ENGLAND Nov 1st
Jan 20th
ARRIVAL
You may recall that we flew into Stansted Airport late on a
freezing cold night and were very appreciative of being met by Karen’s brother Ian. Greg, asleep, didn’t see much on the long drive through the English
countryside at night on the motorway system but, a welcome fire was waiting at
the family home, along with food and a cuppa tea, of course.
Against all odds, we awoke to the sight of snow dusted lightly
across the urban landscape, which for this Sydney boy, was an unprecedented
delight. Believe it or not, I had never experienced real snow; the kind that
flutters down and clings ever-so lightly to everything. We took the Yorkshire
Terrier ‘Lolly’ for a long walk through the ‘Western Woods’ and were enchanted
to be in this picture postcard.
PORTISHEAD Karen’s mother, and younger brother Alistair, live on a hill in this small town on
the Bristol Channel which separates England from Wales on the west coast. There
are two long bridges which link these countries together just north of here,
and it was this view which was spread before us as we took the first of many
walks down the hill to the town of ‘Possit’. Now, I have watched many a ‘Coro
St.’ and English TV shows but nothing had quite prepared me for the sensual
overload that was historic, old England. We ambled down narrow roads enclosed
by Victorian, cut-stone, 2-storey, semi-detached terrace houses, dripping history and
charm from the ornate stonework. We
passed ancient stone cottages and farm buildings and marvelled in the grounds; at
St Peter’s Church tower, solid still, with the look of a castle turret; of old
stone block and weathered stone carvings; Gothic stained-glass windows with
sculptured stone mullions and a bell which tolls the time every quarter
hour. Forgive me if I wax lyrical here.
I have worked in stone and constructed several stone buildings in Queensland in
a former life, but this was the real thing. These buildings were hundreds of
years old; proud, ornately-worked edifices which would still be standing in
hundreds of years to come. I was in stone heaven.
As was to become the norm’, around many corners; extraordinary stone
buildings appeared, more magnificent than any I’d seen before.
In the front of this Church is planted a tall, extremely old,
Celtic Cross, sculpted from one piece of stone and believed to be Pre-Roman;
from the time of the Druids. Apparently, it stood as a marker for hundreds of
years at one point in the town; unbelievably, to be thrown into a pond for fill
and 60 years later, recovered and placed in the Church grounds.
The High Street of Portishead, is a wonderful row of tall,
stone buildings, shops, banks and public houses; all different, but
similar in style. Each Christmas, a Christmas Light Committee be-decks the streets with
coloured lights and a ‘Victorian’ night fair, is an annual celebration,
attended by folks from near and far.
CLEVEDON This is
another closeby sea-side town (the Bristol Channel is almost the open sea at
this point), complete with pier and Victorian houses lining the slopes of the
surrounding hills. The old part of town
is a winding, narrow, cobbled street with gorgeous terraces crowding down on
the heavily clothed shoppers below. Somehow, the young girls still manage to
look attractive in short skirts, leggings and boots, despite the often zero
temperatures.
BATTERY POINT Over the hill from Portishead is the lake-front, the rocky coast, the
swimming baths and 'Battery Point’, where one of the many light houses, warns shipping
of the dangerous point in the Channel. The remains of heavy gun emplacements,
used to protect this vital sea lane during the war years, are evident still. And
as we watched in the waning sunset, two
container ships passed within 50 metres of the shore where we stood, as the
deepest channel comes very close in to this point.
CLIFTON One fine day saw us drive to the larger,
Clifton area in Bristol, above the Avon River. We approached from the east over the first
Suspension bridge in England, designed by the famous Isambard Kingdom Brunel;
an engineering genius who, among other extraordinary achievements, built the
first steam engines and steam ships (Google him). The Avon cuts through a
steep, high gorge at this point and this beautiful bridge is slung across the
chasm. On the far side is a park, enclosing the stone Observatory, at the top
of which was a ‘Camera Obscura’: a fascinating viewing apparatus which turned
and magnified the surrounding area, displaying it on a round table in a
darkened room - much like a periscope.
Below this tower was a tunnel cut downwards into the rock
which eventually led to the ‘Giants Cave’ in the side of the gorge wall.
Several hundred years ago, Catholic
priests lived here and would climb the almost vertical cliff to hold secret
services. I never did find out who cut the tunnel down to the cave, but it
would have been quite an enterprise. Down the stone-walled spiral stairs, we stooped
until we emerged halfway up the side of the gorge, looking down on the
River Avon and the roadway below. It couldn’t have been much fun hiding in this
small, austere place – not much of a congregation either, going by the size and
the accessibility.
LONDON Ist visit We finally arranged an appointment at the
Chinese Visa Centre in London, to apply for our Work Visas to allow us to enter
China. We caught the bus to Bristol City at 7.00am (very cold) and then on to
London by Coach. This was the day before Christmas Eve and it was still snowing
outside London but the heat from the city ensured that the streets were clear.
We headed for Buckingham Palace on foot; signs pointed the way along historic,
well-heard-of streets; everywhere I looked was a visual treat. Strangely, it
was not at all crowded until we reached the locked gates to this truly imposing
royal `house.’ We joined the photo snapping tourists, targeting anything of
interest; including the bronze statues around the courtyard fountain,
inscribed with the words `The Gift of
New Zealand’. Just then, behind me, the mounted Royal Horse Guards rode through
the square, followed closely by our trusty vid-cam.
St Pauls Cathedral , Big Ben, Winchester Cathedral, the Houses of
Parliament, the Millennium Bridge and the Thames – all of it awesome in the
true sense of the word. Who were these guys? The sheer scale and extent of
their vision and creations is simply mind-numbing. As a builder, I could
appreciate the immense effort and skill involved in raising these iconic,
historic monuments. What impressed me most was the superfluous, artistic,
sculptural ornamentation of these buildings: stone carvings, windows, towers
and figures everywhere. We walked for miles along the Thames towards the Tower
Bridge; the weather was cold and clear and the opposite bank slowly lit up with
the falling dusk. Light reflected from
the swiftly flowing river; buildings, both old and modern, sprayed light from
every window; boats of all descriptions glided by and looming large was the
beautifully lit Tower Bridge. HMAS Belfast, an historic Naval Destroyer moored on
the opposite bank and lit in coloured patches, added to the charm as we mingled
with the throng of people enjoying this incredible spectacle. I think this was
our favourite time in London. Just when I thought it couldn’t get better than this, I was
astounded by the sight of the much under-named `Tower of London’ – this is not
just a tower but the old Royal Palace; a huge complex of brightly-lit,
fairy-tale stone castles, ramparts and towers; occupying an entire city block
adjacent to the Bridge. We were enthralled by the sheer imposing size, the
crenelated walls and the implied historic wonder that is London’s everyday
presence. Do they know what they have there as they pass by, eating their fish
and chips and cursing the weather? I rather doubt it.
CHRISTMAS in ENGLAND:
Karen had assured me that it almost never snowed at Christmas in
the West-Country and It was not likely that I would get a ‘White Christmas’.
Little did she know that England would experience the coldest Winter on record
and on the 18th December heavy snow fell all around – large feathery
crystals of snow, spiralling down and blanketing every slightly horizontal
surface. The effect was mesmerizing; a classic snowscape glittering in the
sunshine. Karen and I bundled up and headed out into this wonderland; the scars
and litter of man, soothed beneath a snowy, linen hand. The woods were silent,
the trees and shrubs shrouded with cotton wool; deer darted among the shrubs
and we left deep footprints on the land.
The halls were decked with holly and tinsel, the tables laden
with scrumptious food, the glasses charged and presents laid around the
Christmas trees. This was a White Christmas of my imagination and I loved it
all.
LONDON 2nd visit
Our second trip to London was a repetition of travel;
arriving early and successfully retrieving our passports and Visas from the
Chinese Visitor Centre. We were excited to have so easily gained our work visas. Again we had bought all-day metro tickets which allowed
us to jump on and off the `Tube’ anywhere in the inner city.
Karen and I were so impressed
with the Tower of London on our last visit that we wanted to delve deeper inside. The tube dropped us on the other side of the
Tower Bridge and surprisingly, on the other side of the Thames. Brilliant!
After we realised where we were, it was necessary to walk over this amazing
structure. It’s actually built of steel
with curved girders supporting the opening, mid-section; the monstrous towers are just clothed with dressed
stone. Up close and under it, you’re dwarfed by this huge edifice looming
overhead. Continuous traffic flowed across beside us as we moved with the
multitudes, catching the angles and the stone balconies with our cameras.
Greg stood like a stone in a fast flowing river, with the vid-cam held high
above the waves, capturing every nuance of this marvellous
scene.
The Palace stood impassive before us as we photographed it
anew from the height of the Bridge. We paid the price of admission and entered
the main portal; rugged, weathered stone, heavy oak doors and a Beefeater
surrounded by tourists. Well we listened to his spiel for a while until he told
a story of having been asked by Australian Immigration if, he had ever had a
criminal record. He replied that he didn’t think he needed one.
So much to see; it positively reeked of history. The `Traitors Gate’ where the `guilty’ were brought into the palace grounds by boat
from the Thames; behind us, the tower
where Walter Raleigh was imprisoned for 7 years – I didn’t know that! Above us,
the rooms where the king lived and
discussed the state of the realm with his ministers; this acted out by hired players.
We followed the battlements to each of the Towers where these
high-class criminals were imprisoned, marvelling at the exhibits of daily life
in the Palace as we went. The whole place is enclosed by 20ft walls, four-foot
thick, punctuated regularly by narrow slits that are bevelled wide to the
inside: a small opening presented on the outside but a wide angle for the
archers to shoot from the inside. Ingenious Watson!
In the centre of this complex is the `White Tower’: a
beautiful, turreted, square castle of limestone, some five stories high; built
by William the Conqueror in 1076 to defend against retaliation from the Brits (remember the Battle of Hastings 1066 – Norman French conquest of Britain)
You get the picture.
In the expansive courtyard, quite near the west side of the
White Tower is the remains of a wall; a
corner of very old stone about eight feet high. "So what?" I hear you ask. The
whole Palace is built on a Roman Fort and this wall is Roman. About 220 AD –
this wall was laid up 1800 years ago and is still standing proud. That touches
my very soul people. I wondered, as I stood there, who was the man who mixed
the mortar and positioned those stones? Did
he ever imagine that someone from the year 2010 would gaze upon his work and wonder about him.
Now, I could tell you about the exhibition of armour and
weapons on display in the White Tower, courtesy of the Royal Armoury; the tiny
suits made for child kings, the huge 7ft armour, made for a giant of a man; the gilded, ceremonial armour worn by both
Kings and Queens; the polished swords and the impossibly heavy jousting
lances; the armoured horses and the
gifted weapons from world leaders, but I risk boring you with so much wonder.
We took many pictures which show it so much better.
WALES and CARDIFF CASTLE
Today, amid flurries of snowfall, Karen drove us over the
Severn River to Wales, via the 'new' curved suspension bridge. We were headed to
Cardiff, the Capital: just for a quick visit. Driving along the motorway in
thickening snow was an adventure in itself and we didn’t expect to see much.
However the Gods smiled again and by the time we reached the city and parked,
it was bright and cold, if not actually sunny. We had passed a great stone wall
on the way in and wanted to check it out. First though some good English
breakfast; eggs, bacon, sausages, baked beans and black pudding, laddie! I gave
the pudding to Karen – like Croc’ Dundee said “ You can eat it, but it tastes
like ……” . Central Cardiff was great though: pedestrian-only squares; food
outlets strewn around; live music rising like smoke around a 15th
century stone church, set among many like buildings. We loved the ambience and (Greg) will return there again during test-match football season: the best time we
were told.
Just one block away is Cardiff Castle (spelt Castell Caerdydd). Now, I asked several people where I might see real castles nearby and no-one
mentioned this place. How can they not know about a 20ft stone walled castle
the size of four city blocks, in the middle of Cardiff, `for crying out
loud’!!! Actually, the walls enclose a huge open area with a classic `Mot and Bailey’ Keep, standing on a raised hill at one end; and 16th century
Palace to one side (see photos) The access is through two huge towers at the
front gate (The Black Tower which was a prison and guard barracks) Inside, to
the right, the earth has been mounded
against the wall, running almost entirely around this huge complex. At an
earlier time, a stone wall ran from the Black Tower straight to the `Keep’,
enabling the troops to retreat to the relative safety of this impregnable fort
on the hill. This wall also served to divide the grounds in two: the Lord and
his entourage on one side, the troops and the plebs on the other.
Our first stop, once inside the castle grounds, was the tourist centre, where we watched a
short video on the history of this amazing place. This strategic town was
settled early by the Saxons, but was taken by the Romans around 200 AD. They
built a wooden fort surrounded by a huge enclosure of stone walls. When the
Romans left England in 600 AD, the fort stood derelict for 7 centuries, before
being acquired by the Marquis of Bute (Yes, French- after the Hastings debacle)
Now this dude was seriously wealthy, which was handy because the place was a
classic, restoration nightmare. He re-built the stone Keep on the rise and dug
a moat around it to protect himself from English raiders. He commenced work on
the existing ruined church building, with the intention of creating a real
castle for his family.
At the same time, they
discovered the remains of the original Roman walls buried under the mounded
earth around the site. The Marquis then
embarked on the ambitious, monumental re-construction of the entire Roman wall
and the Black Tower, as we see it today. I kid you not, this is a spectacular
achievement and the original Roman walls can be seen around the perimeter.
We toured through the extensive Castle complex; lavishly
decorated with Gothic style, portrait, stained-glass windows, a baronial
banquet hall, themed guest rooms, an incredibly furnished library and a grand entrance
hall and octagonal spiral staircase. There was a Clock Tower hung with large
statues of the Gods of Astrology and cleverly worked walls which played light
inside, to display the month, weeks and days of the year. Another tower was
ornately decorated in Moorish style, while much was of Elizabethan influence. This
castle was a visual feast and incredibly, is still used today as a convention
and event centre; with modern working kitchens and facilities.
To say that we were astounded by this wondrous site would be
to understate the obvious. When I first entered the grounds through the
forbidding tower gate, there before me on that steep, man-made rise was the
simple castle of my childhood imaginings; snow was drifting down; that vast expanse of
grass, barely white; that rugged, jutting, stone monolith rooted there like
forever. People, it doesn’t get much better than that.
There were four generations of Marquis of Bute and it was the
4th Marquis who eventually finished the Roman Walls in 1923. There
are two other castles near Cardiff which were both owned by this family - a treat for a future visit to Wales, I’m
thinking.
BRISTOL
Several days later found us in the ancient port city of Bristol
with Karen’s Brother Ian, as guide. Bristol was a Saxon port before being taken
by the Normans in 1070. By the 1300s, it was 2nd only to London in
wealth and population. It grew fat on trade with the Americas: cotton, tobacco and slavery and this affluence
is reflected in the grandeur and variety of it’s architecture.
We toured through the three old Market buildings, still in
use today; the Corn Market where a row of four `nails’ waist high, (cast-iron
posts) mark the places where buyers struck deals with the growers. Hence the
sayings `hit the nail on the head’ and `right on the nail’.
The Cabot Tower, one of Karen's favourite old haunts, high on Brandon Hill, in the middle of town, lured us to it; and after a steep climb and many photos later, we were standing
under a square, 4-storey stone building with 4 balcony windows and a wonderful parapet
platform supported on the diagonal corner buttresses, topped by an octagonal
spire. This monument honours the 400th
anniversary of John Cabot’s voyage from Bristol to Newfoundland (America) in
1497 in the very small `Caravel’ the `Matthew’ ; the replica of which lies
moored alongside the restored original of the S.S. Great Britain, England’s first steamship, designed by Isambard
Kingdom Brunel (mentioned earlier as the designer of the Clifton Suspension Bridge).
Cabot could not find financial backing for his theory that
one could reach the East, by sailing west. He finally came to Bristol and set
sail in the tiny `Matthew,’ out into the completely unknown. He discovered the
Americas and named it Newfoundland, well before Columbus. He found a deserted, inhospitable
land and after 3 days, returned while he still had enough food. It was an
incredible voyage but not financially successful. He set out on subsequent, bigger,
better equipped venture and was never heard from again.
The Wills Tower (Wills Tobacco) of the Bristol University
dominates the skyline in a shameless show of prosperity; and the ruined, bombed-out stone skeleton of the 13th century St Peter’s Church, stands as
a stark monument to the bombing of Bristol during the 2nd WW. A quarter
of medieval Bristol was destroyed at this time. How many of the grandest buildings
in England survived, is truly astonishing.
