Rosemary remembered—a visit to Barnsley

I went to Barnsley House garden in June of 2001, one of many gardens I visited during that trip to England. From the moment I stepped into that garden I was enchanted by its homey, personal feeling; it was a living and lived-in garden, more than just a showplace. That made sense, of course, because Barnsley House had been the home of Rosemary and David Verey since 1951, and for most of those years Rosemary had lived there and created the garden it had become. Rosemary handed the garden over to her son Charles in 1998, and I was stunned to learn after my 2001 visit that Rosemary Verey had just died on May 31. There had been no sense of that on my mid-June visit—the garden sparkled with life, as gardens do in the late spring when so many plants are at their best. I suppose the other visitors, mostly English people who were probably more up-to-date with the news, realized they were visiting a memorial, but to me, Rosemary Verey’s spirit was there in that garden.

(Rosemary Verey was a celebrated English plantswoman, a self-trained gardener whose style was admired throughout the world. She began a new career as a garden writer in the 1980s, and after her husband died in 1984 published several gardening books and traveled extensively, including many visits to the U.S., giving garden lectures and designing gardens. Prince Charles famously asked her to advise him on the garden at Highgrove, and she also designed gardens for Sir Elton John and the New York Botanical Garden.)

I realized much later how lucky I was to have made my visit to Barnsley House back then in 2001, because some time later it was sold and the new owners converted it to a luxury hotel (Barnsley House) and closed the grounds to the public. No longer would Rosemary Verey’s legacy host 30,000 garden-loving visitors every year. Guests would be limited to hotel guests that could afford to pay £275-£450 per night (one has to imagine that Rosemary Verey would be shocked at the cost to sleep in her home), and other visitors who were able to come on the occasional days the garden was opened to the public for charity.

Considering the bond I felt with Rosemary Verey and Barnsley House, it seemed like fate had stepped in when I opened my Yellow Guide and saw Barnsley House open on Thursday, May 24—in the middle of my week here in the Cotswolds. Of course I immediately gave it a prime spot on my schedule. In fact, I planned Thursday around it.

Thursday morning dawned promising another sunny, beautiful day. I slipped out before 6:30 a.m. to climb Dover’s Hill and try to find my way to the woodland nature trail through Lynches Wood below Dover’s Hill. The route was described as well-marked and easy, and that was true enough even though never did see the first two markers that were promised by my guidebook. But once I entered the woods, the trail was well-defined and the markers were regular. True naturists would probably pay closer attention to the flora and possible fauna than I did; I preferred to walk at a brisk pace and simply enjoy the shady woodland path. The trail sank downwards—obvious from a very long flight of steps—and what goes down must come back up. Eventually I found myself back in open ground climbing hilly pastures back to the top of Dover’s Hill.

Before returning all the way into Chipping Campden, I veered off the Cotswold Way path to follow another footpath that bordered the edge of several farm fields, each one connected by a stile or gate. This path is apparently popular with locals walking their dogs, as signs exhort walkers to keep their dogs on leash and clean up behind them!

This footpath ended at a junction with B4035, a main road into Chipping Campden, and I followed the nice path along the roadside into town, veering around behind the school and past the church before meeting up with the main street again. After stopping at a local bakery for a loaf of bread, I quickly rounded the corner by St. Catherine’s Church to make my way back to Spring Cottage.

It was just a little past 8:30 a.m., and plenty of time to meet my scheduled plans of making breakfast, dropping my father at the railway station in Moreton by 11 (see yesterday’s blog, “Tomorrow I’m going on the train”), and head onward to the open garden at Barnsley House.

Each day this week we have started the day with a bowl of Scottish oatmeal (enhanced with lashings of cream). Scottish oatmeal has a finer texture than American rolled oats or nubby Irish oatmeal (which I have almost daily at home). It makes a smooth, porridge-like oatmeal (and is also a primary ingredient in flapjack, a popular bar cookie). When I’m at home I occasionally like to make a special treat of Oat Pancakes from a recipe off of the Bob’s Red Mill Scottish oatmeal—and since we were coming to England where the primary oatmeal available in the store is the Scottish kind, I brought the recipe with me and today was the day I planned to make it. I substituted yoghurt mixed with milk for the buttermilk in the recipe, and estimated on the melted butter (meaning I think I used too much, which is why the pancakes were extra delicious), but despite the rough measurements of ingredients and an unfamiliar gas stove, they turned out quite scrumptiously. Here is the recipe as it is meant to be made:

Oat Pancakes
1¼ cup whole wheat pastry flour (e.g. Bob’s Red Mill)
¾ cup Scottish oatmeal (e.g. Bob’s Red Mill)
2 tsp. Baking Powder
1 tsp. Salt
½ tsp. Baking Soda
About 1½ cups Buttermilk
2 eggs, beaten
¼ cup butter, melted

Mix flour, oatmeal, baking powder, salt, and soda.
Stir in buttermilk, eggs and butter until smooth.
(Stir in a little more buttermilk if the batter is too thick.)
Makes about 15 medium-sized pancakes.
(Although here it only made 11. Don’t know why.)
(This can also be made into waffles with the addition
of one more egg and a tablespoon of oil.)

These pancakes are so good and you can tell yourself they’re good for you because they’re made with whole grains!

After the pancakes we headed off on the now-familiar road to Moreton-in-Marsh, dropped off my father, and soon were headed south toward Cirencester to Barnsley. We hoped to avoid Cirencester entirely by taking an unmarked side road to Barnsley, but those roads were so unmarked that we missed all the potential turns, and ended up on the main road toward Barnsley, B4425, although without getting into the Cirencester loop. Since we didn’t have to navigate Cirencester after all, it didn’t matter which road we took, but I remain puzzled that despite our careful watching, we never did see either of the two possible alternate routes to Barnsley!

The outside of Barnsley House and garden look pretty much the same as they did six years ago, except that the entry drive is more predominantly marked than I remember. I noticed, peeking into the hotel, that its décor appears to be contemporary boutique hotel style, but the garden remains classic Rosemary Verey. Thank heavens, as it would be a travesty if it changed.

The patio near the house (now furnished with ultra-modern molded chairs and metal tables) is bordered by an elaborate low knot garden worked in miniature box hedges. The front garden flows in a series of borders, lushly planted in old fashioned favorites such as lunaria (money plant), allium, and columbine, bordered with mature trees and hedges. Despite the lavish plantings, the structure is formal, based on rectangular beds and straight paths and rows. My old friends, two lovely stone ladies, stand guard over a gate that leads to the rear gardens.

The centerpiece of the garden, the favorite of visitors and perhaps Rosemary Verey as well, is the large kitchen garden or potager that lies outside the back gate, across from the tennis court. The potager combines vegetable plantings with flowers and ornamentals, divided into patterns of intersecting beds outlined with low hedges and espaliered fruit trees. A whimsical scarecrow—the same one as five years ago, I’m quite sure—watches over the garden from its midpoint, and a shady arbor-covered bench on either sides offers a quiet spot to sit and watch the plants grow. From the far side of the garden Barnsley House can be seen in the background, creating a delightful juxtaposition of the humble kitchen garden against the rather grand outlines of the house.

While I would prefer to see Barnsley House garden open year round to visitors as before, it is a rather special experience to visit as part of the open gardens for charity scheme, a day when the visitors are not simply tourists making the rounds, but true garden lovers who have waited the entire year for this opportunity to pay homage to this important part of England’s garden history.

Leaving the sublime surroundings of the garden, we returned to the road en route to our next stop in Burford. Burford is a larger Cotswold village, similar to Chipping Campden, known for its fine shopping opportunities. Before strolling up the long main street, we slipped into a café called The Priory for a bit of lunch to keep us going. While eating my scrumptious bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich (made on a whole wheat baguette with English bacon, similar to Canadian bacon), I amused myself by watching the ladies at the table next to us and trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. I didn’t really follow what they were talking about, but I enjoyed listening to their clipped yet plummy voices, surely the voices of the educated upper middle class. I was also admiring their skirts, one of which I may have recognized from the Boden catalogue, a pretty blue A-line with large reddish flowers on it. The other, wearing a green cotton skirt which would go nicely with the various green pieces in my travel wardrobe, looked to me like the quintessential Englishwoman character, who might be played by Emma Thompson or Natasha Richardson, or perhaps Fiona Shaw (who is not very well known but was in As You Like It when I saw it in London when I was in college, and I have been a fan since). I’m sure that their conversation could have been a scene from a Richard Curtis movie, that is if I had understood what they were talking about!

Burford is, as I said, known for its shopping, but for the most part we managed to restrain ourselves to window shopping. There was a small slip in a home décor shop involving an Emma Bridgewater bowl and mugs, and a larger slip—really a leap more than a slip—in an outdoor clothing shop. But I will really appreciate my new Barbour coat in the fall (in the new fitted women’s style, lighter to wear and a little more sophisticated than the classic waxed jacket), and I really need it to authenticate my role as a an English countrywoman!

By that time it was already half past three and time to head back to Chipping Campden. We had a date with the Bantam tearoom, to investigate its offerings in the way of afternoon tea. This apparently is the one recommended by Rick Steves on his website. I’m pleased to say they did a nice job with scones and cream (and cake, for that matter), although the décor is a little on the plain side. Then it was back to the railway station in Moreton-in-Marsh, to collect my father from his train trip to Hereford.

Tomorrow, May 25, is my mother’s birthday, so Friday will be all about Anne. Well, and a little bit about Kristin. My plan is to do the things that I want to complete our week in the Cotswolds, but in a way that is most enjoyable to my mother. So we’ll go to the garden that I want to see, but also spend some time driving through villages on one-track roads; and with a little luck and good timing, will have some of the afternoon left over for unscheduled free time at the cottage (a luxury we don’t get much of on a full travel schedule).