Chapter 25: Ordinary England

Lest you think that I have spent my six months in the UK only visiting the big tourist attractions, I must dispel that idea and tell you that lots of the time I am simply enjoying my time at my hosts' home in Caversfield, a small village in the Thames Valley, near Oxford. My son-in-law and daughter invited me to stay here, mainly to spend lots of time with my only grandson, Sammy.
Caversfield is a fairly new collection of brick houses, mostly duplexes, for the American community here. Other houses are occupied by American members of the Air Force. One of its best features is the huge recreational area, upon which many of the houses back.
Sammy and I often go to the common area for him to have lots of space to play.

Sammy playing on Baker Close, our residence in the background.

As in much of England, farms and fields are only a minute's walk from housing.

Sammy attends a British school nearby.

Sammy's school at Beachborough, where we attend family/student events. One of these was Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawkes Night, a time for fireworks and the traditional bonfire and mulled wine.

According to Wikipedia, Guy Fawkes Night (also known as Bonfire Night, Cracker Night, Fireworks Night) is an annual celebration on the evening of the 5th of November to celebrate the foiling of the Gunpowder Plot of the 5th of November, 1605 in which a number of Catholic conspirators, including Guy Fawkes, were alleged to be attempting to blow up the Houses of Parliament in London, England.
In the United Kingdom, celebrations take place in towns and villages across the country in the form of both private and civic events. They involve firework displays and the building of bonfires on which masked "guys" -- traditionally effigies of Guy Fawkes, the most famous of the Gunpowder Plot conspirators--are roasted "alive."
Here the flames creep closer to the small effigy. Below, some of the fireworks enjoyed by the children and the parents. For two weeks I heard firecrackers and fireworks around the area, sometimes late at night!

Another event I enjoyed was a "Block Party" for the neighbours on Baker Close in Caversfield.

Below, my favourite tree down the street.

The home of friends near Croughton. An old farm, they live in the converted granary. The properties in the UK all seem to have names. This property is called Aswick Farms. We call our ordinary duplex, Blandy House.

Occasionally, I go for walks around the countryside, usually finding that I have plenty of choices of villages I could visit. The nearest town is Bicester. I can walk to town, or take the bus, to shop on Sheep Street, a typical, old-fashioned pedestrian shopping area, with at least two bookstores. There is also a upscale shopping area called Bicester Village, the shops all representing the top fashion lines, such as Burberry, Gucci, Ralph Lauren, etc. Nearby there is a "superstore" called Tesco, and recently we discovered another brand-new mall nearby with excellent shops.

Nearby is a village called Deddington, in which is located a pub, The Crown and Tuns, also called Puddingface, the Pie Place, where we sometimes eat superb meat pies of all types.

In every pub I visit, including this one in Charwelton, the patrons and management are extremely friendly and helpful, if we have questions. Mostly the food is very good. I can get curry whenever I want, but my favourites are ale meat pies, lamb stew, and sausages and mash. (Not called "Bangers and Mash" here.)

One of the nicer pubs is nearby in Fringford, full of sports memorabilia--mostly cricket--and local artefacts.

Everything about The Butchers Arms is traditional--even the pillar box--although I am not fussy about having to go outside to a shed for the men's loo.

One evening we walked from Brackley to the Domesday village of Turweston. (I was glad to be away from the car for a change.)

There are still many thatched houses in England, and this ancient village has several wonderful examples.

As is happening all over England, the old post office is closed, just as has happened home in Canada. What a shame!

Very well maintained rows of houses in Turweston.

Like every other village in the UK, this one also has a village church, often Norman in style (and age) and their old churchyards are typically full of well maintained graves.

The main street through the village.

Hundreds of pubs close in the UK every year; this village's pub is available for lease. It looks wonderful, but I guess there is not enough business any more to keep it going.

Bicester has an airfield which seems limited to gliders, of which there are sometimes dozens in the skies over the town and the surrounding villages. Some are towed by small aircraft; others are "launched" by being towed behind vehicles on the ground.

Nearby where we live is the automotive racetrack at Silverstone. It seems to be a very popular sport in England, but, for me, like with most sports, I don't get the point! I never got to see a football game.

I did enjoy the race which included this determined little Mini, which came last in every race it was in.

Many of the pubs are large, such as The Royal Oak, at the bottom of the hill on Thames Street in Windsor.

Sammy is six, so every time we see animals he wants to see them. Here he strikes up an acquaintance with a couple of donkeys, at Sheppy's Cider Farm.

There is a fear that the iconic red phone boxes will disappear from the UK.

Driving in many parts of the UK is sometimes stressful, especially when we end up on single-track roads. I would not have minded if they were ONE-WAY, but, in fact, another car could come on us head-on, in roads too narrow for one!

I never find opportunities to take good photos of the passing countryside. In most places it is too dangerous to stop, and in many others one cannot see over the hedgerows--some 8 feet high--lining country roads.

A favourite village is Charwelton, in Northamptonshire. Charwelton--Church Charwelton formally--the wee village where my step-grandmother, "Auntie" Jeannie used to visit with her family, the Colemans. Jeannie Cruikshank MacCulloch EATON was Dr. Leslie Eaton's second wife. He met her and became friends whilst he and Minetta and my mother (and her brother and sister) lived in India. He married her after Minetta died very young in Wolfville, NS. Jeannie is buried in the Eaton Family Plot in Willowbank in Wolfville, with Leslie, his first wife, and all three of Leslie's children.

It was 1965 and I had arrived illegally in Galway Bay, Ireland, on a pulp boat. "Arrested", I was ordered to leave Ireland and put on a train to Holyhead. I eventually arrived in Rugby and then began hitchhiking, eventually finding my step-grandmother's family. She was away on vacation in Brighton, but I was given a polite welcome. (A few years later, as newlyweds, my wife and I moved into "Auntie" Jeannie's Wolfville apartment in my late grandfather's house. I just remembered that when I was a pallbearer at her funeral, I tripped, and dropped my corner of the casket!) The Saturday I was in Charwelton in 1965, the Coleman's were having their annual spring fête, and I was bluntly asked to be absent for the day. I walked a few miles to Fawsley Park and had a wonderful day. It was great to be back here again.

Started in 1209, The Church of Saint Mary the Virgin was likely predated by a wooden Saxon church. In the 13th and 14th centuries there was a thriving community here, but today there is no trace of it. Now referred to as The Lost Village, it once had 17 families. It is believed that the remains of the village were buried beneath one of the ornamental lakes, designed by the famous Capability Brown (1716-1783). I am becoming away of the human impact of the enclosure movement and the effect of clearances. Despicable!

Fawsley Park was the ancient home of the Knightley Family, who held it from about 1316 to 1932. Begun in the 1530s, Fawsley Hall was built by Sir Richard Knightley. It has undergone many changes over the centuries. When I was first here, it was being used as a timber factory. Now it is an exclusive, expensive luxury hotel and conference centre.

One of the beautiful swans in the ornamental lake. Nearby, sheep graze through the fields.

Sammy and I ran about the fields--OK, I thought the swans might attack me!--and here he waits for me to catch up.

The roof, dating from the 15th century, consists of massive hammer beams with lavish carved decorations. It was restored in the 1960s and saved from the ravages of the death watch beetle. We were happy to leave a donation for further work. There are four working bells in the tower, cast in London in the 1450s.

One of the ancient tombstones in the churchyard. Nearby are brand-new graves, but I am not certain if the church is still used.

Fawlsey's most significant treasures are its medieval stained glass windows. This window, however, is newer, after 1866, and features Sir Charles and Lady Knightley. The left panel represents the Good Samaritan Parable; the right is reputed to be of Dorcas, helper of the poor.

Sam sits against the massive north wall monument. It chronicles the virtues of the Knightley family from 1566 to 1619. It glows with colour--including fine gold--and was restored in 1930. Note the 13th century font.

The Alabaster Memorial tomb of Sir Richard Knightley and his wife, Jane Skenard.

Sam, the future Vicar, at the pulpit. Note the window behind the altar: it features the Washington Shields, showing the Coat of Arms of the George Washington Family (of nearby Solgrave Manor) which hints at the American flag, the Stars and Stripes.

From the bell tower on the west, facing towards the altar.

The stone Bible, open to the Ten Commandments.

Mary, at the north entrance. The Church is open to visitors.

This long view of the church, across the lake from higher ground, is the view of the church I first saw trekking through here when 16. I have always remembered how much I loved this park and church in 1965, and I still love coming here today.

One other thing I love about the UK is the flowers. There are flowers everywhere and they seem to bloom most of the time.

When I return to the Thames Valley next spring, I want to spend more time seeing old villages and I want to go walking if my weak back and legs allow it. I have my heart set on heading north to the Lake District. I must also spend the winter planning everything else I want to do then. I am bringing over my youngest, Tess, for a visit in May or June; she deserves a graduation present.

If all goes well, I have one more trip this week, and one final blog. We are off to see the Christmas lights at Blenheim Castle. If the weather agrees--and that is debatable--I might go to London next week to see the Tower of London.