May 25—Happy Birthday, Anne!

And I might add, happy birthday to Ann back home as well!

What do you do to celebrate your mother’s birthday in England? You make her climb Dover’s Hill, of course. With a cottage virtually on top of the footpath to Dover’s Hill, it would be a travesty to leave without going up there (never mind that there is also a car park right on the edge of Dover’s Hill as well). She really wanted to go, anyway. (Really, I’m quite sure she did!)

Although the distance is not far, the first part of the walk (which eventually becomes the Cotswold Way) is a long uphill road, probably about three quarters of a mile long. After crossing the B4081, a rather busy road, the Cotswold Way picks up on the other side and follows a hedge all the way to Dover’s Hill.
Walking onto Dover’s Hill for the third time, I noticed for the first time the actual triangulation point, or trig point, that is referred to in all my books (for which I had mistaken another monument, that now appears to actually be the mysterious topograph that I had been unable to locate). It only took three times to finally get it right (or close enough).

The triangulation point has something to do with the ordnance survey system. The other monument that I earlier incorrectly thought was the triangulation point (see Walking the One-track Paths) is in fact the topograph, evidenced by the map pictured on top of it!

We had left the cottage around 7:30 a.m., to get an early start and also avoid the heat of the day, which had been so difficult on Wednesday. But although the sky started out blue and sunny, clouds quickly began to roll in and by the time we were atop Dover’s Hill, the surrounding valleys were lightly blanketed in a grey mist and excessive heat did not appear to pose a problem. I even pulled out my gloves, which had stayed in my backpack for several days now.

After walking along the escarpment, enjoying the view (even though it was not clear), and admiring the sheep and lambs in the field—and also reevaluating the landscape based on my new landmarks—I even saw the “missing” markers for the beginning of the nature walk I had go on yesterday—we headed through the car park to follow my planned alternate route back to Chipping Campden.

Once again I slightly misread my map and led us too far down the B4081 (much to my mother’s dissatisfaction as the fast moving cars whizzed passed us), but luckily we soon came to another footpath signposted “Chipping Campden” and veered onto it. This path led us through several fields of sheep, then into town between rows of houses, eventually terminating at the back door to Spring Cottage! So in the end my “mistake” seemed like exactly where we wanted to go.

I have a travel theory that says when you have to skip something you really want to see because you run out of time, you should put that item on the top of your next agenda, otherwise it will probably end up getting bumped day after day—because there is never quite enough time. (Like, for example, Temple Church—right Pam?) On Wednesday I had planned a stop at Cerney Gardens in the afternoon, but the walk to and from Kelmscott took too long. Cerney Gardens was closed on Thursday, but I put it back on for Friday. Originally I was going to keep it on Friday afternoon, but I realized that this would probably lead to running out of time again, so today it is first on the list. I had no particular reason for choosing Cerney Gardens over, say, Mill Dene or Sezincote (two gardens that were also on my list but would have to be ruled out due to lack of time), but something about the description in the Cotswolds Year of the Garden pamphlet just appealed to me. So Cerney Gardens it would be.

Distances in the Cotswolds are not far on paper. But on narrow, winding roads those few miles seem to stretch much farther, and take much longer to drive, than you would ever expect. So a middling length trip from Chipping Campden to, say, North Cerney near Cirencester, might seem like a quick hop but in fact end up to be a rather extended skip and a jump as well. It doesn’t help when you miss your intended turn through Broadway and go almost to Evesham before tracing your way back along a slow country road. Once we made our way properly onto the B4632 past Winchcombe toward Cheltenham, we managed to stick to our route and were really only delayed by slow moving traffic in Cheltenham. From Cheltenham, the A436 was to take us directly to North Cerney, and so it did, until we missed North Cerney altogether and had to retrace our steps backward. In the confusion, we could not see the sign for Cerney Gardens and managed to drive all the way through North Cerney and all the way to Calmsden on a one-track road until we turned back and finally spotted the sign, right in plain view on the main road.

I think I attempted to go to Cerney Gardens in 2001 and was put off by the long, narrow, (single track) road up to the gardens. I’m made of sterner stuff now, and chugged bravely up the steep, narrow hill drive into the car park in a field. I was, however, relieved not to meet another car on the road. In fact, we were the only car in the car park. This was no Hidcote, swarming with mobs of visitors. Cerney is not only off the beaten track, it is off the radar of most travelers. It’s a smaller, more homegrown operation, described in the Gardens Guide as a “classic, romantic, secret garden with Victorian features.” The garden is enclosed by a stone wall and features old-fashioned mixed borders and plenty of roses. Apparently it also contains the national collection of Tradescantia, which I did not realize at the time (how could I have missed it?), nor did I know what that was, but it turns out it is spiderwort, which I believe I have had growing as a volunteer in my garden at times. (Volunteer, weed—it's all in your perspective.)

Cerney Gardens is a do-it-yourself garden—we paid for our entry at a box in the garden. Their little shop and tearoom are similarly self-serve. There is a small pottery—workroom attached—with a jar to pay for your purchases.
In the kitchen you can make your own tea and help yourself to cake—several varieties to choose from—and also purchase homegrown eggs, honey, and an unpasteurized goat’s milk cheese made by Lady Angus (the garden owner’s mother).

Anne's birthday photo.

After strolling the garden, refreshments were clearly indicated, so we made our way up to the shop and put on the tea kettle. Although it was a cloudy, cooler day, the little patio was pleasant, so we set up a table and tucked into tea and cake.

We were still the only visitors to the garden, but we had a fourth guest at our table—“Tom,” one of the garden cats who makes a habit of hanging out near the tea room and joining visitors’ tea parties.

We were quite charmed by Tom and offered him crumbs of cake and eventually a saucer of milk from the refrigerator (meant for guests’ tea and coffee), all of which he happily accepted.
We left our money for the tea and cake—as well as a hunk of cheese and half dozen eggs—and headed on our way.

By the time we left Cerney Gardens much more time had passed than I originally intended, and it was already mid-afternoon. I began to reconsider my plan of driving back to Chipping Campden by way of minor roads, in favor of getting back quicker and having a little more free time at the cottage. We still managed to unintentionally deviate from the main road, however, and took a little bypass through Naunton, Upper Slaughter, and Lower Swell before reaching Stow-on-the-Wold and our familiar route back to Chipping Campden.

Back in Chipping Campden I made a quick stop at the Bantam tearoom to buy some scones for us to use with our remaining clotted cream. Then it was free time at the cottage, which I took as a rare opportunity to read and rest. We put out a pick up supper of our remaining food—chicken, cheese, raw vegetables, and the bread I had bought the day before, to make sandwiches, and we all went our separate ways until our next activity.

Which was, unusually for us, an evening activity—a showing of the film Miss Potter in the Chipping Campden Town Hall. I’d seen it advertised in the shop windows and bought us tickets at the Tourist Information Center a few days earlier. Which was a good thing, it appeared, as the small Town Hall auditorium was quite full and it seemed to be sold out. This monthly event seemed to be quite popular with local residents, as they greeted one another and bought glasses of wine for £1. Before the film started, someone announced the movies for June and July—The Last King of Scotland (Widescreen Edition) and Notes on a Scandal—and appreciative gasps arose from the audience.

I was rather pleased at this opportunity to see Miss Potter, as I had wanted to see it when it came out but never had the opportunity. Of course I could always get the DVD and add it to my stack of never-watched movies—but this way I would actually see it.

I’m a long-time admirer of Beatrix Potter’s work, but never really knew much about her life except that she lived in the Lakes District. From now on, I will always picture Beatrix Potter as Renée Zellweger. Or, to be more precise, Renee Zellweger as Bridget Jones as Beatrix Potter. In some ways, Beatrix Potter was the Bridget Jones of Victorian England. Beatrix was a famous spinster for much of her life, and despite living a sheltered life for her first 30 years or so, became quite independent as a successful published author. This allowed her to escape the ties of her parents—who wanted her to stay home as their housekeeper. Instead, she became engaged to her publisher against their wishes (although a tragedy prevented their marriage), purchased her own home in the Lake District, and became involved in sheep breeding and land conservation, buying up a number of pieces of land in the district. She married at the age of 47 (so you see, Bridget, there is still hope). When she died she left her land, cottages and farms (4000 acres) to the National Trust.

The Town Hall is a building in the center of Chipping Campden which I had passed frequently but never known was the Town Hall. In fact, the bench I sit on to use my laptop is at the end of the Town Hall. So right after the film—though it was almost 10 p.m. and rather dark out—I plopped onto my bench for the last time and quickly posted my final blog entry from Chipping Campden. I felt quite regretful about leaving my little office on a bench, as I shut down the computer and walked back to the cottage.