We had planned on going to Ross-on-Wye and the surrounding area on Sunday to meet up with some friends but, when we realised this was inappropriate, we decided to head elsewhere instead. We toddled off to the Cotswolds, aiming for Chipping Campden but not knowing where the rest of the day would take us.
Mum and I had been there in the last couple of years but dad couldn’t remember it too well. He got his bearings as we walked towards the Market Hall and then we heard music that we recognised. We headed in that direction and stumbled on an open air service led by the three churches of the town. It was the culmination of a weekend’s celebrations. We hung around for a bit, appreciating the music that we knew so well and bumping into old family friends who used to go to our church but (we didn’t know) have now moved there. We were shocked by the number of people present. They had to find more seats to cram into the area, bringing the congregation to well over 200 in this tiny village. And some people would have us believe congregation numbers are falling. After a while, we headed back up the high street and found a lovely tearoom where we had morning coffee. The weather was gorgeous and we sat in the garden. Afterwards, we made our way back to the service and caught the last part of the message, which was simple, funny and effective.
When it had finished, we wondered what to do next. Dad was determined to find a local to ask where Jeremy Clarkson lives – apparantly it’s near Chipping Campden and has a massive jet aircraft on the front lawn – but the rest of us persuaded him against this.
We decided to head in the rough direction of Broadway, where we could find some lunch. On the way we got distracted by a signpost for Broadway Tower and, beause we’d only ever seen it at a distance, we headed up the narrow lane to investigate. It’s a lovely structure and looks much smaller close up than it does from miles away. It’s built on the highest point in the Cotswolds and was a gift for the wife of the Earl of Coventry (I think). When Debs read the information board and mentionned that James Wyatt was the architect, I started jumping up and down with enthusiasm, eager to share my knowledge about him. He, along with Robert Adam, was one of the greatest architects of the Georgian period, very fashionable and the ‘trend setters’ of their day. The likes of Thomas Telford were greatly influenced by these two architects in their own designs.
We found a tea room just outside Broadway for lunch and, although it was a beautiful day and vey busy elsewhere, it was quiet, shady and relaxing in this garden. There were so many plants that each table seemed to be in its own separate area and you had no idea how many other tables there were hidden around the place. It was like the secret garden. The food wasn’t brilliant but satisfactory.
Afterwards, we headed into Broadway where we planned on getting an ice cream. However, everyone then admitted that they didn’t really want it and was only going to have one to be sociable because everyone else was. We decided not to waste our money and headed for a cookery shop that we like in this town. We always buy kitchenware in Broadway in the same way that everyone walks by the river when they’re in Stratford or heads for the docks in Portsmouth. We came out with a variety of wooden spoons, a new spachelor and one of those potato masher implements. Then came the real treat.
Dad has been reading Roald Dahl’s ‘Boy’ and when he got to the bit about hiding-the-dead-mouse-in-jars-in-the-sweet-shop, he made us listen with him. It’s an amusing story and makes you go all nostalgic for the old traditional sweet shops and all those sweets you rarely hear of these days. Broadway’s got one of these shops. It’s so fun to gaze through the timber framed window at the jars complete with old fashioned labels and say ‘oh, I used to have them when I was litte’ and then hear mum say exactly the same thing about a sweet you’d never heard of before. Debs was tempted to get some mint imperials and things that we call ‘tablet mints’ which do have an official name that we always ignore. I bought myself some boiled sweets that I call ‘buttermints’ but I think their official name is buttermint bonbons or buttermint creams, I’m not sure. Nan used to buy them for me when I was really little. They were kept in a small tin in her pantry along with Debs’ tablet mints and we would delight ourselves in going to get one each time we visited nan. If we were lucky, we were allowed to go back for a second one. We then phoned nan and asked her if she wanted anything. She asked for chocolate raisons, dolly mixtures and three other sweets that I’d never heard of – probably ones from her own childhood. One I recognised when I saw it. It was called coconut ice and is a block of… something with one strip of white and one strip of pink. I loved looking at all the different jars on the shelves and wishing I could try this one and that but you have to buy them in ‘quarters’ and I wasn’t prepared to spend that much money!
Afterwards, we took a drive out to Snowshill Lavendar Fields because mum has to drive a coach load of ladies over there later this month and she wanted to suss out a route. I have no idea how she’s going to do it because it’s all up hill on single track road. She’s nervous about it now too. To be honest, I can’t see why anyone would want to go there – it’s just a load of purple fields with a gift shop and tearoom on the one edge.
Next we aimed to go to and see the GWR (Gloucestershire and Warwickshire Railway, not Great Western Railway) for which we had seen a signpost in Broadway. We kept following the signs and the closer we got, the more we saw event signposts pointing in the same direction. It turned out to be a ‘weekend of steam’ and as we pulled into Toddington Railway Station, we were shocked as to the number of cars parked there. We had stumbled on yet another weekend celebration.
We parked up and went onto the platform. There were no modern trains whatsoever, barely any sign of modern life actually. It was all old-fashioned benches and lamposts and only steam trains that arrived and left at very regular intervals. There were completely clued-up anaraks all around and our limited knowledge of trains soon became evident when I asked dad why one of the trains ‘hadn’t got a chimney’. I felt no shame in being a complete novice in this field however because I knew that our expertise as a family lay in aircraft and buses, in which a lot of these anaraks would probably be the complete novices. We can’t all specialise in everything.
We watched trains come and go and commented on how nice the carriages looked and how much we were reminded of the railway children. However, I was on edge the whole time. Last year dad and I went to Stratford and, as usual, we stumbled on something we hadn’t really expected. The Shakespeare Express was about to leave Stratford station. We dashed over to the platform to get a good photo because the lighting was brilliant. We waited ages while the engine was warming up and billowing out black smoke. Then, just before it was about to depart, the engine let off a bit or steam. Or rather a lot of steam. I have never heard noise like it in my life. It was like standing in front of a jet aircraft. Even with my fingers pushed so far into my ears that they nearly touched in the middle, I felt like my head was going to explode. Dad and I both sacrificed the ultimate photograph of it pulling away in the name of our health and ear drums. For the whole time on Sunday afternoon I was ready to run at a split-seconds notice. The one time that it did happen (an engine called Black Prince that actually looked like a monster), I was typically not expecting it. I tried to run but with dad holding onto my arm determined to do nothing but a brisk walk, I didn’t make it very far away. Meanwhile, mum and the dog had beaten the 100m world record. Despite this little episode, it was a good afternoon and felt days away from the open air service in Chipping Campden that morning.
To round off the day, we watched Some Like It Hot in the evening while having supper. This is such a great film and the scene with Jack Lemon and the maracas had Debs and I crying with laughter as it always does.
It was a lovely day and one that I will remember when we get back into the dark depths of winter once more.