So yes, I stupidly ventured out on a 160 km walk knowing that I had knee trouble, but I didn't want to cancel the trip, and honestly believed that I'd get some walking done anyway, as long as I stuffed myself with painkillers.
Tove and I both being serious anglophiles (we met at the University of Sussex in Brighton) agreed that we'd just have to make the most of it, even if it was obvious that she'd have to walk parts of the way without me to accompany her.
First night - the Noel Arms in Chipping Campden
On June 25 trains took us from Gatwick Airport to Moreton-in-Marsh at the north end of the Cotswolds, through familiar railway stations and scenery that I knew well from my English days more than 35 years ago. Our walking trip was to end up in the south, in Bath, ten days later. The friendly taxi driver who drove us from Moreton to Chipping Campden explained that this is a very prosperous region of the country, with recent house sales in the range of 4 million pounds. As we were to learn later a lot of wealthy Londoners have made villages in the Cotswolds their homes, sometimes after having owned holiday houses here first. Fabulous thatched cottages were in such abundance both here and in other villages along the way so that after a few days we almost stopped noticing them!
Chipping Campden
Stanton
Determined there was nothing seriously wrong with my knee I set out the first morning from the Noel Arms Hotel in Chipping Campden. 16 kilometers lay ahead of us - piece of cake! Though heavy clouds hung over us and dropped a little rain every now and again, the landscape was exactly as we'd imagined and the trails were pretty easy through rolling green fields and kind hills. We stopped for coffee halfway in Broadway, and that's when I should have called it a day. But no, I had to continue! After Broadway came the longest and stoniest and steepest hill I have ever climbed - it beat any hill in Norway! Or perhaps it just seemed that way because by now my knee was practically wobbling with pain and measured twice the size of the other one. It looked more like a football than a knee in fact. Later I've heard that up-and-down hills are definitely NOT good for the knee. Fortunately I had with me a pair of walking sticks, and though I never thought I'd use them they turned out to be a gift sent from heaven.
Broadway Tower
Arriving at the Old Post House Bed & Breakfast in Stanton was also like coming to heaven! Our lovely host Jo showed us to a separate house in her absolutely amazingly beautiful garden - the little stone house used to be the old telegraph, now it was a welcoming bedroom for two tired women - especially me. I totally collapsed on my bed!
The main house - the Old Post Office
"Our" house
Squirrel bush in Jo's garden
Jo and her husband had worked as journalists in London and had bought the Old Post House as their holiday home. When the Internet was properly developed they moved to Stanton for good, and Jo began concentrating on her new occupation - Bed & Breakfast. And her fantastic garden. I was given a special tour, a treat that I appreciated immensely. One of my courses at University was "Landscape in English Art and Literature," so I do know a bit about constructing a garden to please the eye.
There was no way I could walk the following day, so Jo said she'd drive me to our next destination - Winchcombe - as she was going there anyway to do some shopping. "No," I said, "that must be too far!" "It's five minutes down the road," she said, and that's when it dawned on me that the walking distances along the Cotswolds are up and down, this way and that way, left and right, down and up again, detours all the way. Well, basically this is what walking is all about, isn't it? "Look," she pointed upwards as we were driving through the valley, "this is where your friend will be walking for hours," and before we knew it we were in Winchcombe.
Jo and I talked in the car before I left her, and I made her cry. Not my intention of course, but we connected immediately - call it chemistry, call it a meeting of souls, call it whatever. In just a few minutes, talking food and recipes and children on the way there, we were suddenly deep in conversation about life, death and love. My own emotions are raw and bare these days, and I think they are so apparent they lie almost on the outside. On my skin. In my face. I express them, basically, probably without even realising. We'd had similar experiences, similar lives in many ways. An older husband, three children, turning around our lives, making fresh starts.
I'll never stop marveling at human meetings.
Jo told me to go and visit Sudeley Castle in Winchcombe, and what a wonderful suggestion it was! I wouldn't have missed it for the world! The playground for Henry VIII and several of his six wives, this exceptionally well kept and beautifully restored castle, chapel and gardens gave me immense pleasure. Walking around the grounds and the buildings for nearly three hours was tough enough on my knee, but so worth it. This kind of experience is food for my soul. I'll treasure it forever.
Katherine Parr was Henry's last wife and the one who survived him, and she made an important influence on the politics at the time, especially on Queen Elizabeth I. She is buried at Sudeley Castle.
Bill Bryson writes about this particular view point in his book "Notes From a Small Island"
Henry and his wives - their various dress fashions were thoroughly explained
The white garden - it reminded me of the one I'd just seen at Jo's house
My Winchcombe day was wrapped up by another great experience - a visit to this grave outside Cheltenham:
Well, it's only rock 'n' roll, but I like it.
Playing with my newly acquired dolls in our room at the White Hart Inn, Winchcombe
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