for a week, gradually fading away and that the local application of a pain-killing ointment would be helpful. Well, it was a great relief to me and I must say, once again, that I am impressed by the working of the NHS in Great Britain as this is the second time that I have had to seek medical assistance for an emergency of sorts and both times I received prompt expert medical care without spending a penny. For that, I very grateful to this country indeed. Needless to say, in the States, no doctor would touch me unless fully assured that I had the resources to pay for the abominably expensive opinion he would offer at the end of which he would recommend further testing that would take a whole day and cost a thousand dollars!

A Trip to Wolvercote:
I took a bus back home to Norham Road where I set aside the bags I was carrying and took a bit of a rest. Then, realizing that I will be leaving tomorrow and returning to London, I decided to set out and accomplish another goal—a trip to Wolvercote to The Trout Inn, a famous pub on the banks of the River Thames. Only, I decided to take the bus there as I had the Stagecoach Daypass and I did not want to tax my knee too much.

The bus trundled along in about ten minutes on Woodstock Road and the driver put me off at the Turn End in Wolvercote (at the end of Woodstock Road) from where I walked for about 15 minutes, past the village of Wolvercote and arrived at The Trout. It was full of the most wonderful memories for me as I had last been there, two summers ago, when my friend Annalisa was spending a summer in Oxford with her sons, Giovanni and Giacomo, and their nanny Stella. At that time, we had walked from North Oxford, across Port Meadow, along the banks of the Thames and Godstow Lock to The Trout Inn where we had sat and nursed a drink as the sun slowly set behind the gushing weir which provides a musical backdrop to the space.

So, as a tribute to my dear friend, I entered the pub, ordered a Pimm’s with Lemonade, the legendary summer drink of Oxford (served in a tall and thin glass with a strawberry, a wedge of cucumber, lemon and lime slices and crushed mint). It was marvelously refreshing and I carried it to the waterside where I found myself a wooden bench on which I propped myself to read. Because, yes, I had carried my new book The Oxford Guide to Inspector Morse and right there in a spot that was frequently used as a very photogenic location for several scenes in the series, I sat and sipped my Pimms and thought of Morse whose great love for real ale took him to so many of Oxford’s most famous pubs and put them forever on the tourist map. I sat there for an hour and a half, people-watching and duck-watching and enjoying the softness of a light evening breeze as the sun set slowly and another summer’s day in Oxford came to an end.

A Memorable Walk Along the Thames Path:
It was about 8. 45 but still very bright when I got up to leave. I had intended, even up to that point, to walk the 15-20 minutes to the bus stop at Wolvercote and ride it back to North Oxford. But then I derived confidence from the fact that the doctor had told me that my knee was fine and I figured that if I walked for another 20 minutes, I would be close to home.

So, again, I relived that marvelous walk I had taken with Annalisa and Stella and her boys and walked along the banks of the river from The Trout Inn to North Oxford, past the ruined nunnery and the Godstow Lock and the flocks of noisy ducks and the colorful cows and the shaggy horses, all of whom crowded the banks along the Thames Path at different intervals. Oh, I so enjoyed the wild life to be found along this walk and though the crew members and their boats were missing (they had been an integral part of our walk, two years ago), there was the occasional kayaker and on the opposite bank, a couple walking four dogs—a breed called Grahams, very similar to Whippets. When I went through spells where there was no one ahead or behind me and my solitude was complete, I took consolation in the fact that they were on the other bank walking parallel to me and I took courage because they were only a scream away (I guess I have watched too much Morse)! Occasionally, I passed couples ‘snogging’ to use an old-fashioned English term, and a couple of cyclists whizzed past. It was a lovely lovely walk and I am so glad I decided on impulse to undertake it, for I have always wanted to walk at least a part of the Thames Path during this year.

When I saw a large number of houseboats moored by the river banks, I knew that I was nearing Oxford. I also saw the spires of the many churches and chapels of the city coming closer within range and in about 45 minutes, I was crossing the curving bridge that took me into Port Meadow, then another bridge that went over the railway track and then I was on Southmoor Road where Annalisa used to live, It wasn’t long before I arrived at Woodstock Road, then along St. Bernard’s Road to Bevington Road and then on to Norham Road. I was hot, really hot, when I reached home exactly an hour after I had started walking from The Trout Inn—it had been a fabulous walk and one I know I will always remember.

Back in my room, I ate a bit of pecan roulade and drank a large cup of coffee while watching the last bits of Andy Murray play a Russian whose name I did not get in what has turned out to be the longest Wimbledon game ever played! It was 10. 45 when the game ended and though Murray made it to the quarter-finals, he was given an amazing run for his money. Played in a closed court, the crowds were ecstatic by his well-deserved win.

I went down to the bathroom to wash and brush and floss my teeth, then I sat to write this blog and get ready for bed. What a day I had and how happily I will recall it!

Towers, Gallows, Churches, Markets–Another Fascinating Walk

Jun9

Tuesday, June 9, 2009
London

I am sorry to have to spend so much time analyzing the vagaries of my sleep patterns, but they never cease to amaze me. Throughout the winter, when most folks tend to sleep in, I was awaking at the crack of dawn–even before dawn had cracked, in most days, i.e. at 4 and 5 and 6 am! Now, when summer is almost upon us and light appears in the eastern night sky before 5am, I sleep curled up like a baby until 7 and 8 am!!! This is the weirdest thing and I have never in my life experienced anything like it. Much as I am delighted that I am finally sleeping long and well, I am also sorry to lose the several productive hours I had at my PC in bed long before the rest of the world stirred.

At any rate, I awoke at 7 today, read Potter for an hour, called my parents in Bombay and spent almost an hour on the phone catching up with them about so many things, then sat to blog about my day yesterday. This took me a good part of the morning and it was about 11. 30 when I got out of bed!!! Since it was too late for breakfast, I fixed myself a brunch (toasted parma ham and blue cheese sandwich with some good coffee) and got back to my PC right after that to call my cousin Blossom in Madras. That chat when on for ages, then emailing back and forth with Chriselle in the States (after a long chat with Llew in the morning–we’re all about her wedding plans right now) and I found that it was about 4 pm when I finished all the things I wanted to do–most of which involved scheduling my projects for the next few weeks.

With time running out and my return to the States becoming imminent with every passing day, I feel pressured into completing all the items on my To-Do List as well as making time for my library research and for drafting the lecture that I have been invited to give to the international graduate students at Oxford in the middle of July! So you can imagine that I am beginning to feel as if I should make every second count–as if I haven’t been doing that for the past one year already!

The end result is that I have almost given up the idea of doing the Homes and Gardens Tour that I had intended as I find that most of the places I want to visit are way out of the public transport tracks and would take me ages to reach if I used the National Express coach services. Instead, I have decided to try and see just a couple of the gardens that can be reached by local train lines from London (such as Sissinghurst and Wisley Royal Garden) and to see the estates and mansions that lie sprinkled along the Thames. When I am in Oxford, during the third week of this month, I shall find it easier to reach places in the Cotswolds and in Wiltshire and at that time, I can try to see Blenheim Palace, Kelmscott Manor and the Hidcote Manor Gardens. So major changes in plans for me mean that next week I ought to be able to spend a whole week at the British Library with documents that will aid my understanding of negotiations that were carried out between the officials of the departing British Raj and the representatives of the Anglo-Indian Association.

I am, in a way, relieved that I have modified my plans. Everyone thought I was idiotic to aim at so ambitious an itinerary and I can now see why. At any rate, with so many wonderful places to cover that are so much closer to London, it makes no sense to be spending long hours in coaches, stuck in traffic when I would rather be out on my two feet exploring the country. So with those alterations in my plans all set, I could take a shower, dress and go off to cover one more self-guided walk in my book–this one entitled “Wanderings and Wizards”.

Wanderings and Wizards Walk:
There was much more than wanderings and wizards on this walk which turned out to be a sampler of sorts for it offered everything that the city of London has been known legendarily to possess–marvelous Wren churches, spooky graveyards, teeny-tiny tucked-away gardens, dim alleyways, atmospheric pubs and even a gigantic Victorian market–Leadenhall, so-called because its roof was made of lead and glass in the 19th century.

So, let’s begin at the beginning: I started off at Tower Hill (took another old Routemaster 15 bus there–I will never tire of the thrill of riding in these relics from a past era) and arrived at the Tower Hill Underground Station from where I walked across Trinity Square Gardens to arrive at the Memorial to the members of the Merchant Marine Corps who gave up their lives for their country–and then to a far older monument–the Memorial to the many men and women who were beheaded from 1381 to 1747.

The Tower of London is right across the busy road and I could only imagine what the last minutes of these poor ill-fated individuals might have been like as they made the journey from their prison cells in the Tower to this spot. Beheadings and hangings were public spectacle in those awful days and people gathered in vast numbers to take in these gruesome scenes. It was in 1747 that the last person (80-year old Lord Lovatt) was beheaded–thank God for little mercies! The monument is a poignant reminder of the injustice that so many of them faced in their last few years (individuals such as Sir Thomas More, for instance, who died fighting for their beliefs, their faith and their ideals, as heroes not as cowards).

When one considers the circumstances in which they died, it is curious (and I do not see the humor) in a pub across the street that is named The Hung, Drawn and Quartered!–but this is British humor, I guess. This pub stands right opposite the Church of All Hallows By-The-Tower (where I attended a recent Sunday Eucharist service) from which Samuel Pepys, the famous diarist who recorded the details of the Great Fire of London of 1566, watched the city turn into a bonfire–a scene of great desolation. There is a bust to his memory in a small garden in Seething Lane opposite the church.

Just a few steps away is the churchyard of St. Olav’s with its eerie stone gate that has three skulls and crossbones adorning its pediment. Apparently, these were designed to keep body snatchers away for it was not unusual for thieves to dig up fresh bodies right after they had been buried–these were sold to hospitals that needed them for the instruction of their student doctors as part of anatomy lessons. Inside, I found St. Olav’s to be equally spooky and I took a quick tour of the place before dashing out again. Somehow, with all the ghostly tales that I am reading as part of these tours, I feel rather uneasy in spaces that have not another soul in sight. I do not want my own brush with any of London’s ghosts and spectres, if I can help it.

Past St. Olav’s, the tour took me to very narrow alleys and unlit lanes that must have been the breeding ground for thieves in the not-too-distant past. They were reminiscent of the novels of Dickens and it was only when I was back on the main thoroughfares that I felt comfortable again. Office-goers were hurrying homeward though it was only 4. 45 and I soon realized that with the newspapers reporting a strike by Tube staff starting this evening, they were eager to get home before they found themselves stranded.

I pressed on, however, arriving at the splendid entrance to Leadenhall Market, a truly magnificent piece of Victorian architecture. It is a trifle reminiscent of Borough Market and Spitalfields but its fresh coat of paint makes it seem somehow much more striking. Whether this face lift is owed to its use by Hollywood producers of the Harry Potter films or not, I do not know, but the location was the setting for the scenes in Diagon Alley and there is actually a shop front in vivid blue that was the entrance of The Leaky Cauldron pub in the film. I enjoyed pottering (if you will forgive the pun!) around the market and its many shops that appeared like cubby-holes in the wall.

Right past this antiquated building is another that stands in peculiar contrast to it–the building that houses Lloyd’s, the British insurance firm. Only its building is like an industrial factory what with its steel facade, its glass elevators that ply along the exterior and its pipes that run the length and breadth of the structure. It reminded me very much of the building that houses the Centre Georges Pompidour in Paris, the location of the city’s collection of Modern Art. As anyone who has been reading this blog regularly knows, this form of Modernism is not my cup of tea at all and I was glad to leave the premises, though I rather marvelled at its design.

That was when I arrived at a series of churches, one after the other, that stood in small patches of green studded with ancient grave stones. There was the Church of St. Peter Upon Cornhill and then the Church of St. Michael. I have, by now, seen so many churches on these walks, that I have pretty much entered and perused all of the work of Christopher Wren that exhibits his attempts to rebuild the main houses of Christian worship in the center of the city after the Great Fire.

By the time I arrived at Bank Underground Station, commuters looked deeply harried and I could see why. Trains had already stopped running and I abandoned my intentions of getting to the National Theater to try to exchange some tickets that I am currently holding. Instead I did the sensible thing and hopped into the first 25 bus I saw that got me safely back home where I spent the rest of the evening writing this blog, fixing and eating my dinner (Chicken Kiev with soup and toast with chocolate mousse for dessert), making transport inquiries online for my intended trip to Highgate and Hampstead tomorrow and reading some more Potter before I retired for the day.