Photos

Following our stay in decadent hotel luxury in the depths of Surrey – during which hiatus we visited (and were visited by) many lovely generous folk who all seemed eager to commune with us (or just to gawk at the strange people from Canada!) – we continued our UK visit by taking to the road in our hire car to visit on successive days Colchester in Essex, Sevenoaks in Kent and Maidenhead in Berkshire. The purpose of these brief but delightful tarriances was, naturally, to foist ourselves upon the hospitality of dear friends whom we had not seen for at least four years. The results were – hopefully – to the mutual enjoyment of all parties.

Well – that is certainly how it was for us, anyway, and it was lovely in several cases to visit for the first time the new homes of those that we love! Thank you all.

It was also good to be able to visit ‘new’ places. The following images – for example – are of a part of England that I have not visited since I was a very small boy and of which I have – naturally – virtually no memory at all.

I like these houseboats (or live-aboards as Canadians would term them). I sense a certain Dickensian feel to these images of inexorable decline (though maybe I am actually thinking more of Dickens by way of David Lean!).

What is glaringly wrong in this photo of the lovely cricket ground that has been used since 1974 by Copford Cricket Club in Essex?

That’s right – there is a massive oak tree at midwicket (or in the covers depending on which end the bowling is currently from)! The ground is on the estate of Copford Hall and the only restriction that the owners place on the club is that the oak cannot be disturbed. It makes an interesting – and very English – hazard!

Oldest friend and his good lady live in a part of rural England that is perhaps the epitome of all that is considered to be the most English of Englishness.

They did not always do so of course. When we were growing up we all lived in a small town by the river Thames in Surrey that the locals to this day (or at least until not that long ago) insist on calling (without irony) ‘the village’.

We have each now disappeared in our own directions – us to western Canada – they to the borderlands of Worcestershire and Herefordshire. Naturally I made the pilgrimage to the heart of the country to get a look at our friends’ new home (the which I had previously only glimpsed briefly in estate agents particulars online) and to re-connect with them. A thoroughly lovely couple of days in the countryside ensued.

These images give a general impression of the area – and if you can hear strains of Elgar playing somewhere in your subconscious as you view them I would not be in the least surprised.

Readers from ‘the old country’ – and in particular those from the south east thereof – will doubtless already know of the delights of Painshill Park. This post is really for others who do not (yet!) but who will no doubt be happy to be introduced thereto.

Painshill was established in the mid-18th century by the Hon Charles Hamilton (MP) and was one of the early examples of the fashion for creating ‘natural’ landscapes adorned with Gothic follies such as ‘ruined’ abbeys, grottos and hermitages. Those familiar with Tom Stoppard’s ‘Arcadia’ will know whereof I speak.

The reason for this post is that the old and dear friends with whom I have been staying for the first phase of our UK adventure live in part of the Georgian mansion that adjoins the park. A visit was thus in order.

Here be photos: