LETTER 6 - RAIN, WIND, HOPE

NOTE: Response to my recent blogs QM2 and England, have been almost nil. Is it because your server is posting the blog as "junk? Is it because somehow nothing has been going through? Is it because you have no response? If all I wanted was to keep a record for my own use, I would not send out a blog. Please let me know what I should do. Meanwhile - here, for those who read it, another entry.

Typical late summer in South Gloucestershire, wind, rain, chance of sunshine. This time it has been aggravated by the tail end of the last Atlantic hurricane which lashed (that’s journalese cliché) the British Isles, especially Ireland and Scotland. Trees fell. One man was killed. The Brits carried on. We stayed in and hoped for change. Sunday was ferocious. Trees bending, rain pelting, forecast: more of the same. By Tuesday it had calmed to a light gale so we decided to make one short excursion in the afternoon.

Gloucester Cathedral is one of England’s most storied churches. Built in the 11th century it is described as combining many Gothic styles. To me is has that architecturally delightful look – the sturdy towers soaring into the sky ands topped with (I forget the architectural term) spindly Gothic towers. Inside it is massive with enormous heavy pillars supported the classic vaulted (There seems to be no “style” to them i.e. Doric, Ionian etc.)

Being an unbeliever does not prevent me from being awestruck by the structure. There is a spiritual quality about it (I usually detest “spiritual” wanderings) perhaps because it is so awesomely huge, possible because it contains and reflects a thousand years of history.
Henry I (see Peter O’Toole in Lion in Winter) haunts the place. Rumours abound that somehow Henry use this place to hide his older brother Robert, whose right to succeed their father William, was usurped by Henry. There are, as is characteristic in these cathedrals, many chapels and tombs. I was attracted to the spot that alleges it is the burying; place of Edward II. He was known by most as the great lawmakers. He is known by some as the king who expelled the Jews. They were invited back by Oliver Cromwell.
There is always speculation about how Shakespeare wrote the Merchant of Venice. Suspicion is that there must have been Jews around – even though he patterned Shylock after the worst legendary evil qualities of the Jews. (Strange of course that he redeemed them in the famous “Do I not…” speech. That’s another story.

Gloucester also has a waterfront and was once a bustling port. (I don’t know how it connects to the sea – directly, by estuary, or by river. But there are dozens of restored warehouses, a large marina, and promenade. There is a tribute to “The Fighting Glosters” (sic) commemorating their part in the Korean War.

The next day dawns bright, sunny, blue skies. Time for another day trip, the one I have most looked forward to: a day in Bath, on of the country’s gems and home of the most faithfully reproduced Roman Baths. I hoped also to get a better look at the famous Georgian architecture – the beautiful uniform Georgian town houses. (The real thing, as op posed to the “faux Georgian” that abounds in Toronto where everyone who lives there is pretending to come from old family.) I exaggerate.

First mistake. I miss another cutoff going on a roundabout. We are headed away from Bath on the M4. The M4 is one of those severely limited access highways. You can go 15 or 20 miles before you can turn around. I had planned to stop at a “Park and Ride”
and take a bus into the city centre. My highway mistake was remedied, courtesy of Tomtom by sending me, not back to M4 but to an “A” carriageway, sometimes not divided but two lanes. As much as I had to concentrate on driving, I could enjoy the quilt-like fields that spread out below the highway – farms with fields of green and gold and hedgerows looking neat and nearly perfect.

As I suspected, we were headed straight into Bath without a Park and Ride anywhere in sight. Miraculously found a large parking garage just a few steps away from the city centre. Stopped for a classic English lunch at the Hong Kong Noodle Restaurant. Astonishingly good but too challenging to finish. Started walking along the suggested two hour walking tour which would take us toe both the Abbey and the Roman Baths. Tiring much too easily, we took a “hop on hop off” tour bus. We “hopped off” at the Baths.

The fun began. I detest having to fight crowds just to get close enough to look. The slavering crowds at the Baths reminded my of a day spent dodging tour bus tourists at the Alhambra and trying to get close enough through ravening crowds at the Louvre fighting for enough space to see the Mona Lisa. The Roman Baths are right up there.

The restoration is perfect. Not only is the enormous spring fed pool surrounded by people, but so are all the other fascinating exhibits. There are all kinds of restored Roman artifacts. The frustration is that you can’t ever get a photo shot that doesn’t have the heads and other body parts of other tourists straining for a look. I am not so unrealistic to suppose that this is not part of tourism. I only wonder why the management does not meter the admissions so that everyone can get a decent view. They don’t. The groups pour in one entrance. The individuals in another. It is bedlam. And it is tiring. Having waited all this time to see what restoration has brought (I visited Bath in 1975 when restoration was in progress but there was nothing much to see) we decide on one stop at the adjacent Abbey.

It is worth a look. It is perhaps just another Gothic pile, or perhaps I’m becoming jaded. Perhaps I was exhausted. Perhaps we should get in the car and find our way home to Thornbury. It takes about 45 minutes just to find our way out of Bath. Worth it? Better to fight the crowds and gripe than to stay home and wonder.

Tomorrow we head for the thatched roof cottages of the Cotswolds.