Ypres - Belgium

We disembarked at Dunkirk which looks like a flat as a pancake twin to Calais, windswept seashore with extensive breakwaters stretching out far into the sea and a long channel into port. To your left you can see three massive superstructures being built at the shipyard in the distance, marooned like beached whales on the flat featureless landscape. It is not the greatest entry to the world’s top tourist country.

Leaving the ferry we followed the column of vehicles out towards the main auto-routes and almost got mashed by a Polish lorry with trailer that decided to run ahead into our lane without warning, suddenly tons of trailer loomed at the left edge of our car and proceeded to push us into the line of boulders at the side of the road. Fortuitous braking by our driver avoided a nasty collision where being in the passenger seat I would have been the first one to have been 'kissed' by the lorry.

To get to our destination we decided to follow the auto-route to Lille and then head north into Belgium, but somehow we found ourselves heading up the coast from Dunkirk. However this mattered not as all we had to do was splice off to the right at some point and head into the agricultural plains of Belgium towards Ypres, or Leper as they call it here. So soon we were heading east across a flat Romney Marsh type landscape, without hedges but plenty of ditches alongside the rather straight roads.  A preponderance of tractors told us that this was the Belgian agricultural heartland, a ruler straight horizon only broken by the liberal sprinkling of farmsteads and outbuildings. We passed through a succession of villages which were united in their blandness, with colourless, rather utilitarian dwellings often displaying windows with white closed blinds giving them a rather bleak look.

Ypres town centre

Ypres was smashed in the First World War but is now a stylish town with a great centre and rebuilt public buildings notably the magnificent Cloth Hall which dates back to the 13^th century and St Michael’s Cathedral which were both reconstructed after the Great War. The centre is one of those typically wonderful and rather impressive large European cobbled open areas surrounded by a bevy of classy looking buildings, some big, some small, which create a perfect palette for the eye. It is here under a blue sky that you should sit enjoying a Belgian beer and perhaps a chocolate waffle at one of the numerous cafes and bars around the square. If you head down to the eastern end of the square the road funnels into a residential street leading to the famous Menin Gate, constructed in memory of the 300000 soldiers who perished in the Ypres Salient in the Great War. This is a massive structure in the form of an archway into the town centre covered with the names of countless soldiers. Every day the ceremony of the Last Post is carried out at 8pm. When we were present there was an appreciable crowd and a school choir from Gresham’s School in England performing. It is a poignant and touching memorial to a terrible conflict.

Ypres town square

 

The Menin Gate sits astride a canal which runs through the town centre. Tree lined ramparts with  paths run alongside the canal. You can walk or cycle around the canal network in the town on an extensive web of paths. Cycle hire is a great idea for this area as the whole place is set up for bikes. We went to one bike shop after a midday croque monsieur at a bar just on the edge of the town centre. Here the music took us back to the eighties with its Supertramp background beat. In fact there seemed to be a common theme around the town of slightly dated British rock music. The bike proprietor offered us a normal bike for 10 euro and an electric bike for 25 euro for the rest of the day. We thought this was too expensive for just half a day, and he missed a trick because he could have offered us a discount for a few hours, so we didn’t think much of his entrepreneurship. We found another place nearer the town centre at the Ambrosia Hotel, where a friendly young female helped win our custom.

 Ypres is an insightful window onto the awful catastrophe that was the First World War, and the famous Ypres salient has numerous famous battle-sites such as Hill 60, Hill 62, Hoodge Crater, Sanctuary Wood and Passchendaele. All these are within a few kilometres of Ypres. It was a tremendous education for my somewhat partial grasp of an important historical era. The rebuilt Cloth Hall in Ypres has a tremendous museum of the conflict , modern, clear and easy to negotiate, with the option of ascending the tower of the hall to catch great views of the town, including straight down to the Regina Hotel below.

Sanctuary Wood cemetery

The museum has tons of interesting exhibits including of a dig a few years ago at a First World War underground installation where all sorts of items were retrieved from the water and mud like flasks and daily tools. There are also write ups on the different armies involved in the campaign, Belgian, German, French and English, with full uniforms displayed. There is a cart that was used to transport the injured together with exhibits of medical kits and instruments. There are also stories about the air corps and aerial photography, life in the trenches, and the rise of the German stormtrooper as a supersoldier.

We also visited the education museum which is lodged in an old church building just off the town square. This traces the history of education in Belgium through history, but unless you are a real education obsessive you shouldn’t spend more than an hour here. You have to learn to ‘speed read’ museum exhibit notes otherwise you’ll be stuck in the seventeenth century section for half an hour. I loved a picture from medieval times which looked like a Belgian Hogarths woodcut of a couple of teachers in a room looking after a huge class of kids who were doing virtually everything dodgy you could imagine, a scene of chaos that seems not far removed from some modern day classrooms. Nothing changes! There were lots of posters and teaching aids on display including the first Apple computers used in classrooms. It was also interesting to see the trend from more didactic teacher led learning to more child centred learning in recent years, a feature reflecting more universal trends.



Chaos of a medieval classroom!

 

St Michael’s Cathedral is a monster church sitting right next to the Cloth Hall, a couple of titans sitting together in a town that could easily be a lot bigger to accommodate such a pair. Again it was rebuilt after the First World War, and dominates the centre of town. The outside is rather gaunt and grey, but the inside is pleasantly more colourful, with impressive decor and stained glass windows. Craftsmen were working on the floor whilst we were there.

 

Inside of St Michael's Cathedral

The Regina Hotel sitting snug on one corner of the square opposite the Cloth Hall gets a very positive review from us. We all had our own large ensuite double room with very comfortable beds, coffee and tea making facilities including a coffee making machine, and of course TV which I did not switch on at any time. My bathroom was clean and large, although the shower head was attached to a fixture just above the bath which is annoying for a tall person like myself who wants to stand properly underneath a shower jet. Full marks for the power of the blast however. The restaurant was OK, quite expensive, but not the best place we ate at. However we did get bed and breakfast and the breakfast was a more than sufficient start to the day in the restaurant area. The proprietor was a very friendly young Belgian with a good sense of humour.
The fire alarm went off at midnight one night and the proprietor and his aide sped around the second floor making sure everyone was OK and trying to find the culprit. It seemed someone had been smoking in their room, a serious breach of decorum.

Regina Hotel from the top of the Cloth Hall

 

We bought a map of the region around Ypres from the Ambrosia hotel which displayed marked bike routes. This is an excellent idea as it corresponds with signs dotted all around the area directing cyclists down one pathway or another, alongside a canal here, a little country lane there, or along the extensive network of cycle paths alongside all the main roads. ‘Nodes’ on the map are little circles with numbers in that mark the end of a particular stretch of route, and a clear sign marks every node in reality. Its cyclist heaven as you’d expect in the Low Countries, with no more than slight undulations in the landscape and a clear separation from main road traffic. Cobbled streets in Ypres are just a little hard on the tyres and bum!

One day we cycled out on a very rough circular tour south - south east from the town centre and ended up taking a detour to Sanctuary Wood and Hill 62. Here there is a large cemetery for British soldiers with significant numbers of tombstones  marked 'known to God.' Just a few yards down the road is the Sanctuary Wood shop, café and trenches. Here for about ten euro you can see an enormous amount of junk from the first world war but all on a rather disorganised basis. There is a bar where you can have a beer or coffee, but beware of the cats if you don't like them wandering over tables! From the bar you can access the museum which has a right jumble of jetsam and flotsam from the war. We spent a while looking into 'magic boxes through a narrow slit for the eyes to observe tons of black and white photos from the war which gave a realistic 3-D impression. That's quite fun. After perusing the museum you can wander out into a small area of woodland with a network of trenches crisscrossing through, with bits of corrugated iron reinforcing the sides, for surely the trenches would have collapsed a long time ago. There is another separate building full of more First World War paraphernalia, but to be quite frank this museum needs an update overhaul compared with the splendid displays in Ypres.



Sanctuary Wood trenches

 

 

No visit to Belgium would be complete without a trip to that chocolate box capital of chocolatiers and top draw medieval prettiness, Bruges. Head north from Ypres on the autoroutes and you are there within the hour. Plan your parking before you go or you might get badly stung. We investigated a city centre car park first but it was time limited, then we found out that to park on the street was expensive even though there were no apparent signs. A local advised us to park at the rail station for about 2 and a half euro, so off we went to find the station but lost it in the traffic , so just found a side street a bit out of town.

You can swan around Bruges for hours looking at the great buildings, medieval town square, admiring the canal system and getting lost down lots of dinky streets. It’s like a big theme park but what did spoil things a little was the funfair in the town square which was almost as incongruous as the Occupy movement tent city outside St Paul’s Cathedral. You can take a boat around the city centre for seven euro, with an audio talk from the captain extolling the ancient buildings surrounding you, you just have to be prepared to wait a while on the boat for it to be filled up.

 

 

 

You can also do the historium in the town square and participate in a walk back into history by wandering through a succession of themed historical rooms with videos telling a love story against the backdrop of medieval Bruges. An audio guide makes things a lot easier.  Mind you this attraction did get some bad reviews on the internet! If you can slip past a chocolate or pastry shop you will still be caught by a posh cafe or restaurant that will suck you into its clutches.

Chic apartments in Bruges

Canal side in Bruges

Whizzing home from Ypres we decided to stop at Poperinge, a small town about eight miles west of Ypres and on the way to Dunkirk. This town was a big time logistics centre for the British army and a place behind the lines which provided field hospitals and also solace from the horrors of war for many a soldier. Here was Talbot House, an oasis for the British army in the very centre of the town, a large house with its quiet gardens where they could relax, Although not a church house as such, it was a place where the Anglican church had a presence. With its light airy rooms, it is now kitted out for bed and breakfast, and the warden serves you a welcome cup of tea in the downstairs dining room before you take a tour of the house. At the top of the house in the attic is a lovely room done out as a chapel, one of the most attractive I have seen.

Here in Poperinge two death cells are preserved in the Town Hall, and also an execution post in the courtyard used by firing squads.

The area is famous for growing hops and the national hop museum is just up the road from Talbot House.

 

 

 

Talbot House chapel

 

Quebec House and Chartwell

Here’s another double dip trip you can do within easy reach of London, Quebec House in Westerham, where General Wolfe of Battle of Quebec fame was brought up, and Chartwell, Winston Churchill’s beloved home, just a few miles down the road. Both are National Trust properties and can be done quite easily in a day. We went there from Worthing, West Sussex via the M23 and M25 if you want a quick run, but if you are staying in London the area is very accessible to visitors being just outside the M25, the London orbital motorway.

Westerham is a little town that tumbles over the Kentish downs at this point, south of the M25. It has a triangle of green in the centre appropriately with statues of both General Wolfe and Churchill. If you are heading east through the centre the main road dips down past the green on the left and then passes Quebec House before bending left where a car park can be found a little further on to the left.

Quebec House

Quebec House sits right on the main road and is backed by the coach house which is now the National Trust official entrance to the property. Here you can pay your entrance fee of £5 then have a cup of tea in the tiny café before climbing the staircase onto the first floor for the exhibition room, a very interesting display on the great war in Canada when General Wolfe took Quebec from the French in 1759 with his British troops and lost his life in the process due to injuries from three musket balls, as did the French commander. Using the St Lawrence River, the British landed below the town and forced the French into a retreat through standing firm. There is a helpful DVD that charts the course of the battle, as well as many helpful wall displays and illustrations on the progress of the battle. Wolfe was a mere 32 years old when he died as a major military commander, makes you wonder what you’ve done with your own life! You could consider him a pivotal figure in world events, because the capture of Quebec led to the capture of Montreal which finished French control of the country. Hence his posthumous title, ‘The Conqueror of Canada.’

The Coach House

Once you’ve read up on the battle, you nip downstairs at the other end, have a peruse around the garden and then station yourself at the front of the main house as we did ready for it to be opened at 1pm. The house is decked out as it would have looked when Wolfe spent his childhood there, lots of dark polished floorboards, displays, rugs and big bits of furniture.

Game table

The bicentenary room

The bicentenary room at the back of the house is a highlight with a military display arrayed across the large table in the centre of the room. Here there is a uniform of the time in bright red livery, a goatskin bag for a soldier to carry his kit, a flintlock musket complete with musket balls and bayonet appendage, a couple of grenades (hence the name grenadier), a case to carry cartridges, a pair of black breeches, and a pair of shoes, both of which are exactly the same, no left and right like today. You can handle the rifle which bears a tidy weight, and finger the goatskin bag, which when new emits a pungent odour which assaults the nostrils as soon as you enter the room with, you’ve guessed it, the smell of goat!

The drawing room

Upstairs the best room is the drawing room at the front of the house where the family would have relaxed, another classic old English space. Here you can practice your calligraphy by picking up a quill, dipping it in the inkwell, and writing upon the free paper provided to see whether you have any talent as a sign-writer. There is also a table with games upon it like cards, etc, and a piano.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chartwell - home of Winston Churchill



After you’ve had a quiverful of General Wolfe and his exploits you can jump back in your car and take a right turn off the main road almost opposite Quebec House onto the B2026 which takes you up into the cosy Kentish hills that surround London. It is here that Churchill found his beloved Chartwell that he lived in for so many years from 1924. You follow the country road and then take a left turn up a narrow lane. As you wind round up to the right you stumble upon the site which spreads over a quiet fold in the downs to the left of the road. You can see why Churchill loved it, barely a few miles from the edge of the London conurbation you are in the midst of classic England, enclosed in the North Downs and with a view to die for out to the south and the Kentish Weald.

The house is very distinctive, large but very much a home rather than a mansion. It sits high on the lip of the grounds, looking out over the valley and down to the lake at the bottom. It has quite an ordinary but still impressive enough frontage just off the road, with a gravel drive going in one entrance and out the other.

Chartwell front of house

You can imagine General Eisenhower in his jeep swinging in with a couple of US military police and jumping out dressed in camouflage green to have a parlez-vous with the great man during the war.

The house looks better if you approach it from the National Trust entrance, or from down below in the valley, then its distinctive size and attractive shape come into view.

First room of the tour is a downstairs sitting/living room, then you can see the library before going upstairs to see a large lounge and also dining room with round table and green décor, as well as bedrooms. There is a really nice atmosphere, all peace and quiet and you can see why Churchill loved it. Churchill’s study is a highlight with the standing desk he worked at. Behind this room is his bedroom which it was agreed would be kept from public view. Another section has cabinets showing the various uniforms he used to wear, including the famous siren suit. There is a great museum or exhibition space with exhibits of gifts that were given over the years by foreign dignitaries as well as write ups and photographs of Churchill’s life. You finish in the kitchens before exiting for a bit of fresh air.

Goldfish pond

There is also a great restaurant there where you can take lunch either before or after your visit, and a very interesting shop with lots of inviting gifts to buy for yourself or others. Like a bottle of Wilberforce freedom ale which I bought (and may even drink today if the mood takes me). I love National Trust shops, stuff can be a bit pricey but you are looking at a bit of quality.

You can swan on down to Churchill’s studio where you can see over 130 pictures painted by Churchill himself. How he found time to do all this as well as being a politician, writer, family man and builder one can never know. He obviously liked Mediterranean scenes, visiting islands like Madeira to give his brushes an airing. There are also more mementos displayed, including a letter from Field Marshall Montgomery.

Also you can mosey around the gardens including the walled kitchen garden, some of the brickwork having been done by Churchill himself, and also wander down to the lake where you can see a large sculpture of Churchill. All in all a visit well worth taking. Do it!

Chartwell grounds

A typical English house party in the early twentieth century - imagine the scene!

Reginald picked up the ancient black receiver.

‘I say Aunt Sybil, he said in his clipped King’s English honed giving orders on the Boer war battlefields. ‘Have you been invited to the house-party this weekend near Dorking. You will have a most marvellous time. The express leaves Victoria Station at 5.22pm on Friday evening and takes a most agreeable course out of the Old Smoke through the salubrious suburbs of Sutton, Cheam and Epsom. There’ll be quite a few of us on it, we’ve booked a carriage with our own trolley service. It then steams out into the Surrey Hills, a most wonderful green lung for the denizens of our great capital, and stops at the little halt of Trumpington. Here you alight and catch the charabanc up the hill to the house. It's quite a climb, but I'm dashed certain you'll enjoy the views.'

Reginald could almost hear his aunt's ears prick up with interest.

'It is a most splendid setting, you really will love it. Acres of rolling hillside and sheep filled meadows, capped with glorious woodland, you will have a real ball. When the motor bus arrives at our stately pile some dapper young footmen will relieve you of your luggage, whilst the master of the house will escort you to your room. There you will have a wash and brush up, deposit your clothes in the voluminous wardrobes, then descend the central staircase to the morning room, there you will be greeted by your host for the weekend, Lady Egremont, who will ply you with champagne and canapés and give you a schedule for the weekend. Here you will be introduced to your fellow weekend house guests, an assorted constellation of politicians, film stars, artists and writers.' His voice fell to a whisper, 'You know I've heard the Prime Minister will be there, the Prime Minister, isn't that just dashed exciting?'

‘Oh Reginald, said the squeaky voice at the other end of the phone, ‘it does sound such frightful fun. I have to come.’

'You will then return to your room to dress for dinner. The ladies will be expected to wear any shade of pink, red, scarlet or purple, complete with millinery flamboyance. The gentlemen will wear full top and tails with black bow tie and white shirts. Everyone will speak in a posh upper class accent.'

Aunt Sybil squealed with delight.

'Dinner will be served at 7pm sharp as Lady Egremont runs the house like a German warship. All provender springs from the bounty of nature that is the local farm, fresh duck, chicken and  lamb served with new potatoes, fresh vegetables from the kitchen garden and lashings of onion gravy followed by homemade Box-Hill tart and custard.'

'The weekend will flow like a vintage barrel of wine as the chaps stock up in the gun-room with a suitable flintlock and then tarry forth into the rolling downs to shoot some of those dumb pheasants, down some pigeons and terminate some grouse. The locals will provide beaters to pummel the living daylights out of the local undergrowth and stir up some beaks. After an exhausting day pointing guns into the sky, our trusty band of fellows will return in triumph to the gentleman’s lounge and smoke large Cuban cigars in front of a roaring fire, whilst others will have a golly good game of billiards and take a few bets on the afternoon’s race at Ascot, the results of which will blare out on the sideboard wireless.'

'Meanwhile, the ladies will indulge in all day chatter between bouts of eating and drinking. Madam will mingle with the ladies and do a little subtle matchmaking, avoiding any whiff of scandal of course. The new  'His Master's Voice' record player will blare out the latest jazz number by Fats Waller. It is a most pleasant way to spend the afternoon in the library, more a living room with books, with its annexe containing Madam’s favourite study with its beautiful views out over the Surrey hills. If you are lucky, at 4pm on the dot you may join madam for tea and cake at the other end of the corridor. Here intimate conversation flourishes among the cream cakes.'

'Saturday evening is the ball and they've booked a simply spiffing jazz band from Chicago for the entertainment. These black chappies know how to tinkle the ivories I'll tell you. The ball is the highlight of the weekend, you will simply love it, it's so nineteen twenties my darling. Mind you there are a fair few cads and bounders there. Watch out for Monocle Marmaduke, he fancies himself awfully with the ladies.'

By now Aunt Sybil was squealing with delight at the other end of the phone. 'It sound simply scrumptious Reginald darling.'

Of course, many of the rooms have ensuite facilities, a truly revolutionary idea. When you awaken in the morning, or perhaps in the afternoon if you had a late night, you can adjourn in your big fluffy dressing gown into the bathroom and get high on the bath salts. Underfloor heating, another technological marvel, will ensure your tootsies will not suffer.

Of course most will rise rather late on Saturday and Sunday morning, but for those who arise early you may adjourn to the upper landing where you can admire portraits of past heroes of the British Empire. Or you might want to read from a pile of one of those capital upper class magazines like ‘Country Life,’ ‘Shooting Times,’ and ‘The Lady.’

‘By jove, it’s basically a jolly good weekend for catching some fab country air and mixing with people just like yourself. Mummy came last time and she thought you would love it!

Aunt Sybil roared with laughter at the other end of the phone. 'I will commence my packing now Reginald. You have converted me.'

National Trust property  - Polesden Lacey

Polesden Lacey

Polesden Lacey sits hidden up in the Surrey Downs not far from the towns of Dorking and Leatherhead in the stockbroker belt outside London. If you don't know the geography, London sits in the Thames basin surrounded by some absolutely gorgeous countryside if you know where to go. That's why many London commuters like retreating to their homes at the weekend because they can enjoy wonderful open landscapes barely a stone's throw from the office. Whether you head north west to the Chiltern hills, south east to a garden suburb like Woldingham, or south west to the Surrey hills, you are guaranteed the full English countryside experience on London's doorstep.

House and downs

Statue in grounds 

The Surrey Hills are an AONB (Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty for the uninitiated), a swathe of rolling countryside with big views to the south and south west of London. They are full of interesting villages and towns with bags of history and acres of open fields and woodland. Here mountain bikers, horse-riders and walkers can reach for the sky.

Polesden Lacey is in the top ten National Trust properties to visit, up there with Chartwell and Stourhead, and when you get there you can see why. I visited on a snowy March day after catching the train from home via Barnham, Arundel and Horsham. You alight at the little halt of Box-Hill and West Humble. Box-Hill itself is well worth a visit as it is a well known beauty spot in the south with fantastic views over the Weald of Sussex and out to the South Downs. This area was used for the first road race of the 2012 Olympics when the riders used the local hills before powering their way to the centre of London and the finish line. Shame we missed a medal there despite Mark Cavendish being a favourite.



Looking up to the house

View of house from formal gardens end

The main arterial A24 Worthing to London road whacks north-south through the countryside here with lots of 50 mph speed limits on scary bends at this point. It is a fine and very scenic road for much of its length, and this stretch past Box Hill is no exception. I often use the road when heading north from Worthing, but had little idea of the attraction of Polesden Lacey.

  I had my bike with me and using a map printed off my computer I cycled up to Polesden Lacey through attractive scenery. It's quite a climb and you need a bit of puff, but eventually you get to the grounds of Polesden Lacey snug and high in the Surrey hills. Here you can park up and get a bite to eat at the restaurant before doing the house and grounds. Even on a cold March day the eatery had a healthy buzz, so try and plan your trip for an off peak time. It was ideal for me as there were very few wandering around the house and grounds, and visitors that day were in their hundreds rather than the thousands.

Polesden Lacey

Being a member of the National Trust this year, I can swan into any National Trust property I want for nothing, so it was a pleasure to flourish my card and breeze through into the main attraction. You can stroll around extensive grounds with lots of footpaths. Immediately adjoining the house are the formal gardens on a typical stately home plan, huge rectangular areas stretching along the top of the downs. If you wander outside the formal gardens you can admire the mixture of leafy lane, rolling hill and woodland surrounding this elderly matron of a stately home. 

The home itself has been used as a regional HQ for the National Trust, but more recently some of the upstairs rooms that have been used as offices have been opened up to the public e.g. the suite of rooms used by the 'hostess with the mostest,' Mrs Greville of house-party fame. Most of what there is to see is downstairs. You enter the main door to find yourself in a large entrance hall, to the right of which is a large dining room with a rich red carpet. A large table is decked for dinner although it has simulated desserts on the table. Homely it is, and one can imagine it being a very cosy roomful on a cold winter's evening. Returning to the entrance hall, take a left turn down the corridor and you arrive at another suite of rooms. To the left is the library with adjoining study that the lady of the house used, with its desk topped with photos of her parents, a Scottish brewery multimillionaire and Helen Anderson. Next to the library is a huge, grand room with a spectacular chandelier and lots of gold and mirror work and impressive views out over the adjoining hills.To the right of this room is a lounge where Mrs Greville would entertain guests in the afternoon to tea and cakes, and moving right again you enter the man-cave, another very  large room with armchairs round a fire at one end where the chaps would smoke and chat away the day, and a huge billiard table at the other end. Next door and at the end of the tour is the gun-room before you exit the house, but unfortunately there are no guns to look at or pick up to go and do a spot of grouse shooting.

Surrey hills from Polesden Lacey

Upstairs as I said you can wander the suite of rooms used by Lady Greville herself, and watch a DVD of the history of the house in the early twentieth century. On the landing you can pretend to be one of the previous house guests and sit and read the papers/magazines after rising for the day before everybody else!

Polesden Lacey was a magnet for the great and the good/not so good in the twenties and thirties. Winston Churchill was a visitor here, and the Queen Mother and George VI had part of their honeymoon here in 1923, such was the reputation of the place. Their honeymoon suite is not open to the public.

Scotney Castle

 

'Reflections of romance amidst the ruins.'

 

 

 Scotney Castle is a double dip trip for anyone who wants to experience a misty late winter excursion into the West Kent countryside. This National Trust property gives you not only a stately home but an ancient castle to boot barely a few hundred yards away. Virtually two for the price of one!

The castle lies a few miles south east of Tunbridge Wells off the A21, true Kentish Weald countryside replete with oast houses, white timbered cottages and rolling English countryside. We got there from Worthing by taking the high road across country via Lewes, a scenic route in itself.  Heathfield, Blackboys and Cross in Hand are some of the evocative sounding places on the way.

The National Trust property itself lies down a quiet Kentish lane near the village of Lamberhurst and covers a large area (770 acres) of rolling downland. Just after entering and parking up, it is a short walk to the entrance, shop and restaurant which was teeming with mid day half term visitors. Be aware that you may have to wait for a table at such a time. Once you pay your entry fee you turn left through a door and then into the grounds of the stately home which rears up to your left in front of an extensive lawn area. The house was designed by Anthony Salvin in Elizabethan style and built in 1837 for Edward Hussey 111.

 

 

 

 

 

It contains a complete tour of fully furnished rooms both upstairs and downstairs centring on the grand staircase ascending from the entrance hall. A cheery gentleman greets you at the door and gives you a large laminated card to guide you from room to room. Every room has a guide ready to answer your questions, sometimes eager to pre-empt your questions. Much of the house looks perfectly liveable in, albeit in a rather 1950ish kind of style and with a touch of the squire at home in his mansion look. As it is, you take a leisurely circuit of the large entrance hall, then round the ground floor with the usual mixture of enormous dining room tables, assorted assemblages of wine bottles, voluminous bookcases and copies of old magazines. A previous occupant of the house, Christopher Hussey was an architectural historian and writer for the 'Country Life' magazine. Then it’s out through the kitchen with its more modern decor and into a long thin corridor bounded by old photographs. Very interesting as Scotney Castle was a school for evacuated kids during the Second World War. Upstairs is a round of bedrooms in various shades mixed up with old fashioned bathrooms with those very Victorian white sinks.

 

Once you have had your stately home fix it’s time to visit an old medieval English Castle but this one is right on the doorstep, being the live-in before the stately home was built. So a saunter out the front door and a turn left takes you down winding paths to the moat inside which stands the original Scotney Castle on its very own 'island.' It is the focal point for the celebrated  surrounding gardens which boast displays of rhododendrons and azaleas in summer.

 

 

 

 

From the top of the hill you get a little peek of the ancient wonder drawing you in to its cute castleness witihn the moat. If you want a little sidetrack take a walk through the old quarry which was used as building material for the house. Here you can spot an array of snowdrops if you visit in February.

 

 

Intriguingly, the occupants of the stately home left the castle to go to rack and ruin deliberately as at the time it was all the rage to have a ruined castle or suchlike as a folly in your backyard. OK if you can afford it!

 

Our castle is on the small but very appealing side, part ruin and part a fully visitable up and down building. It does indeed stand on a little island in the middle of a moat, seductively separated from the mainland. Round the moat you can walk, taking a hundred photos until you get the perfect shot. The one with the castle in the foreground and the stately home sneaking into the background at the top of the hill is the one to go for. Once you’ve circumnavigated the moat and passed the dinky little boathouse that could be the start of a thousand adventures, you can wander over the bridge to the castle and find yourself in front of the main doorway. This is a kind of a house castle rather than a fully fledged battlemented warship of a castle ready to withstand the French army, the sort of castle you could treat as a weekend retreat rather than a place to stand 24 hour guard with your cauldron of boiling oil. Somewhere you could go fish on the lake in a little dinghy rather than practising knocking your opponents off horses with lances all day.

Binsted, Hampshire  - The grave of Field Marshall Viscount Montgomery

This is just a short post in memory of one of Britain’s greatest Second World War heroes. He led the British army in the North African desert against Rommel at El Alamein. Montgomery was a very interesting man. He replaced a man called WHE 'Strafer' Gott as commander of British forces in the desert. Gott was killed in an air crash on the way to take over the command, so Churchill chose BL Montgomery to do the job. Bernard Montgomery was the son of an Anglican bishop and a man of phenomenal discipline who was able to transfer that discipline to his officers.

The battle of El Alamein was the first major allied victory of the war which punctured the Nazi threat to Egypt, the Suez Canal and Palestine. It can be concluded that it was the turning point of the North African war.

Holy Cross Church, Binsted

In a quiet little Hampshire village lying four miles north east of the market town of Alton and just off the main A3 road from Portsmouth to London is found the grave of Field Marshall Viscount Montgomery,  Second World War hero of El Alamein. The attractive twelfth century village church, so typically English, is bordered on two sides by a twisting lane that runs through the village centre, flanked by attractive old cottages looking out over the rolling Hampshire countryside.

Holy Cross Church, Binstead

Cottages bordering the church, Binsted

The church itself is worth a visit with its Montgomery memorabilia, including a biography of the great man complete with photos, and a regimental flag hanging from the nave. After a quiet walk around the church one can go and find the grave of Montgomery on the edge of the expansive churchyard. On the other side of the church from the lane stretches a large, flat  rectangular plot full of graves laid out neatly on an American grid pattern. The plot is very open, relatively free from bushes and trees. We wandered among the graves, looking for the target without success. Then we watched a family enter the churchyard and head straight for the correct spot. Hanging around nonchalantly, we ambled over to where they had been after their departure. Right at the end of the churchyard on the extreme right lies the grave, on the edge of a path stretching on into the countryside.  It comprises principally a large grey rectangle of marble with no great decoration.

Montgomery was a man of destiny, who felt that he was being prepared for a special task. He had a deep Christian faith that he was not afraid to display in the deserts of North Africa when facing Field Marshall Rommel. This is the prayer that Montgomery publicly called his officers and men to pray on the eve of battle:

'Let us ask the Lord, mighty in battle, to give us the victory.'

It is a fitting place for an ex-commander of the British army to be buried, near to the home he had retired to, in a peaceful English country churchyard. It is also a testimony in this secular and cynical age of the timeless values that helped bring victory to this nation in its darkest days of war.

This is a really silly superhero story for which I blame my incredibly strange imagination! Anyway, it makes a change from trip posts and does have a bit of geography in it!

Dirk hits Glastonbury!

Dirk Destiny landed on the top of Glastonbury Tor, superhero cape waving in the Somerset breeze. It was his day off from being a superhero, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t intervene in a world crisis if it came his way. He just wanted to visit a quintessential English town and get his cream tea fix for the week. He pulled on his far distance goggles and took in the Thorn that Joseph of Arimathea was supposed to have planted when he came to England, Glastonbury Abbey glinted in the sunlight, and the famous music festival rocked into the seventh heaven despite the three feet mud-bath from last week’s rains.

That’s it, he thought, as the strains of Ozzy Osborne pierced his ears like a large chalk being scraped on an acoustic blackboard. I will tune in on my superhero smartphone whilst doing my afternoon Glastonbury tour and catch some vibes. Earplugs planted in his titanium orifices, Dirk went into one legged man mode to save on power, and literally hopped right into Glastonbury town centre in one fell hop.

Goodness gracious me, thought Dirk as he sat down at a pavement café to soak up the atmosphere, I have never seen so many sandals, candles and beards since Commander Jeremy Aubrey-Wintle had a Celtic festival on Starship Intrepid in ’92, as he watched a spooky looking woman with a pointy hat and cloak walk past.

‘Drink Sir?’ said a comely waitress with a smile that could light up a supper with two miserable maiden aunts.

‘Yes,’ said Dirk, I’ll have a large lemonade.’

‘Of course, Sir, right away. Oh Sir, she added, are you going to a fancy dress party?’ She had observed his bright blue and yellow leotard, monstrous six inch wide battle belt and voluminous cape with the letters DD emblazoned on the back.

Dirk swallowed so hard his asbestos tongue almost disappeared down his reinforced plastic throat. In the US ordinary folk always enquired if he was a superhero, here in England folk thought this was his evening wear.

‘No Madam, I am Dirk Destiny, superhero, at your service!’

‘Oh Sir, I like your style, how do I contact you if I need your help? She smiled a smile that would melt a rock faced maiden aunt. Suddenly Dirk felt his forehead begin to melt as well, but it was not just because of her smile.

Dirk felt a headache come over him, even worse his thoughts were becoming confused. The truth hit him like six foot high letters spelling the word ‘truth‘ landing in front of him. Great lumps of horse manure! I am entering the Glastonbury Triangle! He had heard of this before when reading that tome for trainee superheros, ‘Snares to a Superhero.’ How could he forget! Glastonbury played havoc with a superhero’s wavelength because of the vibes from laylines, woman in pointy hats, groups of men with beards and cloaks worshipping stones and an army of waist-coated, sandal wearing, long-flowing skirt wearing crystal lovers, as well as assorted Liberal Democrats. He was in big trouble. This was as bad as it gets, on a par with being sucked into a black hole and consequent nothingness in the Andromeda galaxy. If he could not break out of this mode pronto he would lapse into his original factory default programme and start speaking in a slow deliberate German accent.

‘Are you alright Sir? The waitress looked at him with a concerned look.

‘Wot did you say, meine fraulein? With shock he heard a bit of Lower Saxony mixed in with his slow deliberate German accent. Oh no, he had to get out of here fast, and who was that over the other side of the square? It was Cling Film Man. This always happened, at a moment of weakness his enemy would turn up to put the superhero knife in.

Cling Film Man approached him with a menacing look in his eye. Dirk knew that if Cling Film Man could envelope him in plastic he would turn into a New Age monument forever stuck in Glastonbury. He had to get out of this force field before he was netted by the cling film gun. One thing was in his favour, Cling Film Man was incredibly slow, barely more than human. He had been a reject on the Nemesis project, and had only just made superhero status. He only attacked those who had been severely weakened.

Dirk plugged into his superfine tuning satellite navigation programme and desperately searched for a clear signal that would propel him out of this New Age nightmare, almost knocking over the woman with the pointy hat. Suddenly he picked up the seductive tones of Motorhead powering down his main feed line, ‘Great tons of candle wax, I’ve hit the festival lead!’ that will do the trick! Immediately the cloud of new age confusion lifted off him with the speed of a man leaving a female public toilet he has entered by mistake, his slow and deliberate German accent metamorphosed into his true superhero Texan drawl, and his confidence rose almost to smug level, but not quite. But as quick as he found the channel, he lost it again, and felt his senses sinking into the black hole that was the Glastonbury Triangle again.

Oh no, his lightning fast reactions were disappearing, and he was totally void of a crafty plan.

He turned to face Cling Film Man, who with a flourish had pulled a large plastic gun from the pouch at his side. Dirk saw the look of triumph in his eyes. Although he was as slow as a toad in a bog by humanoid standards, Cling Film Man could still wrap up even a superhero in ten seconds like a sausage in tin foil, especially a superhero with no bearings. In his present confusion, Dirk now had the reactions of a 95 year old man, and was unable to avoid the massive sheet of cling film enveloping him as he tried to escape as if through treacle. It was no good, he was being entombed in a plastic hell, and felt his arms and legs pinned shut as he discovered what it was like to be a dead chicken in a fridge.

This was his fault, Dirk remonstrated with himself angrily as the plastic smothered him. He had let his guard down to enjoy an afternoon off and the world was about to lose an all round good super egg, the sort who would carry your granny’s groceries home after singlehandedly disarming a nuclear Iran. He felt himself heading down a tunnel towards a light, soon he would be in superhero heaven, this was it! His supersenses just made out that Cling Film Man had trussed him up like a Christmas tree and thrown him into the sidecar of a Triumph motorcycle which Dirk remembered he used as his ‘English gentleman’ transport when in England.

He was now half way down that tunnel, and could still hear Cling Film Man’s gleeful laughter at catching and destroying another sucker. Meanwhile he could just discern the throaty Triumph motor as Cling Film man roared down a country lane in English gentleman mode. Dirk’s confidence guage couldn’t have been lower as he felt the life being sucked out of him like a milkshake disappearing through a straw.

But suddenly his fast declining hearing picked up the strains of a music beat, and a few electronic crackles began to jump his brain nodes. Slowly but surely his mind stepped back into gear. Great Galloping Reindeer, he was plugging into something really powerful and felt himself reversing down that there tunnel back towards superhero normality. He was breaking out of the Glastonbury Triangle through the medium of rock music. He listened intently to discern which track he could hear. Well I never, he thought to himself, that’s AC/DC. Cling Film Man has forgotten how I tick and has wandered into Glastonbury Festival for a bit of fun. I am literally at my most potent if I can drink in these vibes.

All his senses came back with a vengeance in those few seconds as he powered up to punch a hole in the cling film. He felt himself literally grow in milliseconds as his superhero wavelength plugged into the main feed lead at Glastonbury Festival; it was the equivalent of putting a pair of jumbo jump leads on a finely tuned Rolls Royce. As he hit normality again he punched his way out of the cling film prison to find himself next to Cling Film Man’s golf club bag in the back of his sidecar, which was now parking up for a grandstand view of the festival.

Suddenly he remembered what his mother, Lady Saturn, had said to him as she had rocked him on her knee as an infant, ‘if ever Cling Film Man attacks you get his gun and fire it back at him. If you do that he will turn into a lump of polystyrene.’

Dirk felt that a good throttle would not go amiss before sending Cling Film Man to plastic hell, as he grew into his seven foot five inch frame again, leapt from the sidecar and towered over Cling Film Man who was totally unaware of him and swaying to the beat. Dirk reached out and grabbed his hapless enemy by the throat, then stared in fiercest rage directly into Cling Film Man’s terrified eyes.

‘So you would try to foil Dirk Destiny,’ he roared. ‘How dare you spoil my day off!’

Cling Film Man gulped as much as a Man being throttled could gulp, and saw his life flash before him as Dirk nicked the gun from his pouch. As he re-enacted his creation from plastic waste at the cling film factory in Braintree, Essex, Cling Film Man found himself facing the barrel of his own gun. Dirk fired and Cling film Man felt himself being recycled into a lump of polystyrene with a closing thought of ‘Ouch that hurt!’

Dirk looked at the lump of polystyrene with not a hint of sadness and popped it into his pocket for analysis at Great Uncle Vortex’s pathetic specimens lab. After enjoying a turn from Lady Gaga and then Rhianna, he set off into the night on his new Triumph.