Painted churches and strange topiary
Jul. 27th, 2014 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyofastolatWe've spent the weekend in Wiltshire, in what felt like a proper holiday, even though we were only away for one night. Pictures follow, rather more of them, it seems, of quirky captions than actual scenery and Stuff. Oh well...
Rather more of yesterday was spent stationary in traffic jams than we would have liked, especially as all the travel websites claimed that traffic on the A36 near Salisbury, while heavy, was moving perfectly well. We reached Farleigh Hungerford Castle at about 1, forewarned about its lack of a tea shop. The nice young man in the ticket office recommended a local farm, "only five minutes' walk away." It was more like 15 minutes, and took us through a section of riverbank claimed by the local swimming club, where it seemed as if every inhabitant of Wiltshire was busy swimming and sunbathing. Sadly, the farmhouse only served food between 3 and 6, so we had to return to the castle and lunch on the small tubs of ice cream that were the only food they served. They were offering taster samples of small savoury biscuits and chutneys, but they didn't appear to actually sell said savoury biscuits, which was, A, disappointing, and, B, seems to demonstrate a lack of understanding of the role of the free taster sample.
The castle was a pretty one, built in the late 14th century more as a status symbol than a fortress. The castle is interesting, but its chapel is even better, all painted, and full of effigies.
This sales catalogue dates from the late 19th century, and details the entire estate, in which the castle is just a romantic ruin in the grounds. It ran to about 20 pages, and every single heading used a different font. I like to imagine that the poor chap tasked with writing it was on his knees by the end, beseeching his boss not to come up with yet another new feature of the estate. "No, please merge the quaint grotto and the romantic rockery. I've run out of fonts!" A lot of things on the estate were "capital." ("A capital labourer's cottage," followed by, in a different font, naturally, "Another labourer's cottage.")
I like the "pictureque head gamekeeper's cottage." I wonder why he was so picturesque.
I also liked this map of the site, that most clearly shows the filled-in moat was a "Funk garden." Long curly Ss were used elsewhere on the map, but none of them were crossed like this one, making it definitely an F.
After that, we went briefly to The Courts garden in Holt, merely because it was en route, and we had an hour spare. It was very pretty, but the topiary was strange. (The thing in the middle picture is not topiary, by the way.)
Fairies lived in the gardens. I think this one was the house of the Frog Fairy, but I may be wrong.
Last night, we stayed in Melksham, where we had a very nice dinner in the front courtyard of a pub, then sat out on the lawn of our hotel, drinking wine, as hot air balloons and bats flew overhead, albeit at slightly different speeds. Melksham had some confusing signs. "Melksham Without Parish Council!" several shouted, but it turned out that they weren't proud of their councilless state. No, Melksham is the proud possessor of two different parish councils, one for the within, and one for the "without" - i.e. the outskirts.
This sign still confuses me.
Today we went to Lacock, used as a film set by pretty much anyone who wants an old-fashioned village setting.
In Lacock Abbey and its grounds, inaminate objects talk. "I am an old tree," several notices proclaimed, "so please enjoy me from a distance." The dumb waiter said "I am now retired, so please don't pull on my ropes." "Beware of the horror that slithers by nights!" concluded a notice about aliums, after mentioning how tasty slugs find them. Another notice showed the courtyard that was visible below, labelled things such as "Bakery, 16th century." A cat was on the picture, labelled "Moley Meow!!! C21st." A few hours later, we were down in the courtyard, and sure enough, a real live cat was there, just where the picture showed it. I would have suspected it of being glued in place, except that it fled when I approached.
Later, elsewhere in the grounds, we met a boy of around 5, who was walking a little way ahead of his family. "There's a dead cat over there," he told us in a dramatic stage whisper, speaking out of the side of his mouth, before continuing on his way. We never saw one, though - thankfully! - so I don't know if he'd misunderstood something his parents had told him, or was speaking from an over-active imagination.
Here are some ceiling bosses from the cloisters:
Here is a general view of the Abbey (actually a nunnery), closed down during the "disillusioment of the monasteries," as a visitor to my Mum's museum once put it, and turned almost immediately into a nice country house.
I liked this shopping list in the kitchens, which seems like an excellent idea!
This is an 18th century terracotta statue from the faux medieval Gothic great hall. A visiting American student put the sugar lump on the goat's nose in 1919, and the Abbey's owner was so amused by it that she left it there, and it's been constantly renewed ever since.
A fine pointy hat!
Wall paintings in the chaplain's room in the old nunnery. In case you were wondering, that's Sat Andrew on the left, not a random chap singing YMCA.
One information folder contained the story of a daughter of the house who had jumped out of a window to elope with her lover, but had landed on him and knocked him out, "almost killing him." Her father then said that "since she had made such leapes," she might as well marry him.
Lacock Abbey was the home of Fox Talbot, one of the claimants to the title of the inventor of photography. He invented photography because he was rubbish at drawing, and was so miserable about his sketching efforts when on honeymoon, that he resolved to invent something that would allow hopeless artists come home from holiday with good souvenirs of where they'd gone.
In the village, one shop has been left pretty much as it was when it closed up in the early 80s, its window full of even earlier items. I photographed this one because I sometimes hear people rant about this "modern" habit of deliberately mis-spelling words in trade names, which never happened when they were young. "Frute and kreem lollies," anyone?
The churchyard had some fine tombs, and had been extended in a fairly random way over the centuries:
Then we headed home, where our progress was slowed by one closed road, two orange camper vans, and about a hundred and five traffic lights that went red as soon as we neared them, causing us to miss a ferry by 2 minutes, and have to wait nearly an hour for the next one. It's all gone gloomy and chilly here now, but since our garden furniture arrived on Friday, we stubbornly had dinner in the garden anyway, and kept telling ourselves that it was baking hot.
Rather more of yesterday was spent stationary in traffic jams than we would have liked, especially as all the travel websites claimed that traffic on the A36 near Salisbury, while heavy, was moving perfectly well. We reached Farleigh Hungerford Castle at about 1, forewarned about its lack of a tea shop. The nice young man in the ticket office recommended a local farm, "only five minutes' walk away." It was more like 15 minutes, and took us through a section of riverbank claimed by the local swimming club, where it seemed as if every inhabitant of Wiltshire was busy swimming and sunbathing. Sadly, the farmhouse only served food between 3 and 6, so we had to return to the castle and lunch on the small tubs of ice cream that were the only food they served. They were offering taster samples of small savoury biscuits and chutneys, but they didn't appear to actually sell said savoury biscuits, which was, A, disappointing, and, B, seems to demonstrate a lack of understanding of the role of the free taster sample.
The castle was a pretty one, built in the late 14th century more as a status symbol than a fortress. The castle is interesting, but its chapel is even better, all painted, and full of effigies.
This sales catalogue dates from the late 19th century, and details the entire estate, in which the castle is just a romantic ruin in the grounds. It ran to about 20 pages, and every single heading used a different font. I like to imagine that the poor chap tasked with writing it was on his knees by the end, beseeching his boss not to come up with yet another new feature of the estate. "No, please merge the quaint grotto and the romantic rockery. I've run out of fonts!" A lot of things on the estate were "capital." ("A capital labourer's cottage," followed by, in a different font, naturally, "Another labourer's cottage.")
I like the "pictureque head gamekeeper's cottage." I wonder why he was so picturesque.
I also liked this map of the site, that most clearly shows the filled-in moat was a "Funk garden." Long curly Ss were used elsewhere on the map, but none of them were crossed like this one, making it definitely an F.
After that, we went briefly to The Courts garden in Holt, merely because it was en route, and we had an hour spare. It was very pretty, but the topiary was strange. (The thing in the middle picture is not topiary, by the way.)
Fairies lived in the gardens. I think this one was the house of the Frog Fairy, but I may be wrong.
Last night, we stayed in Melksham, where we had a very nice dinner in the front courtyard of a pub, then sat out on the lawn of our hotel, drinking wine, as hot air balloons and bats flew overhead, albeit at slightly different speeds. Melksham had some confusing signs. "Melksham Without Parish Council!" several shouted, but it turned out that they weren't proud of their councilless state. No, Melksham is the proud possessor of two different parish councils, one for the within, and one for the "without" - i.e. the outskirts.
This sign still confuses me.
Today we went to Lacock, used as a film set by pretty much anyone who wants an old-fashioned village setting.
In Lacock Abbey and its grounds, inaminate objects talk. "I am an old tree," several notices proclaimed, "so please enjoy me from a distance." The dumb waiter said "I am now retired, so please don't pull on my ropes." "Beware of the horror that slithers by nights!" concluded a notice about aliums, after mentioning how tasty slugs find them. Another notice showed the courtyard that was visible below, labelled things such as "Bakery, 16th century." A cat was on the picture, labelled "Moley Meow!!! C21st." A few hours later, we were down in the courtyard, and sure enough, a real live cat was there, just where the picture showed it. I would have suspected it of being glued in place, except that it fled when I approached.
Later, elsewhere in the grounds, we met a boy of around 5, who was walking a little way ahead of his family. "There's a dead cat over there," he told us in a dramatic stage whisper, speaking out of the side of his mouth, before continuing on his way. We never saw one, though - thankfully! - so I don't know if he'd misunderstood something his parents had told him, or was speaking from an over-active imagination.
Here are some ceiling bosses from the cloisters:
Here is a general view of the Abbey (actually a nunnery), closed down during the "disillusioment of the monasteries," as a visitor to my Mum's museum once put it, and turned almost immediately into a nice country house.
I liked this shopping list in the kitchens, which seems like an excellent idea!
This is an 18th century terracotta statue from the faux medieval Gothic great hall. A visiting American student put the sugar lump on the goat's nose in 1919, and the Abbey's owner was so amused by it that she left it there, and it's been constantly renewed ever since.
A fine pointy hat!
Wall paintings in the chaplain's room in the old nunnery. In case you were wondering, that's Sat Andrew on the left, not a random chap singing YMCA.
One information folder contained the story of a daughter of the house who had jumped out of a window to elope with her lover, but had landed on him and knocked him out, "almost killing him." Her father then said that "since she had made such leapes," she might as well marry him.
Lacock Abbey was the home of Fox Talbot, one of the claimants to the title of the inventor of photography. He invented photography because he was rubbish at drawing, and was so miserable about his sketching efforts when on honeymoon, that he resolved to invent something that would allow hopeless artists come home from holiday with good souvenirs of where they'd gone.
In the village, one shop has been left pretty much as it was when it closed up in the early 80s, its window full of even earlier items. I photographed this one because I sometimes hear people rant about this "modern" habit of deliberately mis-spelling words in trade names, which never happened when they were young. "Frute and kreem lollies," anyone?
The churchyard had some fine tombs, and had been extended in a fairly random way over the centuries:
Then we headed home, where our progress was slowed by one closed road, two orange camper vans, and about a hundred and five traffic lights that went red as soon as we neared them, causing us to miss a ferry by 2 minutes, and have to wait nearly an hour for the next one. It's all gone gloomy and chilly here now, but since our garden furniture arrived on Friday, we stubbornly had dinner in the garden anyway, and kept telling ourselves that it was baking hot.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-07-27 10:17 pm (UTC)I do rather like the sugar cube story, though - like the traffic cone that the Glaswegians insist on decorating the Duke of Wellington with.
no subject
Date: 2014-07-28 07:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-28 06:33 pm (UTC)I must admit I thought they had given up trying to remove it - maybe now it's been featured in the Commonwealth Games opening they'll finally accept your sensible solution and leave it alone.
no subject
Date: 2014-07-27 11:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-28 07:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-28 10:14 am (UTC)There's something rather melancholy about that board of household wants - five types of polish, dog biscuits, sago.
no subject
Date: 2014-07-28 11:19 am (UTC)I wonder what happened if someone in the household expressed a desire for something not included on the board. Were they forced to forever go without? What if a travelling salesman came along trying to sell a brand new wondrous product? Did they have to wait until the new edition of the board came out, with the new wonder product included?
no subject
Date: 2014-07-28 11:12 am (UTC)And yes, stubbornly sitting on the newly arrived garden furniture in the (not) baking sun sounds perfectly fine to me! :)