An English Summer: Day Six: The Dorothy L. Sayers Conference in Cambridge

Gargoyle at medieval St. Wendreda church, in the village of March, Cambridgeshire

 

So excited at being here I didn't sleep very well, but Jan walked me into town, stopping for coffee on the way.  It's probably a half-mile or so to Downing College, but a lovely walk across Cambridge, and the college is very serene and beautiful, too, in 18th century Palladian style.  I was there for the annual Dorothy L. Sayers conference, and here are the notes that I wrote up afterwards for the Lord Peter Wimsey (LordPeter@yahoogroups.com) and Piffle lists (Piffle@yahoogroups.com), members of both of whom went to the conference.

 

Downing College
 

 

 St. Clements Church, Outwell

 

I was lucky enough to spend yesterday at the Dorothy L. Sayers Society AGM in Cambridge. It was a glorious golden day such as Lewis Carroll used to write about happening at The Other Place, and equally filled with gargoyles. By those, I don't mean the dear Piffle and Lord Peter people (and some Girls Own list people) it was delightful to see after so long. I will fail if I try to mention them all, but there was Alan Jesson of course, Big Ruby Solitaire (Claiborne Ray), The College Cat and Tom (Gillian and Gregory Hill - well I called him Tom, not sure if he liked it, and not exactly sure if his name is actually Gregory either), Kate Lambert, Catherine McKiernan, Lesley Simpson, and most warmly for me, old friend the Half-Hedgehog (Robin Leidner), with whom I used to correspond on Sayers and the Jews and Sadie Schuster-Slatt. (Miss Schuster-Slatt, the irritating American outsider, has long been my "nom" on the lists.)
 

 

Along the Fens

 

 



The Fens as seen from the Bus

 

I  wasn't staying at Downing College but with professor friends elsewhere in the city, but it did mean I had to walk half across the city to get there, so only arrived sadly rudely in the midst of Alan's charming talk. I did hear the young engineering gentleman who told us all about the mechanics of fens and sluices and locks and guillotine doors, which was a most lively, interesting talk. His wife is expecting momentarily, and the lady who introduced him made a very funny joke about childbirth and sluices that doesn't come across somehow when I try to tell it.

 

Rev. Alan Jesson's talk



The College Cat and the Half-Hedgehog

 

Claiborne and me 

 

Half-Hedgehog at St. Wendreda's

 

Mrs. Christopher Deane (right)

There was a very nice lunch, sandwiches and bhaji and things, and scrumptious meringues with strawberries, and then at 1 PM we set out in two coaches on the Fens tour. The countryside looked so green and lovely as we drove first to St. Clement's Church, Outwell, then St. Peter's Church, Upwell (where I have visited before, when Alan was still rector there), and lastly the Church of Saint Wendreda in March. All were glorious, and at St. Clements we were treated to tea and perfectly lovely cakes baked by parishioners. I bought a set of postcards showing the medieval demon and Apostle wood carvings that adorn the church. I found St. Wendreda's extremely interesting, too. This is the church of which John Betjeman said it was "worth cycling 40 miles in a head wind to see." It was founded to honor St. Wendreda in the 7th century, and I was very taken by her name and those of her sisters, Etheldreda and Sexburgha, which would do very well as alternate names for our cats. (Pindar would be Wendreda, Martial Ethel, and little demon Catullus, Sexburgha.) Anyway, the building is mainly 14th century and the double hammerbeam interior angel roof of 1523 with 120 carved angels is a wonder. I actually preferred the gargoyles studded all over the outside of this very curious and marvelous place.

 

A delicious, churchy tea

 

 

An elegant dinner

We were back at the College by 6:30, for drinks on the lovely lawn and then dinner in the handsome hall, everyone dressed elegantly. Very fine dinner, too: salad lyonnaise, lamb with red wine cabbage and dates, and cake with sorbet. As it was dark and I was very tired from the day I rather wisely took a cab home!

Miss Schuster-Slatt

The famous double hammerbeam angel roof at St. Wendreda's

 

 Gargoyles at St. Wendreda's

 



Cambridgeshire view from the bus...Oh England!

 

An English Summer: Days Four and Five: Oxford

 

 

Took the train from Devon to London last night and returned to the George Hotel. Was to have dinner with a Facebook friend but he couldn't make it - pity, as I could have seen other people; however, I was really far too tired for a social evening anyway. Yet didn't sleep very well, as it was a rather warm night. Up about 6 but having eaten Indian late I actually skipped the English breakfast (!!!) so as to be sure not to be late for the train today. In addition to losing the Devon-to-London train ticket, I'd also left my small toiletries bag back in Devon, so had to stop at a Boots to buy replacement hairbrush, toothbrush, eye shadow, etc. Took train to Paddington (so glad I packed light, oh the stairs, lugging things up and down in the heat - one feels incompetent and creaky, it's the stressful down side of traveling) only to be faced by 50 people ahead of me on ticket line! Hung in there, it did move fast and I got ticket at 9:10 for 9:24 train. Even got a Caffe Nero cappuccino and felt gleeful - until boarding. It was such a horridly full train, I had to STAND with my suitcase and cappuccino, packed in like melted sardines, all the way to Stroud, about half an hour, very exhausting and irritating I must say. After that I did get a seat, and was able to relax and enjoy sunny English views and my coffee.

 

Radcliffe Observatory

 

 

"Friend, you stand on sacred ground. This is a BOOKSHOP!"

 

 

At Oxford, my friends Jean and Lizzy met me and we drove to Lizzy's flat in Jericho. Such a pretty place, looking out on a sunny terrace. We chatted, mostly about publishing, then Jean walked me to Oxford University Press for lunch with Simon ("Stuck-in-a-Book"), who's working there now. Great fun. I ate the sausages and beans I missed earlier, and we chatted like billy-oh, as they say, in his lunch hour, he in the dawn of his career, me in the evening of mine. Then Jean picked me up and we agreed I no longer had the need to tour Oxford so we went to lovely cafe on top of the Ashmolean and had cream tea. Gorgeous fresh summery raspberry jam and clotted cream. When they closed we popped in a Waterstones and then to Browns where I had a big iced tea with white peach froth - refreshing in the warm weather. Then it was time to go watch Lizzy's bell ringing class at St Giles Church. I climbed up the ladder and pulled a bell with the donnish ringers, but the bells were muffled for practice and you couldn't hear them.

 

Roof of the Ashmolean

 

Cream tea at the Ashmolean

At the Ashmolean

Then we went to meet Jean's husband Tony at the Bookbinder pub in Jericho, lovely place with Frenchy food; I had an excellent ham cheese mushroom crepe with salad, and lemon tart. Taxi back to Jean's house on Cumnor Hill, and am now going to bed, super tired!

 

Oxford hosts in the garden

Oh what a lovely day in Oxford! Slept solidly soundly 9 hours. Jean fed me toasted crumpets for breakfast with Yeo (Devon) country butter and the most marvelous blackcurrant jam made by her friend who has a farm. Then Tony showed me round the garden, which he, now semi retired, has enthusiastic plans about, growing lettuces, planning a new conservatory and a pond. This area, a ten minute bus ride from central Oxford, is on a hill on the edge of the Downs, and it's truly another  earthly paradise: you'd never guess such countryside would be so close to the packed crowds of summer Oxford.

 

View toward the Downs

We went for a walk on the Downs. Jean turned back but Tony took me up to a magical wood looking out at the Downs, and we admired the sunny long views through the deep trees, ate early blackberries, climbed styles, talked about the history of the place - how a gulf in the wood was dug out in the 1840s for the brickworks, and the clay was carried up to the village, but the factory closed in 1930. The factory head was the first owner of their house, and the dug out woods have grown tall again. Nice to be able to picture something of the area's recent past, and to enjoy the woods: altogether a wonderful English afternoon.

 

Blackberry bushes

 

Stuck in a Style

Then Jean escorted me to the Oxford-to-Cambridge bus where I now sit on my three and a half hour ride. Very comfortable, leather seats, few passengers, and internet with my iPad. While Tony and I walked, Jean packed me the most marvelous lunch, Parma ham, lettuce and sweet baby tomatoes from their garden, scones with the blackberry jam, oatcakes and burstingly delicious English cherries. Washed down with cloudy Devonshire Apple juice.

Now as I approach Cambridge there is a downpour and internet is down. Shall mail this later.

Later - Am in Cambridge with more beloved friends, given such a warm welcome. The rain stopped and we're eating spaghetti, very happy evening.  Feel very fortunate, and as if it's worth even a 10 hour flight to see the brave (old) world, that has such people in it.

 

Edge of the Downs, outside Oxford.  Where I'd spend my life, if only I could.

 

An English Summer: Day Three: Two Devon Houses

Endsleigh House gardens

 Saltram House

 

Woke today at 6:30, hearing the cows moo and saw Rosie's son purposefully striding about the farm buildings. I was then able to use his room for internet, and also had a lovely morning walk round the pretty garden, photographing flowers. Then breakfast, at which I was joined by the other guests, not the most congenial - an elderly couple who bragged and showed pictures of the country house in Kent where they used to work, and a lady who worked for a Greek shipping magnate in hopes he'd take her to Greece but it was only New York, which she HATED, she said with emphasis. Told stories of Sammy Davis Jr's bodyguards being afraid of kidnappings (?) and how she was forbidden to wear a bikini on a Long Island beach (this was 1967) and what a TERRIBLE place America was and how she'd never go back for anything. Since she hadn't seen the place in nearly 40 years and was addressing all this to an American, it was kind of peculiar, but didn't keep me from enjoying my bacon sausage egg tomato and thick brown toast with butter and honey.

 

A Devon country breakfast

 

Lynne picked me up at 10 am. Glorious sunny day, fresh feeling after last night's rain. We drove to Endsleigh House in Milton Abbot, which is now a luxury hotel, but with grounds perhaps not that much changed since the Duchess of Bedford, who had an affair with Landseer, met him for trysts there. Lynne told me all about it and I got the book, Mistress of the Arts, by Rachel Trethewey, which looks fascinating and will resonate much more now that I've seen the setting.  Endsleigh, built in 1811 as the sixth Duke's hunting lodge, is a place of truly swooning beauty, with gardens designed by Humphry Repton, and there's a deep and beautiful arboretum full of rare trees, where Lynne often enjoys walks - how enchanting!

 

Arboretum at Endsleigh

 

Overlooking the Tamar

 

Her reading group also has its meetings at Endsleigh in a room with 18th century Chinoiserie wallpaper and flowery green views out into the gardens. (Bit of a contrast to my reading group's digs!)

 

Beautiful antique "Chinoiserie" wallpaper

 

Fuchsia at Endsleigh

 

There are grottoes and a little 18th century shell folly but really it is the flowers that are the star - my word, the gardening there is English high art at its most transporting! Especially ravishing was all the buddlia covered with masses of butterflies, some rare ones.  After wandering through these amazing gardens, we sat peacefully gazing out at them and I drank my newly discovered favorite drink, Luscombe apple cider - sheer nectar! It was the Devonshire summer moment, to perfection.

  

 Butterflies on the buddlia

An English butterfly summer.  Picture borrowed from Lynne:  three species on one flower! She thinks it's a Silver Washed Fritillary on the left, Tortoiseshell above, Peacock below.

 

 

Luscombe apple cider and a perfect view

 

From there we drove through the lovely town of Milton Abbot and then to Plymouth. Heavily bombed in the war, there's not much left in Plymouth reminiscent of Jane Austen's day, but I think the light must have been the same. Its special quality of white, by-the-sea airiness must have enveloped Austen when she visited, as she likely did, as she sent characters in both Persuasion and Sense & Sensibility there. Our second beautiful country house of the day was Saltram House, home of the Countess of Morley who was Jane Austen's correspondent and admirer. Designed by Robert Adam, Saltram has most beautiful interiors, especially a saloon the first sight of which is staggering, with its gorgeous plasterwork ceiling. It's said to be one of the best preserved early Georgian houses in the country, and is a fascinating place, rich with Reynolds portraits (as he was a friend of the family) as well as works by Angelica Kaufman and Gilbert Stuart.



A portrait at Saltram House

Beautiful cabinet at Saltram House

 

 

 

Occupants of the cabinet

 

There's lots of Chinoiserie and lovely curiosities, and many portraits of Countess Morley, as well as the interesting and accomplished copies of paintings she made herself. Her edition of Pride and Prejudice is to be seen in the exquisite library, and there are also some papers of Henry Austen, who was her chaplain or clergyman, after JA died.  We "did" the house thoroughly, then had some lovely duck pate and salad and tea in the cafe. Then Lynne drove me to Plymouth station, where I had a slight mishap: in my haste on the outward journey I didn't take my receipt from the ticket machine, had no proper return ticket, and had to fork over another £50 for a new ticket. Never mind; these things happen in traveling, and here I am comfortably on the train going back to Paddington, watching the Dartmoor sea wall slide by with boats gayly scattered on the water.

The Countess of Morley's copy of Pride and Prejudice

 Lord Morley as a boy, portrait in the library

 Photograph of Lady Morley

A more flattering, younger portrait

An English Summer: Day Two: The Darling Doves of Devon.

 In deepest Devon, looking over into Cornwall

Never thought I'd make the train this morning. Since I stayed up all night on the plane, and then spent my first day in London with Ron at Kenwood, remaining awake so as to get on English time, I successfully passed out cold at 10:30 PM. Was troubled by having painfully tweaked my arthritic thumb on my bag, but was able to sleep soundly till 6:30 AM and woke to find that thumb was much better as well as the rest of me. Called phone company and arranged for data roaming minutes so I could send pictures (it is a most unpleasant generational sensation to have the girl LAUGH at you when you say you're not sure you'll be able to figure it out), and repacked, leaving my carry on bag at the hotel and only taking a tote. I checked out, and they said I ought to have time for breakfast though it didn't start till 8; taking the tube from nearby Kings Cross to Paddington would only take 10 minutes. My train to Devon was at 9, and I could see that would be tight but I so hated to miss the George's full English breakfast! Greed naturally won out. I told the waitress I had to catch a train, and she very obligingly hurried, and I was able to scarf my heavenly plump English sausage, bacon, fried egg, beans, tomato, and heaps of brown toast with butter and honey. Then rushed out to the station, realizing no leeway had been made for not knowing where in station were the ticket collection machines, nor how to use them, not to mention finding the platform, and running long distances! And I tend to get flustered and blinkered in such situations, but there was simply no time for that: I could not. So I focused and actually made the train with 5 minutes to spare! Even got my reserved seat with a table, and am now sitting with a lovely cappuccino, gazing out at the scenery round Taunton, feasting my eyes on delicious green landscapes, while reading the equally delicious Armorel of Lyonnesse (1890s novel set on the island of Samson in the Scilly Isles, which I visited last trip).

 

My lovely hosts

And some of their lovely flowers

(Later) My friend Dove Grey Reader (Lynne, the well known Devonshire book blogger, whom I've long known online but was meeting in person for the first time) met me at Exeter St David station and we drove to her house which is in beautiful deep green countryside, lovely on a sunny day with fluffy English clouds above. The nearest village is Milton Abbot, and the larger town is Tavistock ("Tavy"). We went to Tavistock first, to the gorgeous Bedford hotel, very old and elegant. Had a lovely lunch, shrimp and crab sandwiches, then visited the Tavistock Pannier Market, an incredible 900 years old. There was lots to see and lots to buy, notably some very pretty English china, but my constant cry had to be, "Oh the lovely Victorian pitcher - no, I couldn't carry that home in my bag, could I..."

 

Tavistock Pannier Market - 900 years old!

Then we drove to DGR's house, through meltingly lovely Devon vistas. As we approached, through glimpses in the hedgerows I could see the beautiful land and stretch of the river Tamar that has a fine private salmon stream. In the distance, there were the hills of Cornwall, seemingly only a few fields over. At the house DGR's husband Bookhound welcomed me warmly as did their three cats, one blind, one deaf, both elderly, and a young tom whom the old dowagers keep strictly in line. Bookhound so kindly made and served lovely smoked salmon and cucumber sandwiches and a gorgeous plate of scones, Devon clotted cream, and jam. And plenty of first rate tea. The embodiment of Devon hospitality! We enjoyed all this outside chatting and breathing in the Devon air.

 

 Dove Grey Cat
 

Lots of excellent book talk along with the clotted cream - so many books that I now admire to acquire! And I was most honored to be given an exquisite hand made holder that DGR thoughtfully made especially for me - out of patchwork fabric of Jane Austen's handwriting and quilt, and the quote from one of her letters:  "Have you remembered to collect pieces for the patchwork? We are at a standstill..."  One of the most perfectly appropriate gifts I've ever received:  a perfect memento of a perfect day in Devon.



 A beautiful Jane Austen handmade gift!

 

We then went out for another drive around Dartmoor but didn't walk as the weather was starting to sock in, heavy clouds descending and rain. Could see some tempting tors, but in that weather DGR most convincingly explained how the mist can come down and you'd be lost. We stopped at a lovely inn (Two Bridges) and stretched out legs on a curious old rock bridge.



Then DGR drove me to her friend Rosie's farm where I was to sleep. Ancient stone buildings, a working dairy farm. Rosie a lovely lady and she kindly set me up with internet in her office so I could check mail before bed. Met her sweet husband, tired after his long day on the farm. The quietest place I ever slept, I think - lovely thick mattress, perfect duvet, big bathtub. I slept like a log from 10:30, as well I might!

 

Rosie's farm



Crocosmia, which was growing all over Devon

 

 

Dove Grey Reader's justly famous blog can be found here:

 

http://dovegreyreader.typepad.com/dovegreyreader_scribbles/

An English Summer: My visit, day one

I arrive in England - Kenwood House

 

Monday, August 4, 2014

Since I have moderate fear of flying, the flight dragged hour by hour as I kept my eye glued on the trip map. Air New Zealand flew well, but that was all they did (granted, it's enough). Although I was supposed to have a window seat so I could keep my eyes on the ground, they gave me my bete noire, a seat smack in the claustrophobic middle of the plane. This agony I had to endure for 10 hours, with only the nastiest of food, no internet, and not a single watchable movie (Nemo? Juno? Hobbit?). But then I got up and went to a window to see, and there at last were the foggy islands. The first sight of them never fails to bring tears to my eyes, on this my 33rd trip, just as it was on my first.

Cartwright Gardens - where I usually stay in London

 

 And then I was on the direct tube (Piccadilly Line) to Russell Square, looking out in the above-ground sections on a perfect London day. Low 70s, sunshine, fresh breezes, English greenery, the flowers of summer, buddlia and rosebay willow herb, oh so beautiful, and I have ten days of it stretching out before me! Reached my hotel, the George b & b in Cartwright Gardens, Bloomsbury, and had half an hour to wash up and get settled in my room before friend Ron Dunning (genealogist, musician, Austen family member) arrived. There's nothing lovelier than seeing a friend after a long journey, you feel welcomed and oriented straight away.  

 

Guide, philosopher, friend - Ron at Kenwood 

Ron, like the knight he is, promptly whisked me away on a lovely drive to Kenwood House on Hampstead Heath - a more glorious greeting to England can scarcely be imagined! There I was, just like that, in the midst of Constable landscapes come to life. We had tea first, in the garden, iconic delicious English delicacies, egg mayonnaise sandwich and Victoria sponge. The house was simply beautiful, a stunning Adam house filled with Rembrandts and Constables and beauties as far as the eye could see. We followed this with a refreshing walk on the Heath, more views across grass and landscape over the city in the long distance. Then Ron drove me back to the hotel. Lovely drive too, through fascinating London neighborhoods, and there's no better companion than Ron for such a journey, for he has "the knowledge." We had a spot of Tandoori at my favorite neighborhood Indian place, and then I staggered back to the George, for some much needed and sound sleep!

 

 

Egg mayonnaise and Victoria sponge!

The Dairy at Kenwood

 

Tandoori at Motijheel in Marchmont Street