The Wonderful World of William Morris

On Wednesday we ventured outside our familiar stomping grounds—which basically consist of a triangle formed by Broadway and Chipping Campden in the north, Stow on the Wold to the southwest, and Cheltenham to the southeast. Many of the most appealing locations in the northern Cotswold lie within that territory, particularly if you expand a bit north to Hidcote/Kiftsgate, and perhaps a little bit further beyond Stow to Bourton-on-the-Water (and Burford, which is more south but has the sensibility of the Northern Cotswolds). Inside the triangle you will find famous villages and sites such as Snowshill (National Trust Snowshill Manor and Gardens, Snowshill Lavender - Lavender Fields), Winchcombe (Sudeley Castle); other well-known gardens such as Mill Dene and Sezincote House & Garden; and numerous small villages famed for their picturesque beauty, including the Guitings (Temple and Power), the Slaughters (Upper and Lower), the Swells (also Upper and Lower), Stanton, Stanway, and Blockley—to name a few.

That’s not to say that that the central and southern Cotswolds don’t have substantial appeal as well. Cirencester is literally, geographically, the heart of the Cotswolds. All of the major Cotswold highways meet and radiate out from Cirencester. Stroud, Tetbury, Malmesbury, and their smaller neighbors Nailsworth, Minchinhampon, and Painswick (Painswick Rococo Garden) all have much to commend them. And you can’t forget Barnsley, Bibury (Bibury - A Cotswold village in Gloucestershire) and Burford, all just outside of Cirencester, which are renowned for their prettiness. The architecture in the south is just as quaint and charming as the northern villages, although the stone becomes grey rather than golden as you move south. In 2001 we spent a week in a cottage in Bisley, near Stroud, and thoroughly enjoyed the attractions of the region.

But there is still another portion of the Cotswolds which I was not even really aware of until recently, and that is the area bordering along the Thames River. I only recently learned that the Thames passes through the Cotswolds on the way to London, and in fact there is an entire Thames River Path (The Thames Path Online Guide) that you can follow all the way to London and beyond. One of the villages along the Thames in this area is Kelmscott, the location of William Morris’ country home, Kelmscott Manor -.

Our destination was a walk along the river from the village of Buscot to Kelmscott Manor and back, a trip of about 4½ miles. Wednesday was the ideal day for this outing, because it is the only day of the week that Kelmscott Manor is open to the public (opening at 11 a.m.).

After a rather leisurely morning start (I didn’t get up until 7:00, rather than 6:00), we set out on our drive southward, first heading west through Moreton-in-Marsh to Chipping Norton, for a quick stop at Boots and W.H. Smith. Just our luck, we managed to go to Chipping Norton on its market day (like Moreton on Tuesday), and naturally the extra influx of people and cars set us back a bit. I was ready to curse Chipping Norton for its inaccessibility, until we came across a large, free car park only a few blocks from the main street. Then I was willing to praise Chipping Norton for their farsightedness in planning parking! I went into W.H. Smith (a bookstore) to get an ordnance survey map for the region of today’s walk. While I was there I picked up a few extra maps for areas that I might visit on this or future trips…I’m hoping I haven't bought any of them before.

From Chipping Norton it was a direct path on the A-361 all the way to Lechlade-On-Thames, then only a few miles west to our starting point in Buscot. The route started at the Buscot Weir and locks, before turning onto the Thames River Path and following the river slightly northwestward. My mother is a big fan of canal boats, and we were charmed to see some tied up near the locks (and several more throughout our trip). The Thames Path ambles along the river for about two miles before it nears the village of Kelmscott. While the river path actually passes fairly near to Kelmscott Manor, our directions led us through some fields into the back of the village, from where we walked on to Kelmscott Manor.

Our directions as we walked through a field just before coming into Kelmscott village said to turn right onto a path, which “may be overgrown.” Well, that was not an overstatement! The path was so very overgrown that even I harbored some doubts as to whether this was really right. The foliage most responsible for the overgrowth was, unfortunately, nettles. We had discovered on the walk to Broad Campden that nettles were a common occurrence on footpaths. I wondered a bit whether the abundance of nettles might be a landowner’s passive-aggressive way of getting even with the intruders on the footpaths—but that was silly. Nettles grow on their own without help from anybody.

I, despite being perfectly aware of the possibility of nettles on the path, had elected to wear walking shorts on this warm, sunny day. Now, faced with making my way through a corridor of nettles with bare legs, I borrowed one of my parents’ walking sticks and used it to help beat down a better path ahead of us. The way was slow, but we eventually emerged into the village and I had only been stung by the nettles a couple of times. (Later, I changed my opinion of the nettles from a revenge tactic by farmers to some kind of divine penance sent to punish me for making my parents walk through fields on a warm steamy day.)

But at this point, after successfully navigating the nettle-strewn path, my parents were still fairly good natured as we approached the grounds of Kelmscott Manor. We were about to be immersed in the amazing world of William Morris.

William Morris was an extraordinary man, a founder of the British arts and crafts movement, a designer of textiles and wallpaper, a writer and poet, and also a socialist activist. He eventually founded his own design firm. His fabrics and papers are beautifully displayed in the rooms of Kelmscott Manor. In addition to the mass-produced products, the house features numerous wall hangings and other pieces that were woven, needleworked, or embroidered by Morris himself, his family, or his staff.

At the same time Morris was writing and publishing poetry, as well as some rather unsuccessful novels. In 1891 Morris founded the Kelmscott Press in London, which would become the most famous of the private presses of the arts and crafts movement, while still running his business. A docent on the tour said that when Morris died in his early sixties and someone asked what he died of, the doctor said “He died of being William Morris, and doing the work of ten men.”

Morris was not the only creative person in his family. His daughter May designed and embroidered an elaborate valance and bed hangings for Morris’ bedroom at Kelmscott. The valance is embroidered with the words of a poem written by Morris especially for the project, called “For the Bed at Kelmscott.”

'For the Bed at Kelmscott', by William Morris
The wind's on the wold
And the night is a-cold,
And Thames runs chill
Twixt mead and hill,
But kind and dear
Is the old house here,
And my heart is warm
Midst winter's harm.
Rest then and rest,
And think of the best
Twixt summer and spring
When all birds sing
In the town of the tree,
As ye lie in me
And scarce dare move
Lest earth and its love
Should fade away
Ere the full of the day.
I am old and have seen
Many things that have been,
Both grief and peace,
And wane and increase.
No tale I tell
Of ill or well,
But this I say,
Night treadeth on day,
And for worst and best
Right good is rest.

One of the most impressive things to see at Kelmscott Manor is the attic, a series of room built within, and taking fine advantage of, Kelmscott Manor’s high, peaked roofs. The ceilings of the several attic rooms follow the peaks of the roofline, supported by old beams. The steep stairway to the attic is also a model of ingenuity, although it was built not by Morris but by the Society of Antiquaries in 1968. Before then the access to the attic was a steep ladder. The new staircase is steep but easily accessible due to a unique method of staggering the stairs.

By the time we made our way through Kelmscott Manor and the garden I was, I’ll admit, a bit hungry and cranky. So we found ourselves a table on the lawn and purchased some refreshments from the café. A diet Coke, tuna roll, and a piece of lemon & orange cake set me right and reenergized me for the remainder of the walk, our return to Buscot. (Mother also made friends with a Kelmscott cat, who was making the rounds of the picnic tables in hopes of finding a stray scrap or two of tuna.)

Unfortunately, though I was refreshed and revived, my traveling companions were less so, especially as the afternoon heat increased. I have to admit that mid-afternoon on a sunny day is probably not the best time for a longish walk! Mother, in particular, was suspicious of the entire return route, especially as it did not just retrace the river back, but ventured out through fields before turning back into Buscot. The walking directions were indeed more complex than the river portion had been.
I’m sure my mother and father would have preferred just to walk back along the river, but I was determined to finish the loop rather than just retracing my steps. We did start out following the river path, and saw several more canal boats along the way, including a small one in transit!

We continued along the river, watching for our cue to cross to the other side. (That would be a bridge.) Our walking instructions in both directions said we would pass a number of "World War II pill boxes." I had no idea what this was, and was quite sure I hadn't seen any along the way. Finally, before leaving Kelmscott, I asked a guide at the entry what the pill boxes looked like, and she said, "Very large concrete structures." Afer I finally identified one along the path, I don't know how I managed to miss the others! I later learned that they were part of the British anti-invasion preparations during World War II, and were intended as fortifications against enemy fire at various defensive locations. For more information, see British anti-invasion preparations of World War II - Wikipedia ...

The whole walk almost ground to a halt shortly after we turned off the river trail. We were directed to cross a ditch and turn right into a field. However I walked on and on, not finding any ditch! Fearing some misdirection, I told my parents to wait while I went on ahead. After a few minutes I returned and admitted that I seemed to have lost the trail. The only thing we could do, I said, was go back to where we had crossed the river and just walk along the river. I’m pretty sure they were not unhappy with that idea (preferring the river to fields), although it meant backtracking a bit. But as we turned around and walked toward the river, I suddenly saw the ditch that I had missed the first time, as well as the diagonal path across the field. I tried to explain to my mother that this is very common, missing a landmark in the walking directions and having to retrace your steps to find your way back (I did a lot of that on Sunday), but my mother did not seem to be impressed as she marched grimly onward. (Later, after she recovered, she was able to find humor in our directions to "cross a field diagonally, go through a gate and then cross two more fields.")

The charms of a country field that my mother had appreciated on Monday morning’s (early, cool) trip to Broad Campden did not seem quite so appealing on a warm sunny afternoon.
Especially when the first well-trodden field path led to a practically invisible path across the next. This is the path, I assured them as I trod ahead. Sure enough, on the other side I found the promised gate and footbridge. A few too many stiles and fields later, we reemerged into the village of Buscot and followed the road back to the car. My father said to everyone we passed, “We’ve been walking for days!” I think he meant it as a joke.

But luckily all it took to regain everyone’s cheerfulness was the car’s air conditioning turned on high and a few cold bottles of diet coke out of the cooler bag I brought along. We flew along the highways back toward Chipping Campden, my mother wondering why anybody chooses to walk anyway when you can drive!

We speculated about how the footpath system began, wondering if it was out of necessity when people had to walk more for transportation and needed routes across private land. While that sounds like a good theory, it appears that the protection of footpaths, if not the creation, originated in the 19th century when people began turning to the countryside for exercise and recreation as the country became more industrialized. That led to a desire to protect the accessibility of footpaths and open spaces, and walking groups formed and lobbied to maintain right-of-ways and public paths. Finally, in the mid-20th century, laws were passed creating a system of marking, recording, and protecting public footpaths. Today, the system of footpaths is still thriving and amazingly reliable (that is as long as you can read the maps and find the landmarks!).

But despite the difficulties of the outing, both mother and father were pretty good sports and I think I can get them out walking again (but next time during a cooler part of the day). They would like to point out that with the misdirection plus the walking around Kelmscott house and garden, the total distance was more like 5 to 6 miles. They both held up well, although near the end of the walk my father was heard to say, “Tomorrow I’m going on the train.”