Gertsamtkunstwerk

Nymans

Nymans was already on 'the list' of places to visit, and when I saw my cousin's pictures on Facebook, I was spurred on further. It lies just off the A23 - we approached it from Pease Pottage Services, which are located where the M23 runs out and rejoins the A23. It's run by the National Trust. I hadn't heard of it until I watched a documentary on BBC4 three or four years ago, which was fascinating. I'm sure it will be repeated again in due course - we also watched it a few weeks after visiting.

We visited during the school summer holidays, which, in retrospect was a bit of a mistake. On the other hand, why should normal people feel excluded from adult-oriented visitor attractions for an entire 6 or 8 weeks at the height of summer. 

I know some people might take exception to what appears at first to be an anti-child rant, but please bear with me while I explain. 

Good parenting expects parents to let their children experience a wide range of places. Small children aren't ready to take in the details of places but from a young age should definitely experience broad and new horizons. When I was on HMS Belfast along with a group of Infant school children, I felt that the exhibitions and interpretation boards were lost on them but they were experiencing the space and environment of a sea-going ship, and I'm sure few will ever forget that mind-expanding day out. Similarly with open spaces. There's much research on the benefits of open spaces and fresh air, and even in supposedly over-crowded South East England there are many places to explore.

What struck me at Nymans was the lack of imagination and the fear of open spaces. It was if those parents had absorbed the research but needed to be somewhere ultra-safe and curated, structured, in with crowds, rather than finding a public footpath beside a river through the woods. It was a sign of bad parenting, because they had chosen the wrong location for the wrong reasons because they weren't capable, and when they were they were unaware of anyone else and behaved inconsiderately. Is it that the parents, despite their expensive gym memberships are not capable of walking very far? Or is it because they've never allowed their children to walk far, so don't know what they could do if allowed?  I walked about 4 miles, mainly gentle strolling, a lot of it stop-and-start. It's hardly strenuous!

The National Trust don't help in this. Obviously, their objective is to maximise the number of visitors, and they know that more people will come if they feel that their children are welcome. So, in order to make it child-friendly, they left toys - skipping ropes, skittles, hoops - in various places. Why? Do they think that the residents of Sussex and National Trust are so poor they can't afford their own toys? And yet, what should have been a glorious rose garden, supposedly a highlight of the place looked neglected, because they couldn't be bothered to deadhead the roses. This is a task I learnt at Primary School age, but as far as the National Trust is concerned, is less important in a historic garden than posh kids doing skipping.

The behaviour of some of the parents as manifested in their children was bemusing. Running through the formal gardens. Yes, kids have to work off energy. That's why there are play parks, and wild countryside. Just a pity for the majority of visitors, older people, who had come to enjoy their gardens and had to put up with the self-centred helicopter parenting. On the outer ring of the garden some kids climbed trees encouraged by, I think, their grandparents. 

But here's the rub. As well as the formal gardens, Nymans also contains two very different woodland areas. We walked in both. In the first we encountered just one person, a man of about my age with a serious camera. In the other, in the valley beside the river we encountered two other parties, one of them with children. (They were very rude, strung out across the wide pavement, trying to force me onto the narrow rocky cliff from which there was a long drop into the river). The point was, that almost nobody took their kids into the wider expanse of the grounds,, instead treating the formal gardens as a glorified playground. And this wasn't the first example of violence from parents, as two women with prams walking side by side on the path glared and glowered at me until I moved onto the grass, because of their special sense of entitlement.

The peak 'anxious parent' came on the lawn outside the ruined house. A man with two junior school age children was sitting in the shade of a tree. Granted, it was a hot day, well into the twenties, but clearly, the shade of a tree wasn't enough, because he erected a tent that he was carrying around with him all day. I know you're thinking, perhaps they were redheads, perhaps they had skin that easily burnt. How about I mention that they were Black. Not even mixed heritage, but black African with black African skin!

Rant over! But it did make me angry. There are so many places to take children, from expensive theme parks to free open countryside and beaches. So why flock to one of relatively few adult-oriented locations and ignore your environment to such an extent that you are imposing on other people and potentially ruining their day out. It's a form of bullying, ageist bullying, saying that older people, people without children are invisible, don't matter and should be erased. And the National Trust is a major culprit in this outrage.

All this having been said, Nymans is worth visiting as a garden, surrounded by woodland. I took so many photos and am very pleased at how they have turned out. 

 

                

                   

I was amused when we paused beside the river and a whole flock of ducks sauntered up to us, clearly taking it for granted that they would be fed. when it became clear we were ignoring them, they sauntered away again!

 

Plenty more photos in my Sussex photo album, which also contains Sissinghurst, Wakehurst Place and Borde Hill, if you''re interested in gardens.

Osterley Park

Armed with our National Trust membership we set out for Osterley Park. I had thought it was the rather nice green space visible from the M4 elevated section, but, on reflection, that is probably Boston Manor and the River Brent.

Osterley Park is of virtually no historic interest. The website and handbook make a very big deal of its interior being remodelled and designed by Robert Adam. But inside the house they seemed more interested in the Child Family, bankers who assumed ownership from a defaulted mortgagee. As far as I could see the Childs are of no consequence. but, trying to look at the interiors, we were harassed by volunteer guides, who simply weren't very good. 

Trying to be polite, Jimmy said of a chest 'How old is it'?

'It goes back quite a way' said the guide, and went on about how beautiful it is when opened out, containing secret passages and so on. We had to take her word for it, given that it was closed and she obviously wasn't going to open it. 

Another room was labelled as 'Mrs Child's Dressing Room'. Another guide explained to me that it was Mrs Child's Dressing Room, and that Mrs Child would entertain there while her husband went hunting. Her unambiguous tone of voice and facial expression told me:

• she gets damp thinking about the Childs
• the Childs were rich, therefore important, and thus, to be worshipped
• history boils down to studying the idleness of the rich
• all women - her, me, Mrs Child - are indistinguishable from each other and being female, love to entertain our gossipy friends indoors while husbands do manly man things

As we entered the 'Robert Adam Room' containing drawings of his work, a third guide tried to block our way and force us to look at portraits of the Child family in the corridor. Dull, grim pictures of a forgotten family, portraits commissioned largely for vanity reasons.

Between them, they managed to make me hate the place, and that was before we went to the kitchen. The rest of the house is presented as it was in the 1780s but the kitchen was clearly 20th, if not 21st Century. No labelling, so no way to make any sense of it. The Long Hall is packed with paintings with no obvious theme or connection, no labelling (subject or artist) and packed tight on the wall like posters on a teenage bedroom, some too high to be seen. 

Just to make our visit complete was a mother and toddlers, doing Conspicuous Learning in a loud voice. I think she wanted to impress us with what an interactive parent she is, but she just struck me as being one of those people who rarely sees her children - the conversation was just too stilted: parents who know their children tend to talk in half sentences and show occasional irritation. I did wonder if perhaps she was an aunt, but she was addressed as Mummy. The children were far too young to take in details. I see no harm in taking children round stately homes, but surely the experience is visual and impressionistic. I have a clear vision of the dining room at Chatsworth, visited when I was toddler, but I wasn't open to learning facts, simply seeing something that was very different from my normal environment.

Then the café was chaotic. I realise NT cafés are largely staffed by  volunteers, but they seemed untrained or collectively lacking the initiative to serve refreshments to a captive audience. My tea (Taylors of Harrogate) was very nice as was my sandwich, but my Victoria Sandwich was dry, almost stale, and didn't taste very nice, and Jimmy's Damson Shortbread had a soggy bottom.

The better part of the visit was the formal garden and meadow/woodland area. Most visitors, understandably, go in the wider parkland, which is free (except parking) - probably locals using it for a routine Saturday afternoon park trip. The garden and meadow charge admission, except of course to NT members. 

Although the formal garden was small, it was lovely, nicer than some more famous places one visits specifically for the gardens. I think the photos speak better than words.

 

 

The woodland walk was pleasant although not exciting. We pretty much had it to ourselves. One family had all but camped in a secluded clearing, making a day of it, letting the Primary School age kids run a bit wild and climb trees, not in anyway imposing on other people. Two women, mother and daughter, passed in a mobility golf cart (available to borrow on site), which struck me as a good idea. Just because one of them, for whatever reason, can't walk far, they're not going to let that prevent them 'going for a walk'.

 

We had to cut a bit off to get back out of the garden by its 5pm closing time. It does annoy me when places close at 5 in June. I'm not, therefore, demanding that they stay open later, but it does seem a shame and waste of so much open land on a glorious Saturday in midsummer. but then, on the way home, we drove across Clapham Common. There were more people crammed into the tiny triangle inside the S. Circular one-way system at Clapham South than on the whole of the rest of the Common. So perhaps people don't appreciate nice places anyway!

Sissinghurst

We visited Sissinghurst in June last year. The time when the delicate pastels of Spring transform into the brilliance of summer. Owned by the National Trust (so free entrance for members), lying in a triangle between Tunbridge Wells, Maidstone and Ashford.

It's almost impossible to read anything about Sissinghurst without mention of Vita Sackville-West and Harold Nicholson, who nowadays are primarily famous for creating this world famous garden. Much like the film Elvira Madigan being largely famous for featuring the much more famous Andante from Mozart's 21st piano concerto. 

 

It was the first time I have been down the A21, and the first time I have noticed a strange thing - that on the Greater London-Kent border, the A21 is also the M25. So one minute you're ambling down an A road albeit a motorway standard trunk, and the next moment you're on Britain's busiest motorway, with very little warning or preparation, confronted by the most aggressive drivers in existence.

Also, it was the first time I properly realised that Kent is hilly. For some reason I had thought that Kent was flat, but it's dominated by the Weald Forest Ridge, ancient heathland forests that remind one that Kent is more than just the hinterland of London. Off the trunk road, along the typical rural winding single carriageway A road, you notice Oast houses or modern buildings that mimic that vernacular style. Sissinghurst is poorly signed. A few days before writing this post I repeated a good deal of the journey, to Hastings, and didn't see one brown sign for the place, although I saw plenty for equal and lesser visitor attractions. Even in the village of Sissinghurst, it's not entirely clear where the castle is.

   

Of course, the main reason to visit a world famous garden is to look at the beautiful flowers and how the garden is laid out. The garden is laid out in a series of 'rooms' which apparently was quite innovative when they initially designed it, but seems quite commonplace to me now. The formal gardens are quite small and you can see everything you want to in less than hour. 

 

The car park was very full, with the overflow in operation, and I expected the gardens to be heaving on this gloriously sunny, bright warm day. Although busy, they were not unbearably so. Perhaps some people were inside in the exhibition about people I'm not frightfully interested in. I suspected it would be quite sanitised, anyway, because, apart from creating Sissinghurst, their main claim to fame was an open marriage and Vita's affair with Virginia Woolf.

    

It seems people go to NT places mainly to eat. Quite perplexing! We'd brought a packed lunch, and stopped at a Wild Bean Café petrol station for much better coffee than the National Trust could ever offer.

Trips to these visitor attractions are such a great opportunity for observing the bizarre behaviours of the middle-middle classes. That started in the pebbles-in-dusty-gravel car park, where people sat on deckchairs to eat their sandwiches, eschewing the large green central and free picnic area provided for visitors.

  

On arrival, you are given a free leaflet with a map of the grounds, both the formal gardens and a choice of walks around the Estate - a basic one mile walk, which you could extend to three miles. Hardly taxing for most people, I would have thought. Walking to the lake we were overtaken by one couple, and encountered another couple on their way back. Beside the lake, I saw two more couples and a lone dog-walker. And that was it!

A heaving car park, busy gardens, and a whole eleven people venturing beyond the boundaries of safe, curated, structured. The rest compliant and biddable, doing what they imagine an Authority is telling them to do, scared of their own shadows and of the Great Uncertainty in the fields and copses of South East England.

One shouldn't generalise, of course, but it struck me that the fittest most robust person I saw was a woman in her fifties, walking with a stick, looking perhaps as if she was awaiting a hip replacement. One can sympathise as to why she and her friend didn't venture far, but she looked more lively than just about everyone else, who mainly looked dead from the neck down (that's not ageist - many of them were younger than me and hip woman, and most of them were younger than Jimmy. This wasn't a Pensioners' Special,as you would normally expect on weekdays at gardens).

 

I expect some of them sincerely believe that their slow shuffling walk around the gardens is moderate exercise, and pride themselves on how they get out and stay active. I was also surprised - shocked even - by the absence of Mindfulness. I would not be surprised if many of those people have spent money and time in Mindfulness classes and apps, but spectacularly failed to apply the lessons. Snippets of conversations overheard, strands of life - children issues, conspicuous consumption, fashion, holidays, anything but the bloody plants in the flaming garden!

A group stood in the herb garden, at a junction of two major paths, effectively blocking access to a quarter of the garden, nattering inanely about owt and nowt. When I said 'excuse me', they barely moved, and grudgingly, and I had to twice squeeze past them. No one else ventured into that quarter of the garden, because of fear of these Ghastlies who lacked awareness of their surroundings and other people. "Some people! So rude!" I exclaimed to Jimmy, slightly louder than necessary!

The walk down to the lake was almost the quintessential summer's day, and so tranquil. Only us and nine other people, all of them wanting solitude and quiet. Grass gone to seed, buttercups in the meadows, lambs gambolling in the afternoon sun, and this all to ourselves.

 

On the way back I noticed two things. Just near the long term roadworks outside Tonbridge, I watched a police van slowly reverse into another vehicle. No damage done, but lots of drama as they manoeuvred to park and exchange details. On the south circular, I spotted a woman probably coming home form work, wearing black woolly tights, a reminder of being back in London, where people have appalling body thermostats and lack the ability to regulate temperature.

A really nice day out. I haven't written much about the plants, but I hope you enjoy the photographs, just a a selection from many more which are in my Sussex photo album. I have tried to identify at least some of the flowers, but it's partly guesswork. If you know better, please say so in the comments.

 

Barnes and Chiswick

An epic walk, undertaken exactly a year ago! Actually, not that epic, but fun, on a nice day, seeing previously unseen places. We started our walk from Barnes Bridge station, across and along the Thames and into Chiswick House and Gardens. 

People who don't know London - including a large number of its residents - have a perception of dense buildings, masses of people and constant traffic, with its fumes and noise. 

But once you start to explore London you discover that there really is another half. There are some clear advantages over countryside and wildness, primarily accessibility. Partly that they are generally only a short walk from public transport, and partly that so much green space is dedicated to the public, unlike areas that are barred for productive reasons.

   

Any Londoner who heads out West by car or coach should have spotted the walls of Chiswick House on the A4 Great West Road, approaching the infamous Hogarth roundabout, beloved of travel news. I had never been before and was pleasantly surprised. I understand that the grounds have been refurbished fairly recently, and this is not to all tastes - rather than allowed to be wild, they are more tended. 

We strolled up the driveway to the mansion house, erstwhile property of the Duchy of Devonshire. As I have blogged before, I have limited interest in stately homes, largely because of the way they are presented and marketed. (I don't like the way they portray the rich as being heroic or people to look up to, when there is usually no reason to do so, other than their wealth, and how they tend to ignore the history of the vast majority of people, who were often living in squalor and exploitation). It wasn't open on that day - current opening is Sunday - Wednesday.

 

The grounds seemed busy, but that was merely because almost all visitors were crowded onto a small stretch of lawn between the house and the lake (which had been created by widening a brook), but most of the rest of the grounds were almost deserted.

It's a phenomenon I see time and again, of people unable or unwilling to progress much further than the first available stopping point. Obviously, one should distinguish between individual actions and a general trend - often one can spot people with mobility impairments, and assume that some others have invisible impairments - but every single time I go out, since I first spotted the trend, it has been entirely predictable! It doesn't make me angry, because it means that the wider grounds are mine to enjoy all the more, but it does make me condescending to the ignorant masses.

A more serious point is that people take their kids out like this, assume they're parenting well, because they're 'out', but actually, the kids' horizons aren't expanding, and their liveliness, unspent energy and boredom is often in conflict with people who have come to relax. Perhaps it's a pack mentality or a fear of what may lie beyond an enclosed or structured space.

 

A very short stroll through a wood brought us to an Ionic temple, where only the most intrepid of explorers venture to see the lake from a different angle. There was a classical elegance to the grounds, and away from that small area, we hardly encountered anyone. The gardens are renowned for their camellias, but it seems we missed them at their peak.

                 

We left the park and followed our guidesheet to the river. Feeling hungry, we followed a sign to a pub. An interesting pub, because it has two names - the Mawson Arms and the Fox and Hounds. It also serves as the Brewery tap for Fullers's brewery. A very decent couple of pints and a very good 'fishfinger' sandwich - goujons, rather than out-of-a-packet.

We carried along the river. It was a sunny day and busy on the river banks. We passed several riverside pubs. Jimmy declared them crowded, I didn't think so. The trouble is, occasionally, you encounter a pub that has so much space that it doesn't seem crowded, and it spoils you for any other. But, in Inner London, you're less likely to encounter these than you would outside the county boundary. The Thames looked nice, though!

We took the bus back to Barnes Bridge and had another pint or two in a Young's pub in that area. The website I had found suggested continuing around the Barnes peninsular, but I see no problem in only doing part of a suggested walk. We did actually do the Barnes peninsular part some time later, but, for some reason, I didn't take any photos, and ended up getting quite tipsy in Putney.

 

 

 

 

Wakehurst Place

Wakehurst Place is a visitor attraction just off the M23 in West Sussex. It is owned by the National Trust and managed by the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew. As National Trust members, we had 'free' admission but had to pay for parking. This is resented by locals in prosperous safe Tory voting areas who object to Kew seeking to make up its budget shortfall, oblivious to the real life consequences of Austerity.

While I was there I noticed a local scheduled service bus turn into the car park to pick passengers up, so that might be worth investigating if you're car free. I wouldn't rely on the National Trust to give you any useful information about car free travel.

Coffee shop - definitely one to avoid. They have captive customers with no competition for miles; this seems to be justification for serving crap. I don't mind paying over the odds for a quality product but do resent it when they can't even provide a half-decent tea bag. National Trust, dedicated to serving poor quality beverages to the undiscerning tastebuds of Middle England. 

 

As a positive, the site is dog free (except for guide and assistance dogs). This should be a thing at more of these places. This was one of several similar visitor attractions I have visited in the past few years which are markedly busier in the café/shop area than the central gardens and significantly busier in the central gardens than in the peripheral woodland areas. This is so predictable that I have created a narrative of people who 'prove' their cultured credentials by boasting how often they go to National Trust-style visitor attractions, but only actually go to the café to drink dubious coffee, or spend ten minutes strolling around the gardens engrossed in conversation. Of course, what other people do is none of my business: an individual may have mobility problems; they may be killing time before they have to be somewhere else. But I am increasingly convinced that the vast majority of people, including those who spend a fortune on gym membership or jogging clothes, don't ever actually walk. I have mentioned before another blogger (and semi-retired GP) who has a theory that few people venture more than '100 metres from the car park'.

If you look for a map of Wakehurst on the Kew Gardens site, you won't find it, unless you search under: Explore > Exploring Wakehurst with children > and scroll right to the bottom for a sentence that reads:

Our Adventurous Journeys play spaces are located throughout the gardens. Find their locations on the Wakehurst visitor map.

Slow handclap for accessibility - here's the direct link. 

These places have to market themselves as being child friendly, but I think it's a bit of a con. I don't see this as a place you would want to take kids. If parents want to come and, inevitably, bring their children with them, I think that's great. The children will benefit from looking at the range of gardens and woodland, and simply from being in a different environment, and able literally to expand their horizons. But the marketing seems determinedly child-centric and focused on providing entertainment for children to consume, often quite passively. Fortunately, it being a school day, there was an absence of children.

Whenever I visit gardens such as this I struggle to describe them, and in a sense it would be futile to do so. We started off by looking at the formally planted gardens and the pond close to the mansion and progressed to the Himalayan Glade, but not as far as the lake before walking back through Westwood Valley and the water gardens. After eating our picnic in the car park we finished our day with a walk in the woodlands to the north west of the site. Outside the formal areas we barely saw a soul. I don't have a 'My Tracks' record of the route. Either I forgot to set it or I forgot to turn it off when I got back in the car. But my pedometer suggests I walked about 4.5 miles in total that day. 

The weather forecast had been bright and fairly warm, but it turned out to be mainly overcast with a bit of a chilly edge. It threatened rain more than once. It wasn't until after I loaded my photos onto my PC that I remembered I had meant to clean my camera lens, so some photos have a smudge on them. I have struggled for a long time with 'blown out' skies. Later in the summer I hit on a solution to this (exposure, basically!) but on this visit, despite the overcast skies, the photos were all marginally over-exposed - I partly compensated in editing.

Despite the criticisms above I would strongly recommend a visit to Wakehurst. It differs from Wisley or indeed Kew itself in that it doesn't aim so obviously to be educational- much less labelling of plants, for example. I liked the layout of the grounds. always nice to visit somewhere when the rhododendrons and azaleas are blooming, although I always struggle to get decent photos of them: so much colour distorts the lens!

In the more remote part of the grounds we spotted both grouse and pheasant.

 

Below are some more photos I took, and the rest are in my Sussex photo album.

 

This blogpost was posted the day after I visited - perhaps we were there at the same time kew in the country – wakehurst place, water gardens, wetland, woodland and wildflower meadows…

A couple more worth looking at

Wakehurst Place, West Sussex

Wakehurst - a garden for all seasons

From the Guardian archive: 15 August 1966: A Kew Gardens in the Sussex countryside

Springtime in Wisley

Last year we went to Wisley as part of my own little Chelsea Fringe.

Getting there was quite a saga. You get a big discount if you travel by bus or bicycle. You have to be a brave cyclists or local, given that it lies just off the A3, a motorway-standard trunk road. I'm not sure I'd recommend the bus route we took from Esher. If you are travelling by bus, ensure you ask the driver to set you down for Wisley; repeat this request if the driver changes. Otherwise you'll end up in the village of Ripley, which is actually a very nice village, but too far to walk and you'll wait a long time for the next bus. You'll then have to walk up to the main drag, and I can't imagine anyone in management has actually done that, because it's not welcoming to pedestrian visitors - no signs and an enforced walk across a car park. So you arrive with a negative impression of the place which is hard to shake off.

Typical of many visitor attractions of its type:

• lots of people gathered near the visitor centre
• somewhat fewer in the formal gardens near the entrance
• even fewer in the more far flung places
• very few children and mainly well behaved, but those of that one Dad. He was brought up that Real Men are always active, he has no experience of quiet reflection, and can't see a lawn but assume it's specific sole purpose is for his children, always active never reflective, can run around screaming
• poor quality overpriced beverages in the catering establishments, made complacent by the lack of competition and the English middle class's complacent acceptance of rubbish. Pro tip: pop into Nest in Ripley before going to Wisley, or afterwards - the wait will be worth it.

Grumbling over, it was it was a lovely afternoon looking round the  beautiful gardens of RHS Wisley. We spent about three hours there including the beverage break. Surprisingly we walked only two miles, but there was a lot of the garden we didn't see. I took lots of photos!

NB I don't know the names of many flowers. A part of me feels that I ought to know more, but a larger part has accepted that, on the whole, I can't process and retain that information, and I don't believe it diminishes my enjoyment significantly - certainly I enjoy more not knowing the names than i would getting anxious trying to remember them! Se also: birds, trees.

 

So much colour, especially, but not exclusively, from the rhododendrons and azaleas and the plants round the lake.

       

And me

I know bamboo and alliums

 

Probably the best of the pelargoniums 

A glass house always fascinates with palms and succulents

   

I particularly liked this Flytrap

Back out into the wilder parts of the garden.

  

My favourite part of the garden was the Alpine area. I resolved there and then that if I was ever taken by an urge to garden myself, in addition to the obligatory herbs and vegetables, I would concentrate on Alpine flowers. I think I lived the exquisite detail in these miniature flowers. Maybe I have a bit of a 'thing' for miniaturisation.

          

And, to finish off, a pleasant aerial shot!

This post contains only a sample of the photos I took. Many more can be found in the Surrey photo album

Cragside

The first Tuesday of our holiday was rainy, grey and a bit windy. We took the opportunity to relax, having been on the go relentlessly for several days: packing, travelling and sight-seeing. We wandered around Seahouses and joined the National Trust. I explained to the chap who signed us up it was the final proof I had reached middle age. He explained that plenty of young people were members.

Regular readers will know that, on the whole, I hate Stately Homes. My main objection is the distorted view of history they represent. A misplaced belief that they are acting altruistically as custodian of a common good, but actually the defender of ill-gotten gains. The visitor is obliged to admire portraits of the 15th Baron or the 3rd Earl, whose accomplishments remain a mystery, other than 'serving the King', or being on the right side of a battle for power, or having the skill to be the oldest surviving (male) son or great nephew of the previous incumbent. 

Cragside is different. Cragside was the home of William Armstrong, engineer, scientist, inventor and philanthropist, the first engineer (or scientist) to be ennobled.

I don't suppose many people have heard of Armstrong. I'm not sure that I had until I started to read up on 'days out' in Northumberland. I despise that facet of Englishness that bangs on about our glory days but conspicuously fails to celebrate the engineers and inventors upon which the nation's wealth was founded.

Sadly, I found Cragside disappointing in its failure truly to celebrate the glory of engineering. Like all these Stately Homes it was acutely aware of its main selling point: people want to walk round houses, gawp, imagine the life they'd live if they were richer, and study the interior decor. I took several photographs within the house, of variable quality due to the variability of the light, and in hindsight, I too fell into that trap of focusing on the fripperies and ignoring the wonder of science.

      

It was busy in the house. Not oppressive, but busy. One had to manoeuvre round people. "oops, sorry, after you, no no, after you." apart from one ghastly little woman who...oh I can't even be bothered, some people simply can't cope with being out in public and need to take a long hard look at their behaviour. It was heaving in the café where we stopped for a disappointing cup of coffee. It has to be said the grounds are quite challenging, especially for people with limited mobility (a core NT demographic, especially during school term). But they do run a shuttle bus around the place. Once we had finished in the house, we had several hours of glorious tranquility, barely encountering a soul.

We descended steeply to the river and ascended again up to the Formal Terraced Garden, where we baked in the sun, admired the view and enjoyed the gardens. Regular readers will know that much as I love being in gardens and photographing them, I am hopeless at identifying plants. I am learning, from visits and from the TV, but it's a slow process.

         
After the garden we took a stroll along the River Coquet, still within the grounds. So did maybe half a dozen other people. I was puzzled, because the car park had been extremely busy - I just don't understand what these people do. Once again I thought of the '100 yards from the car park' rule.

 

Since we visited, they have launched an Archimedes screw to generate electricity. That article references one also at my beloved Morden Hall Park. Cragside was the first building in the world to be lit by hydroelectricity, and Armstrong visualised the potential for solar power. 

We returned to the coffee shop and wisely chose, rather than indifferent beverages, a superb ice cream from Doddington Dairy. The National Trust, complacent about its captive audience - and indeed many independent visitor attractions - don't have to care about the quality of their tea and coffee. Most of their customers couldn't care less. A diversified dairy farm has to ensure its products are high quality and must actively market them.

We drove out the long way, via the Estate Drive, which featured in one of my guidebooks as a walk. Again, I was astonished how few people we passed, or even saw in the distance. If I were to visit again, I would spend more time in the wilderness beyond the touristic centre.

 

 

Eynsford & Lullingstone

This is a delightful part of Kent easily accessible by car from Dartford and South East London. It also has a railway station, served by First Capital Connect Trains via Elephant and Bromley South.

There is quite an array of tourist attractions for a village/parish I'd not heard of before I began browsing the web.

It was a lovely day in late April. After coffee in the village we started with a gentle stroll by the River Darent, which I hadn't heard of. The old London to Dover crossed this river at the town known as Dartford.

    

We followed the road round alongside the river 

 and stopped to take photos by an awe-inspiring viaduct, which rises to 75 feet across the valley and has 9 arches.

 We took the minor road to Eagle Heights and looked out across the valley.

and into a farm yard which housed a giant pig.

Eagle Heights is a large bird of prey centre with over 150 raptors. We had arrived in between flying times, so it wasn't worth our while to pay to go in, but I'm sure it must be a lot of fun.

The site which had inspired the day out was English Heritage's Lullingstone Roman Villa, which was sort of interesting but also a bit disappointing.

Interesting, because it is an actual Roman Villa - or remains of. It dates back to about 100 AD and it's possible to walk around and get a real sense of scale and lay out, with some fairly informative wall displays and some artefacts on display.

It wasn't exactly as I expected. I assumed it would be in the open air and it would be possible to scramble round the ruins. Of course I understand perfectly why English Heritage want it protected from the elements and not further damaged by clumsy tourists. I was just very disappointed by the lighting. I didn't understand why everything had to be bathed in various colours of artificial light. I'm prepared to accept a case for protection from the sunlight, or a case for muted electric lights, but the coloured lights were off-putting.

I also found it mildly irritating how much space was given over to making the place 'child-friendly'. I'm not opposed to historically informed child-oriented displays and explanations, or 'imagine you were a slave working in this villa'. Perhaps my opinion is distorted by the obligatory 'family' group that were there when we were.

We suspect it was a absentee Dad on his access day, taking his kids to this villa so that he could show off to the mother and his laddish friends what a great Dad he is. Three activities: running up and down the balconies (shouting); colouring things in (shouting); and dressing up in generic 'Days of Old' costumes (shouting). Other than this group I was the youngest person there. I bet the other adults 'appreciated' the out-of-control brats as much as we did!

It's almost like it's a crime to want to go anywhere and expect civilised constrained behaviour. I don't believe that the kids are benefiting more educationally from colouring things in and dressing up as a Plantagenet aristocrat than they would learn by actually looking at piles of old stones. If public bodies assume that today's children are stupid, uninquisitive and slow-learners it becomes self-fulfilling.

Anyway, because I went and took them, here are some photos of some Roman ruins.

       

 The Mosaic is impressive, especially considering its age. Hard to tell from this photo, but it's black and white, not green and pink.

 

The footpath from the Railway station takes one straight to the Roman Villa. It doesn't seem too far and other than a few yards near the station is entirely away from speeding vehicles. We had a pleasant stroll down a country lane, passing many people like us, wanting to take advantage of the sunshine.

We found ourselves at the gates to Lullingstone Castle - not really a castle, more a Manor House. I quite fancied a look round the 'World Garden'. The man on the gate explained that a tour of the house had just started and after the house tour would be the Garden Tour. So without really discussing it we committed to the house tour.

Regular readers might have noticed that I'm not keen on 'Stately Homes' masquerading as 'Heritage' pretending to be 'History'. There wasn't really a great deal of history mentioned, just a bit of showbiz gossip and complacency. They used to have silk farms that spun the silk for RAF parachutes and for Royal wedding dresses. Naturally, more emphasis given to the Royal connections than the potentially more interesting parachute history.

A detailed explanation of how the 'Compare the Meerkat' adverts were filmed there, and some smug boasting that the view will never be spoilt because it's a golf course and it's against Planning Rules to build on golf courses. I can't find a reference to prove or refute this but whichever you look at it it's disgusting.

Twice as much land in Britain -  an equal amount in England - is used for golf as for housing, golf a pastime open only to an elite rich in cash and time, with bigotry and small-minded snobbery running through it like a stick of rock and less useful than either productive farmland or ecologically vital woodlands and wetlands. And, frankly, who wants a view of a golf course! The people of the house were very pleasant, though.

Much more interesting was the World Garden and the excellent tour guide, Tom Hart-Dyke. I have to confess I hadn't heard of Tom, but I've subsequently seen him on TV and in the Press. The idea for the World Garden came about when Tom was held captive for 9 months by Colombian rebels. He's a fascinating man, a very interesting speaker (for over an hour!) on a subject he's passionate and knowledgable about in equal measure. Very likeable. I would strongly recommend a visit to the garden whether you're an expert, or, like me, just like visiting great, interesting gardens. He's not a scientist but, as a collector of rare species of plants, he works with organisations like Kew Gardens.

And I took lots of photos of plants!

        

We paused for delicious home-made cake and tea in the Marquee, and finished off with a stroll around the grounds and a look at the parish church.

  

 All in all, a lovely day out in a surprisingly beautiful part of Kent. I wish to return before long to explore Lullingstone Country Park which looks interesting. 

Lost Gardens of Heligan

The name 'Lost Gardens' attracted me the first time I heard it, several years ago. I watched a documentary on the TV 2 or 3 years ago and was fascinated. It was very much on my list of Must Dos, and, it turned out, other than the journeys to and from home, was our furthest trip from base (from which you can gather, we didn't do The Eden Project).

Wikipedia says:

Before the First World War the garden required the services of 22 gardeners to maintain it, but that war lead to the deaths of...16 of those gardeners, and by 1916 the garden was being looked after by only 8 men. In the 1920s Jack Tremayne's love of Italy led him to set up permanent home there, and lease out Heligan. The house was tenanted for most of the 20th century, used by the US Army during the Second World War, and then converted into flats and sold, without the gardens, in the 1970s. Against this background, the gardens fell into a serious state of neglect, and were lost to sight.

It's quite shocking to think of so much land laying waste. Many landowners talk of their holdings as something held in trust, they are mere custodians. Some are conscientious in fulfilling this duty; for others, it's little more than a slogan because they know their ancestors got hold of the land unfairly. After the Second World War, productive land was in short supply as Britain aimed for greater food self-sufficiency and turned to intensive farming. Perhaps this land was less than ideal for farming, and we holiday-makers are the fortunate present day beneficiaries, but neglecting the land for so long was a crime against the community.

A tip to future visitors: the website says approach the Gardens from St Austell. They are absolutely right. I thought I knew better and allowed Tom Tom to guide us down the narrowest of tiny country lanes. We left via St Austell.

The public gardens are divided into broad areas - the Jungle and the Northern Gardens. In my diary I wrote "I don't see a great deal of benefit in me describing in detail everything of the four hours we spent walking around...I took about a hundred photos". A picture tells a thousand words!

The Jungle is green and dense. When you walk around, you feel the change in the atmosphere - it has its own micro-climate.

 The visual glory is in the three dimensions. There are four interlinked ponds, descending down the Valley, with a boardwalk around them. Signs recommend sturdy footwear, but, nevertheless, there were a few people - all young - in fashion footwear, heels and so on. Their choice and their risk, but they didn't seem to be enjoying themselves, and one held everyone else up as she teetered slowly along a footpath, held up by her partner, and blocking the path for people in both directions. I don't understand the thought process that begins with "Let's go to a thousand acre garden set on a hillside" and ends with "...wearing disco shoes". The Jungle also isn't suitable for pushchairs or wheelchairs.

First we walked past the wildflower meadow, a visual delight, and one providing views to the coast at Mevagissey.

  

I took a few photos in The Jungle but I find that dense green areas generally don't make for exciting photos.

 


As we were leaving The Jungle, a schoolparty was arriving. I support 'Learning by Play' and think that much of the Primary School curriculum should involve activity, outdoors where possible. Letting 30 or so 8 year olds run through a paid visitor attraction screaming at the top of their voices is not educational. There are playgrounds for screaming; in a garden, children should be encouraged to stop and look, take in the atmosphere, and show respect for other people - the world doesn't revolve around them just because they're children.

Our next stop was the tea-room in the Steward's House. There are two catering facilities at Heligan: one near the ticket office and shop, and one conveniently placed in the centre. It was a bit basic - tea served in polystyrene cups - but the tea was decent and it was worth a stop to look at the prints on the wall of traditional rural crafts. The tea room was set in beautiful if unexceptional gardens.

 

Next stop was the orchard. I have read about orchards in books. I have seen commercial orchards on TV and when driving past. But it's only recently I have realised what a domestic orchard is; I will have one in my hypothetical post-Lottery win rural retreat.Trees laden with fruit, and a variety of waterfowl around the pond, obligingly posing for photographs.

We spent the rest of our stay strolling around the Northern Gardens. The guidebook divides them into Pleasure Grounds and Productive Gardens. The flower gardens were magnificent to behold.

 

I am still quite useless at identifying flowers (see also: birds and trees) and although I am learning slowly, it's difficult. I certainly won't be insulted if better people than me pop helpful hints into the comments box.

The Productive Gardens were just as beautiful in their own way. I envy people who had so much space to grow their own - although back in the heyday they would have employed a sizeable staff to do the growing, and more again to do the bottling and preserving.

     

Jimmy pointed out to me the difference between the shapes of Conference and Comice pears. I had never previously given it much thought!

I enjoyed this piece of garden sculpture.

We walked in some of the wilder areas nearer the formal gardens and found tranquility in quiet places, but they didn't photograph so well!

When we were finished we went to the main tearoom, hoping to eat, but they had run out of food by 3.30pm which was a tad disappointing. The quality of the tea wasn't that good, and Jimmy noticed that they hadn't replenished the napkin dispenser since our morning coffee. Signs that, having a captive audience, they were rather complacent. This happens too often at too many 'Visitor Attractions'. I've been to worse, though.

We finished the day off in Mevagissey. We had considered staying here, before plumping for Marazion, and having visited the town, I felt we made the right decision. A pretty town, and we didn't mind the walk to-and-from the Pay and Display on the edge of the village. But I was struck by the large numbers of shops selling downmarket tat and, without being snobby, okay, being snobby, an awful lot of people for whom buying downmarket tourist tat was nirvana.

We found a pub called the Wheelhouse. Their evening specials board looked outstanding, but it wasn't due to start for another hour. Nevertheless, we had decent fish and chips. I was surprised they didn't come with peas, and the couple at the next table complained that theirs didn't, either, and they had specifically ordered mushy peas. A minor niggle and if I were in the town again I'd confidently go back there to eat. I also had my first taste of Rattler cider. It was not to be my last.

 

 Many more Heligan photos in Cornwall photo album.

My other blogposts on Visitor Gardens:

Sezincote

Batsford Arboretum

Thames Barrier Park

Polesden Lacey in June

Nunhead Cemetery

Nonsuch

Abbotsbury Subtropical Gardens

Burton Bradstock and Little Bredy

Blogposts by others:

Lost in the Mist by Indifferent Reflections - this is a lovely blog, worth spending the time to browse through her posts.

Lost Gardens of Heligan from Heaven Happens

The Lost Gardens Of Heligan, the One for me! - A Day in the Life

 

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Sezincote

A notable example of Neo-Mughal architecture, says Wikipedia. The inspiration for the Brighton Pavillion and also featuring in John Betjeman's autobiographical Summoned by Bells

“Down the drive,
Under the early yellow leaves of oaks’
One lodge is Tudor, one in Indian style.
The bridge, the waterfall, the Temple Pool
And there they burst on us, the onion domes,
Chajjahs and chattris made of amber stone:
‘Home of the oaks’, exotic Sezincote.”

We had tried to visit on the Sunday of our Cotswold adventure but it was closed. When we exited Batsford Arboretum, we  realised that the entrance to Sezincote was just opposite and Sezincote was open. We drove down the long single track drive. I started to feel anxious: it's a bit odd to turn up to someone's house and expect to look around. But the car park and the sizable queue for the ticket office reassured us we were not alone! We declined to book on an interior tour - there's a limit to much walking one can do in a day, there was a long wait with several tours already booked up, and why go indoors on a lovely Spring  day!

First stop was the Orangery, for a much needed cup of tea and a very welcome slice of cake. Proper cake, homemade, by locals I think - I had lemon drizzle. Tea came out of a pot, with tea cups. The teapot was wielded by Camilla, the lady of the house, with refills freely available.

And after the Conservatory, the lawn. There was a sheer climb to the top of the lawn, and it was very pleasant, one could imagine tea and croquet parties, but the elephant statues aside, there was far more to explore elsewhere. I enjoyed walking round the garden, the sun and the delightfully mild temperatures were an added bonus. Relatively few people ventured far from the house and lawn, which made strolling the outer garden even more pleasant.

It was quite a different experience from any garden I've been in before. I can't say I had any profound understanding of the Indian influences. I did especially enjoy their incongruity in an area which for many would epitomise the English rural idyll.

This folly is near the tennis  courts, a useful place for storing deckchairs and so on. There was a church on this sight but this was razed to the ground during the English Civil War. It surprises me that they never bothered building a replacement - every village should have its church (especially in the days before motorised transport) but perhaps when it was gone they didn't miss it!

As we strolled around there were some great views back to the house and into open country.

I particularly enjoyed the area round the lake. Do notice the two chaps in red trousers and yellow trousers. I do have a zoomed shot of them and they look spectacularly Cotswoldy posh. On balance I decided not to blog the zoomed photo. Although I feel confident they would probably not be hurt by having their conscious fashion choice mocked, I don't want to set a precedent of mocking people doing no harm in photos where their faces are recognisable! But we saw probably even more yellow and green trousers on a certain type of man than even red trousers, and more red trousers than even at English National Opera or Brixton Village.

 

I'm convinced there must be some great photos to get of herds of cattle. This isn't one.

Now I'm writing this, I assume these are bluebells, but I can no longer be sure. Nice, anyway!

My favourite part of the whole estate was the Snake Pool with its Hindu temple and statues. If time or energy is extremely limited, I would suggest prioritising these.

You would think, with my political philosophy, I would rather visit gardens owned and run by English Heritage or National Trust, but this was the second place we visited in 2013 (the first is yet to be written) managed by the resident family and with limited opening, where the experience was far more pleasant, even down to details of proper fresh home baked cakes, served by local volunteers, rather than packaged processed stuff served by staff on zero hour minimum wage contracts. Ok, I'll admit that if I lived in a village and had time to volunteer it probably wouldn't be for the local landed gentry. On the other hand, it must be very social, mixing with fellow volunteers and the the public.

 

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We left soon after four and realised just how hungry we were. We knew it would be difficult to find anywhere serving food at that time. We tried Churchill, and various places -under-Wychwood but were not surprised to find the pubs shut. We ended up in Chipping Norton just as full time was approaching in the Championship Play Off final between Crystal Palace and some other team. Himself is, technically, a Crystal Palace fan, so we sat in the car park in the Town Square listening to a crackly commentary with poor reception from Radio 5 until the glorious news that Palace had been promoted to the Premiership.

We then found a pub serving food all day, with a wonderful name, Bitter and Twisted As I said to the manager, I was expecting something on the level of Wetherspoons, or possibly Wetherspoons plus, but it was much better than that. Obviously, not comparable with The Wild Thyme over the road, but peerless, in my experience, in the All-Day Food category. For whatever reason, I didn't photograph my food, battered prawns followed by a veggie risotto, but I had fun photographing my Singapore Sling.

 

 The Galloping Gardener has also blogged about Sezincote.

My other Cotswolds blogposts are here: First day in the Cotswolds, Bourton-on-the-Water, Slaughtered, Wild Thyme Chipping Norton, A drive through the Cotswolds, An evening in our Cotswolds hotel, Batsford Arboretum

All the photos and more are in Cotswolds photo ablbum.

We drove home the next day. It absolutely chucked it down, with visibility extremely poor on the M40. We experienced a spectacular soaking-by-lorry-driving-through-puddle on the A40 Western Avenue which would have hit us head-on if it had happened a split second earlier. But it was great to have the three full days of our break in beautiful Spring sunshine.

Batsford Arboretum

This is situated just outside Moreton-in-Marsh in Gloucestershire and was recommended by my guidebook as a place to visit. I've never really visited an arboretum before, but they seem to be growing in popularity. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but hoped it wouldn't be rows and rows of trees planted in neat lines, sort of like a glorified garden centre. There was a garden centre, gift shop and café attached. My hopes soared when I saw the sign by the ticket office recommending sensible shoes.

The Arboretum is set in the grounds of a Stately Home, and it's good that they have turned their land over to display the country's largest private collection of trees and shrubs. I expect the income as a visitor attraction is  useful, too.

The Stately Home isn't open to the public, but, like so many stately homes, the historical significant is virtually non-existent. It is of some minor literary note, having been the home of the Mitford sisters, and part of Nancy Mitford's Love in a Cold Climate was set there. For some reason I find the Mitfords faintly fascinating whilst retaining not one iota of interest in them. I think generally, their significance in the national consciousness has faded rapidly.

 It was a Bank Holiday Monday and fairly warm and perfectly dry so there were a fair few people out in the Arboretum, although thankfully it wasn't as crowded as it ought to have been. It's possible to walk along a well tarmaced path, but there is more benefit in going onto the lesser paths, some well-maintained, some emerging from nature. On the whole most people were wearing at least semi-sensible shoes, although not one particular party, a mother my age with her 20ish daughter. One was wearing shoes with a sharp almost stiletto heel of medium height and the other was wearing flip-flop style sandals.

Their choice, of course, and none of my business. But it puzzles me, and it has puzzled me even more since, what goes through people's heads. If I'm out on the town, of course I want to dress up, put on heels, but I don't get why people do that for 'country' pursuits. Given that travel by car is fairly essential for this sort of destination, wouldn't it make sense to keep a change of shoes in the boot? I'd feel out of place dressed in fleece and walking boots in a trendy bar in a town centre on a Friday night, and I wonder why people evidently more anxious about fashion and fitting-in than me, don't feel out of place tottering around uneven paths and protruding tree roots. Surely it must limit your enjoyment of a place if you daren't leave the path for fear of stubbing your toe or turning your ankle?

I have little to say about the arboretum. I am sure that many people would appreciate it better than me, especially if they have an active interest in trees. I am poor at identifying species of tree, and hadn't read the leaflet properly to know to look for the specialist collection of trees. However, I thought it a perfect walk. Not too far, and with a variety of terrain, including steep slopes. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience on my terms. Stretching but not over-strenuous exercise, surrounded by managed nature on a lovely day. I respected the management.

I'm sure it's a difficult balance to strike. I doubt there are many accessible places in Britain that are truly wild, and all are managed to some degree, whether it be path and pond maintanance or expert thinning of woodland to encourage new growth. And, as far as my non-expert eye could tell, this was done sensibly. The signange was discrete and just about enough to guide a visitor with a complementary leaflet/map but the signs never dominated nature.

I enjoyed walking through the Waterfall, but it was a mistake to try and take a photo while doing so. It took me months to get the equipment  - including Giottos Rocket Air Blower - necessary for cleaning the lens* and for a good while too many photographs were spotted.

We saw the Mansion where Love In a Cold Climate was set

but I was more interested in the Thatched Cottage and the Hermit's Cave

 

We wandered out of the Estate and into the adjacent village, including by a church. There seemed to be more signs of life there than other churches we visited in The Cotswolds. Well, I say 'signs of life', I mean an Order of Service remaining from a funeral the previous week. The churchyard was dominated by graves of the lords of the local Manor, from decades ago.

There were streams, ponds and marshes, demonstrating the balance between nature and management.

     

I was disappointed by the relative lack of colour - although, to be fair, I went to a place, an Arboretum, whose name derives from the word for trees. But there were some colourful sights.

 

Altogether a pleasant couple of hours and we were pleased we visited. 

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*The Giotto's Rocket blows away dust particles, which may scratch the lens if you just try and wipe it; it's also enormous fun as a toy/stress buster. I was being particularly stupid the day it arrived and pondered aloud "What happens when it runs out of air?" I was given an incredulous look.

Polesden Lacey in June

Polesden Lacey is one of the National Trust's most visited properties. It is one of the closest to London. We set out late morning one day in June. At the time I tweeted Spent way too long trapped in almost-stationary traffic in Tooting & Putney.

It seemed to take an interminable time to reach our destination We stopped off en route at Palmer's Deli Café in Ashtead. I would highly recommend the food offering at this place - I had a ploughman's platter, a sumptuous plate of cheese, biscuits and a lot of accompaniments, and was able to choose my cheese from across the range (they also sell the cheese to take home). Jimmy had a similar platter but based upon choose your own paté. If you're ever driving down the A24 I would strongly suggest stopping here. However, although the staff were friendly and welcoming, I was a bit taken aback by their laid-back approach to service. When we arrived every unoccupied table inside and out was laden with dirty dishes whilst seemingly countless staff stood around chatting. When we left, the staff were just bothering to clear away the outside tables which had lain dirty since before we arrived. And while we were there, an elderly gentleman, insisting on his usual corner table in the window, was clearly annoyed that he had to ask specifically for them to clear away the dishes of the long gone previous occupant. A shame that the owners had such a good idea for what constitutes a good product offer but were let down by staff with little work ethic.

Onwards to Polesden Lacey, and what a dire afternoon that turned out to be. They charged to park the car, and again to enter the grounds. If we had wanted to see inside the house that would have been a further charge. Seemed petty: there could be no other reason for using the car park than to visit their poxy grounds and house. And I ended up having a contretemps with the patronising cow on admissions, all because I asked if Senior discounts were available (for Jimmy, not me, obviously), and she wanted me to fill in a customer questionnaire before I'd even got through the admission turnstile. She was condescending to me because I'm not a National Trust member. Frankly, I'd never join an organisation with someone like that as their public face.

 Even today, their website declares Enjoy the stunning formal gardens, including the famous Rose Garden; when we visited at the end of June, they declared it was National Rose Week, and you could pay £4 for a guided tour of their Rose Garden. I'm glad we didn't do that: it was a disgrace. In summary beds and beds of diseased and neglected roses, planted with little thought about colour blocking and with no imagination, in formal beds:

 

In need of dead-heading/ Blackspot

 

Brown spot /showing off the Rose Garden

 

Lots of flowers...and dead heads / advertised as a rose spectacular

 

They were selling a guided tour of this Rose Garden / Probably under-nourished  

There's some potential in the grounds and it wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience, especially when we escaped from the most crowded areas. Again, I felt frustration that the overwhelming majority of people there were either quiet adults of various ages, like ourselves, or people who had brought their well-behaved pre-teen kids for a relaxing day out. But there were several parties who considered this the ideal location to let their toddlers run around, ride their scooters round formal gardens, or for them to show off that, despite not seeing their own children from one week or month to another, they were nevertheless excellent fathers who almost supervised football on the sweeping lawns to which other people gravitated for sunbathing or 'chilling'. 

Places like this seem to bring out the worst in people.

The woman who owned the house buried her pets in a special pet cemetery close to the house. As we walked close by, some chap asked if we knew where it was, and, trying to be helpful, we pointed it out. And he poured forth about how the woman who owned the house was a 'Bitch', seemingly based entirely on that the pets included dogs, and female dogs are known as bitches, and it's absol hilair to describe a seemingly harmless and long dead woman as a 'Bitch'.

Even as we walked up to the house, I climbed a small flight of steps in order to take a photo. A passing Japanese couple saw me there, and panicked that they might be missing out on that photo, and came to stand far too close to me. I found that annoying, it was a lack of respect for my space. I wouldn't expect anyone to thank me for finding a good vantage point, but I also don't wish to be crowded out, especially when they are too stupid to look and think for themselves.

I had another set-to in the tea room. It wasn't so much the content of the conversation, which was commonplace enough - but the tone: me asking whether I could I have my tea in crockery not cardboard (no); me asking if I could have a larger cardboard cup, for holding a greater voume of liquid (we've run out); and could I have a teaspoon for my tea (it's over there - halfway down the long hall, thank goodness there were no small children running around unsupervised). And I was closely supervised in milking my tea - presumably in case I stole more than my fair share of mass-produced UHT milk-substitute.

Even before I was served, the woman in front of me was saying in loud tones "It's so busy today, it's so quiet when I usually come every day, obviously people just visiting because it's sunny" (Oh, p*** off, I thought). She then ordered a muffin and turned to me to explain it was for her daughter who she was going to pick up from 'riding'. I was supposed to be impressed. I missed a trick in not asking what sort of bike she had. Later, the woman and, presumably, her husband sat near us in the courtyard. She brayed at him, and he stared past her, unable to keep the despair and loathing from his face.

On the drive back, we passed Chessington World of Adventures. If you think there are no class divides in Britain, there really are. I couldn't help think that they live in different worlds. I think I would have preferred a trip to Chessington. But Jimmy doesn't like things that go round and round. Or up and down.

The highlihgt of the day, other than Palmer's in Ashtead was driving on what was already signposted as the Olympic Cycling Road Races route.

Photos also in my Surrey photo album

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Nonsuch

We had limited occasional access to a car and therefore I was under instructions to plan a trip out. The brief was only implied, but I understood it to be, somewhere we haven't been before, and not an epic long day. Somewhat randomly, I selected Nonsuch. Green, just outside London, and Historic. Also, I liked the name. Possibly because of the irony:

Nonsuch Palace in Surrey was perhaps the grandest of Henry VIII's building projects. Work started on 22 April 1538...Within two months the name 'Nonsuch' appears in the building accounts, so called because it was claimed there was no such palace elsewhere equal to its magnificence...

...It returned to royal hands in the 1590s, and remained royal property until 1670, when Charles II gave it to his mistress, Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine. She had it pulled down around 1682–3 and sold off the building materials to pay gambling debts.

So, there is no such Palace as Nonsuch, although there is a sizable park and an 18th century mansion, which is Grade II listed.

At the time we visited, I was mulling over my blogpost about preserving historic buildings. I was thinking along the lines of - if there had been 'listing' in the 17th century, this Nonsuch Palace would have been preserved, for the nation. I had a vision that the disappeared palace with a silly name had some mythical ethereal status, and that a visit would be akin almost to a pilgrimage. 

In the event, it was nothing of the sort. It's a local authority park that currently appears to be well maintained. But it's really rather dull. The drive out was tedious. Stuck in traffic from Tooting Bec to Colliers Wood, we eventually hit one of those strange 1930s arterial roads, each one indistinguishable from the others, with their identikit clusters of shops that have seen better days. Every drive along one seems like a ghostly reminder of an otherwise forgotten drive along a different one in times past.

As we approached the park, the locality took on a distinctly twee mock-Tudor veneer. Roads with names like 'Tudor Drive' and 'Offwiththeirhead Avenue'. An ultra-modern retirement home complex styled to look like generic Tudorbethan.

The highlight was a brief stop in a pub called The Harrow. Although part of a big pubco chain, nevertheless it was a pleasant place to stop, and although the food was, presumably, nuked straight from the freezer, I've had worse - a lot worse, and often.

We spent a short time in the formal garden at Nonsuch, but it was not memorable. Just a local authority tended garden, next to a mansion of no real significance that's let out for weddings and functions. It became clear early on that the formal gardens double as a children's play area, so we didn't linger long, and went for a stroll up the hill through open fields of little interest. I have read that there is a wide variety of bird life there, of considerable interest to many people, but only fleeting interest to me. We soon discovered that the open fields were where teenagers went to do primal scream therapy. It was a far from relaxing, restorative day out to some other local authority's municipal park and a bit of a waste of time.

 

 

I wonder whether Nonsuch Palace was worth saving for the nation? Henry VIII only visited it three times. Should the village and monastery destroyed to make way for it have been preserved, too? Perhaps the fascination with the Palace that disappeared are more important lessons to history, about the arrogance and omnipotence of a brutal King. Some historic buildings are interesting in themselves. Conversely, if we insist on saving everything that is 'historic' ie old, we continue to live in the past, arguably repeat the mistakes of the past, and become too scared to innovate in case we destroy something of little value.

Abbotsbury Subtropical Gardens

Our last full day out was in Abbotsbury Subtropical Gardens, one of Britain’s best collections of open-air exotic plants.

When we visited Abbotsbury Swannery, we bought a combined ticket for these two attractions, and also the Children's Farm. Even without visiting the Farm, the combined ticket is a saving. It then obliges one to make use of it, of course.

I actually preferred the gardens to the Swannery. And, therefore, this final blogpost of our holiday in Dorset should be a case of going out in a blaze of glory. But, what is there to say, especially so many months afterwards? We started with coffee in the very nice and very evocative Colonial restaurant.

I don't believe it rained all day, but I have a picture of me sitting here, and another one of me walking round, dressed in my kagoule. There's no public interest in publishing such photos, but the fact that I was wearing, not merely carrying it, suggests there may have been short-lived showers

We walked for several hours round the gardens. We could have done it more quickly, we could have been slower. Admission price includes a superficially informative leaflet, which maps out a route to take in mostof the gardens. There's an alternative wheelchair route which attempts to highlight the accessible parts (about 50%) which would perhaps be more suitable for all with mobility difficulties, including pushchairs.

What is there to say about a garden?Ultimately, it's a great collection of plants, which are often a visual delight, but also impact upon other senses, most of all, smell.

Even the visual: a photograph cannot capture the sense of space or the contrasting sense of enclosure by shrubs and trees, nor the full impact of a vista.

I walk around and I see plants, which I judge by 'That's nice' or 'That's unusual'. If I can, I read the labels to learn the names but then I forget them. I doubt I'll ever be a 'gardener', and I certainly never want to be one of those women in a Crimplene frock that descend with (a slightly superior) attitude on a formal National Trust garden with its uniform borders and perfectly manicured hedges. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's possible, though not essential, but highly recommended to take the marked diversion out of the gardens and climb the unrelenting incline to take in an impressive view of the Fleet Lagoon and Beach back towards the Swannery, to sit on a bench and bask in the sun which made a welcome and somewhat unexpected appearance at this time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 My favourite feature, apart from the sum of all the plants was this amazing bench, carved out of a 200-year-old oak tree felled in a winter storm, by chainsaw artist Matthew Crabb.

    

The garden also included a Sculpture Exhibition. I think the Buddha is permanent

and the other statues are there until sold

 

Some statues had already been sold; on the empty plinth, visitors were making an abstract sculpture of 'found' objects - I added a pine cone

 

2010 was the year that I really appreciated the sight of a bed of lavender densely planted, and its rich colour

Towards the end of the walk we spotted a pheasant, and then we had tremendous fun throwing goldfish feed, from a handy dispenser installed next to the pond, into the goldfish pond.

 

By the end of the afternoon, I was quite tired, but there was still plenty to see

 

Taken overall, the day's walk was reasonably strenuous for me although not challenging. Most people we met were pleasant and intent on keeping themselves to themselves, except for one party with a Primary School Age child, presumably either home-schooled or truanting, who needed to demonstrate loudly to everyone else how learning-outcome focused was their trip round the garden whilst also ensuring the child  experienced learning through the play of throwing and kicking a ball. Even the dogs were on leads and under control, their owners heeding the warnings that they had lost two Golden Pheasants to dogs held on unlocked extendable/retractable leads and beyond their owners' control.

Dinner - or high tea - was panfried crevettes in a chilli sauce with dressed salad & crusty bread at The Anchor at Seatown, below the Golden Cap

More photos of today and the entire holiday are in the Dorset photo-album