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| Avon Meadow and Copse |
The following is another reminiscence I wrote about roads, prompted by our writing group. For this post I have edited and expanded on the original topic.
In the 1990's my husband and I usually spent several weeks each summer in Bristol with his mother to be with her and as a resting point on trips between the United States and Egypt. I learned to love the rural rambles around Bath and often took the morning bus to Bath and from there Badgerline buses into the countryside. The U.K. has a wonderful policy for ramblers (i.e. hikers/walkers). If a footpath has been used for a long time - say centuries - that footpath is considered a public footpath and can be used by hikers/walkers/ramblers even though it goes through private land. Of course ramblers are expected to show such common courtesies, as closing gates and respecting the work of farmers. Footpaths have been obliterated in some cases or go through cow pastures. However, there are books and pamphlets with directions and notes on the locations of Stone Age forts, canals, bridges, viaducts, and 19th Century train trussels.
Remembering my walks over the Mendip Hills and farms of Avon, I am surprised by my nerve in going out alone armed only with a roughly sketched map in a country walks booklet - and also by my luck. Once lost and disoriented, but more or less sanguine, I waited in the cooling summer dusk by a narrow paved road's bus stop. An empty Badgerline - these buses were always mostly empty - came flying along and stopped to pick me up, although I was waiting on the wrong side of the road. Once in Bath, I was able to catch an evening bus back to Bristol and a city bus home.
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| The farmhouse B and B - the garden tea room is just around the corner. |
A favorite memory, walking outside of Newton St. Loe, west of Bath (don't you love the English village names), was a working farmhouse bed and breakfast where I drank a mid-morning tea and ate scones in the garden. Fruit trees (pear, if I remember correctly) were pruned to grow in a one dimensional fashion against the grey stone garden wall.
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| Midford? Worth remembering, anyway. |
Later I happened upon a little hamlet outside of Bath. I think it's Midford (won't swear to it, though). It had a quiet stream flowing through the town, a church and a long graceful viaduct just outside.
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| Viaduct just outside of 'Midford' |
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| Midford? Church |
As I continued to insist on rambling, my husband began to go with me, not for pleasure, but to promote my safety. On one cool, cloudy day, following a warm sunny day, we took a Badgerline out of Bath to Limpley Stoke. By the time we arrived in Limpley Stoke, it was beginning to rain. Unfortunately, my handsome husband was dressed for the previous warm sunny day - shorts and t-shirt. I, a seasoned hiker, of course, was layered up with sweatshirt, windbreaker and umbrella. I gave him my windbreaker and opened the umbrella. We finally sought shelter in a small country hotel where the proprietor served us biscuits (shortbread cookies), coffee and hot tea with a measure of sympathy, saying the this was certainly not a day to be tramping around outside. Later, we stood waiting, under my little blue umbrella, for the bus back to Bath. We had waited for some time at the wrong bus stop before finding the proper one. The drizzle continued as we huddled together, but I remember this as one of the happiest moments in my life.
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| Bath - looking down to Bath Abbey |
Once on the bus, we came down out of the hills on a winding road into Bath. The Georgian houses on the terraced hillsides formed a giant amphitheater. Through the trees, I could see wisps of fog and mist floating between the woods and terraces. I'll never forget that quintessential English moment. "...these clouded hills..."
Another ramble took us to the Mendip Hills around Hinton Charterhouse. We stopped in a pub where a group of customers were watching tennis and cheering on Venus Williams. After a two mile walk up hill, we arrived in the late afternoon back at Hinton Charterhouse to catch our Badgerline back to Bath...a bus that never came. After an hour of waiting, a woman, whose son was also waiting for the bus, came by and took the three of us into Bath. We warmly thanked the woman for the ride and I also thanked her for saving our marriage, as my husband's nose was seriously out of joint.
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Beginning our walk from Clevedon to Portishead.
Looking out to sea. |
My husband does remember fondly one ramble we took between Clevedon and Portishead - south of Bristol. We took the bus to Clevedon and ate breakfast - the big English breakfast - at the pier. Then we walked along the bluffs looking out to sea using a well-worn path. As we walked, we past through the shady bramble and scrub, and then into the bright, warm sunshine. I thought to myself that it was like going from spring to summer, spring to summer. Spring in the shade, summer in the sunlight. At Portishead men were standing on the shores of the Severn River using their binoculars to watch container ships pass - going to port north of Bristol.
My English mother-in-law died in Egypt a year ago in December in her daughter's house where my husband continued to visit her after we returned to live in the States. She longed for England to the last, just as we do.
All through the '90's, the hamlets and farms, ancient houses and barns, were being gentrified by weekenders driving out from London. Now I wonder if those mostly empty Badgerline buses are still hurtling along the lonely country roads around Bath.
