Driving in the Country

The first loop... from the Westcountry to the Midlands and back.

We hit the open road on Saturday morning. Mom and Dad were admittedly a bit white-knuckled at first, what with the narrow streets. But after a while they seemed to become comfortable with my driving. We did have our friend the satellite navigator to help us. At times it seemed like there was a fourth person in the car as she told me where to turn and which exits to take on the roundabouts in her gentle tone.

We headed down the M5 southwest into Somerset. Again the weather was good. We were destined for Treble's Holford, a small hamlet of bed and breakfasts where I had stayed with John and Marian on their Somerset holiday back in May. I was unable to book Redlands House, where we had stayed then, as they were booked for the night, but their neighbours down the road had just opened up and I was able to book us there. When we finally got there (I had to stop at Redlands to ask for directions) we were amazed at the place. Our rooms were spotlessly clean with large ensuite bathrooms and wall-mounted televisions. The woman who ran the place was very friendly and welcoming.

Resisting the urge to stay in at the digs, we headed out down the narrow Somerset lanes. Dad commented in disbelief at how narrow the roads were; literally one car width and not much more. Our path was to be similar to the one that John, Marian and I had taken months earlier. The first stop was Lydeard St. Lawerence, where our ancestors Henry and Elizabeth Wolcott were married nearly four hundred years ago. The village was quiet and we let ourselves into the church to snoop around. We managed to find a gravestone in the floor, dated 1618, of a what looked like a Saunders (Elizabeth's maiden name) just in front of the quire screen. The engraving was fading, as one might expect after a few centuries. We wandered around the churchyard for a while, looking at the dates and straining to figure out some of the writing on the more faded ones.

Next we drove up to Gaulden Manor, once owned by the Wolcotts. The man who owns it, Mr. Starkie, had recently been ill and I was not expecting to get very far on the property. Luckily the gardener whom I had spoken to on the last visit arrived and was kind enough to let us have a roam around the grounds. The friendly limping greyhound was also with her. The season was ending and many of the plants were going dormant, but it was still very green, and there were apples on the trees. I picked one, not only for a bit of a snack, but so I can say I've eaten the fruit of my ancestors trees, though I doubt that tree was there when they were.

Our next stop was the village of Tolland, just a few miles away. It was here that the Wolcotts lived and attended the small church on the hill. We saw the tombs of the Wolcotts outside of the church and read the still very legible inscription. Unfortunately we couldn't get into the church as I didn't have phone coverage to make the call for someone to let us in. I was a bit disappointed by this, but Mom and Dad seemed content enough to have seen the grounds and the graves.

On our way back toward Treble's, along the insanely narrow lanes, we stumbled upon the train station at Crowcombe Heathfield. Our innkeeper had told us it wasn't far, so we were pleased to have found it. It's a great old station, that has been used in a few films, including The Beatles' A Hard Day's Night. The station serves the West Somerset Railway, an old piece of original track preserved after the horrendous culling of local lines after the motorways were built. The line runs from Taunton up to Minehead on the coast of the Bristol Channel. Most of the trains are steam locomotives. The volunteers at the station invited us in for tea and biscuits, and advised us on which train to take and where to alight. The end of the day was approaching, so it was decided that we could only go as far as Watchet, and then catch the last train back from there. It was to be steam on the way up and diesel on the way back.

After a long friendly chat and refreshments, our train arrived. The weather had turned a bit greyer whilst we sat in the station, and the rain had begun to fall a bit. The train ride was lovely, somewhat nostalgic for Mom and Dad I presume, and a bit vicariously nostalgic for me, if such a thing exists. We had nearly the whole car to ourselves, until the snack man came along. He was happy to chat to us for the better part of the journey, and made sure we knew that we couldn't miss that last train back. We did have a half-hour between trains though, so it would afford us a bit of time to look around.

As we approached Watchet, the Bristol Channel appeared before us. The wind and light rain prevented us from seeing very far however. After leaving the train and waving our goodbyes to our friendly porters, we crossed the tracks to the harbourside. The sea walls were high, as most are along this stretch. We walked out to the edge to get a view of the sea as the tide was rolling out. Watchet is very much a seaside town. Apart from the marine character, it seemed quite vulnerable to the elements. It was several degrees colder than it had been back at Crowcombe Heathfield.

After our short visit, the diesel train arrived to take us back, a little less romantic than its steam cousin, but not without its own charm. Within a half-hour we were back at the now closed station, and our faithful Corsa, which soon had us back at our comfy rooms.

That evening we decided to go to the local pub, The Farmers Arms, for a nice meal. After a few false attempts at finding the place, we arrived. The interior was very authentically English pub, but with a fancier menu, a pub that one might describe as a gastropub to use the new lingo. We ordered our food and enjoyed it, and then shared a bowl of locally-made ice cream. The couple at the table next to us, had overheard us talking and came over to ask where we were from. Surprisingly they knew we were Canadian, as the gentleman explained his wife had noticed Mom and Dad having their coffee with their meal rather than after, apparently a tell-tale Canuckism. They were very friendly and told us of their fondness for Canada, as they have a daughter that lives in Vancouver.

On Wednesday morning, after enjoying a breakfast made to our liking by our kind host, we hit the road toward Salisbury. Mom and Dad were lucky enough to witness the great British tradition of queueing in traffic, as we were approaching the A303, a road notorious for its queueing. Luckily it didn't last very long, and within a couple of hours we were in Salisbury. Our destination was the famed cathedral, which has one of the highest spires in Europe. There was an exhibition in the cloister about the history of the cathedral from the turn of the millennium to the present. Our stay there was brief but well worth the stop.

We headed out of Salisbury to the famed Stonehenge. Having lived nearly two years in England, one of which living less than fifty miles away, I had never been to the popular tourist spot. I finally had my excuse to go. It doesn't take long to visit, and wasn't as expensive to get in as I had thought it would be. There is a good audio guide to go along with it, although one can't really get very close to the stones themselves, as a rope keeps the people away. It was during our visit that the rain hit. After over a week of good weather our luck was up. It wouldn't last long though. By the time we finished our amble around the circle, the worst of it had passed. After a coffee stop, we hit the road again, bound for Oxford. I had booked in at the Days Inn at the services north of the city.

By the time we got to Oxford the sun was setting, and I was desperately trying to find a place to park. After my now famous move of missing the entrance twice, we finally pulled into a fairly central car park near Magdalen College. We crossed the bridge on foot and wandered up the high street. Oxford is unlike any other city I've been to, in that it is essentially all university. It has shops and restaurants like any other, but the majority of the city centre is made up of the various colleges of Oxford University. It was a bit weird to think that Stephen Hawking wasn't far away, and centuries ago it was Sir Isaac Newton who was head of this prestigious school.

We stopped in at The Crown for a meal and some local ale. I was lucky enough to get a free play on the electronic quiz game, as someone had left 50p in it. Either that or it was something the machine does periodically to entice someone to play. Incidentally I walked away with no more or less than I had started with. We headed back to the car and took the dark drive out to the hotel just outside of the city. Despite having short stays in each place we had visited, it had been quite a long day.

In the morning I fetched some baked goods from the services next door, and we headed off north toward Derby. We were due in at John and Marian's for the late morning, and arrived on schedule. Of course that was after I took the wrong exit on the roundabout to their village, a roundabout that I should know all too well. A quick turn around later and we were at their door, being greeted by them and their two border terriers.

The weather was fine once again, and we sat out in the conservatory. Their garden was looking quite nice, even as the Autumn was approaching. We spent a bit of time walking around outside admiring the foliage before sitting down to a lovely lunch of salmon and vegetables, accompanied by a nip of cider and followed with a descadent pudding. It was nice to be all together at their house, as two years earlier, just prior to my departure for England they had joined us at Mom and Dad's house. I suppose it's formed a bit of a bookend to my time in England.

We lounged a bit, enjoying coffee and dessert before hitting the road once again. I had the ambitious agenda of going to Nottingham and then driving all the way to Worcester, a seventy-five mile journey, before settling in at our already-booked hotel at Droitwich. The drive to Notts was poorly timed, however, as the rush hour was at its peak.

We eventually made it into the centre of town, and parked at Victoria Centre car park. I took Mom and Dad on a brief walking tour of Nottingham, to Old Market Square, up to the the Lace Market, where we stumbled upon my old workplace. We popped into the restaurant and I brought them up to the kitchen, where they met Tom and the other chefs. I hadn't told Tom I would be in town, so he was a bit surprised by the visit. We continued on to the castle and took a rest at Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem Inn, England's oldest pub. By this time it was getting dark and there was still a couple of hours of driving ahead of us. We had all sorts of trouble getting to the car, as Victoria Centre was now closed. We sorted it out, and after taking a short drive past my old digs in Sneinton, we headed west for Worcestershire.

I was hoping to avoid driving through Birmingham and the frightening Spaghetti Junction. Instead we drove straight through it, passing through lit tunnels, up and down and all around. It was as exciting as it was nerve-wracking. We came out the other side and stopped at a petrol station for refreshments before continuing on south to our hotel. Famously I passed right by the hotel and we had to stop in at the very posh Chateau Impney, which looks like a castle lit up in the dark, to ask directions to the Travelodge. I loved the cheekiness of it.

I had to have the car back to the rental place in Bristol the following day so after a night's sleep, we headed toward Bristol, stopping in nearby Worcester, home not only to a great cathedral, but of course to Lea & Perrins, makers of the sauce that bears the county's name. We parked and walked along the River Severn toward the cathedral. The sun was again shining and the temperature was just right. At the cathedral, one of the keen volunteers pointed out some things on the plan to look for, and then proceeded to show us many such things, as well as some secret ones not noted in the brochure. The tomb of King John (the one of Robin Hood's legends) rests at the foot of the altar, and the tomb of King Henry VIII's older brother (who would have been king had he not met his untimely death) was also nearby.

Our meter running out, we headed back to the car, and I punched in an alternate route to get back to Bristol, via Monmouth, Wales. I figured we might not make it to Wales otherwise, and since we were close, we ought to drive through and across the Severn Bridge. I hadn't seen that bit of the Welsh countryside myself, so I was keen on the new sights. It really is a beautiful part of the country, with its wooded hills. The bright sunshine did no harm in accenting the beauty as well.

Before long we were back in Bristol, and after a brief stop at my place to do some luggage shifting (and a nice bowl of soup), we headed to Mom and Dad's new hotel, one they would grow quite fond of: The Downsview. As its name suggests, the hotel is another old stone mansion overlooking the Downs. They were lucky enough to get a second floor room at the back of the hotel, which, being at the top of the steep Blackboy Hill, opens to a fantastic view of Bristol. I was jealous that I wasn't staying there myself. It would only be for one night though, as we were heading to London the next day. They made sure to book the hotel for the following week when we were to return to Bristol.

The journey continues east for our four-day coach trip to Scotland and back.

Cheers.