2002 Church Spotting in England

Church Spotting in England May 9 - 21, 2002

Journal kept by Susan Hanes during a trip through England from May 9 to 21, 2002. Photos by Susan Hanes and George Leonard, copyright 2002.

Church Spotting in England May 9 - 21, 2002

It has been a year, almost to the day, since my last trip to England; a trip that I realized marked the end of a chapter for me. England had helped me to heal, to grow, to become myself again, and I thought that perhaps I was closing a door there, at least for awhile. But when George and I began to consider where we would like to go for our first trip since our wedding and honeymoon, it somehow seemed right to return again to my favorite place. We pulled out the maps and Michelin guides, and a copy of Simon Jenkins’ England’s Thousand Best Churches and plotted our course. We decided this time to concentrate on “church spotting” after first spending a few days in London. I was anxious to introduce George to the many friends I had made on my visits over the past few years, and then we planned to rent a car and head out northwest to the “Shires.”

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On the evening of Thursday, May 9 we took off on our usual United 928 after a rigorous security check, concentrating on George’s metal-replaced knees and my apparently suspicious-looking sandals.

After being relieved of my cuticle nippers, we were permitted to proceed to our gate and in due time, we made our flight across the Atlantic. We arrived on a foggy London morning at 7:30 and took the Heathrow Express in to Paddington where we visited the ATM, replaced my cell phone battery and caught a taxi to the Goodenough Club. This time, we had only 47 stairs to negotiate up to our room overlooking Mecklenburg Square.

After dropping our bags off and plugging the phone in to charge, we took a shortcut through Coram Fields to the British Library. There was no special exhibit this time, but we spent a good hour or two examining some of the incredible treasures there—Shakespeare’s First Folio, the Magna Carta, and the Lindisfarne Gospels among them. We visited the gift shop, of course, and had a bowl of tomato soup before going back to the room for a rest and a shower.

Later we met Suzanne Madigan in Freddie’s for a drink before dinner. She was back for the annual Goodenough Ball that she and Chris had attended last year. We ran into several of Chris’s friends as well, and George took some photos to send back to him. We took a taxi to Belgo Centraale, an industrial-looking restaurant with exposed pipes and a long beer list where George indulged in mussels and I did not. I did, however, enjoy the Kriek, a cherry beer that I would love to find again.

After dinner, we had just enough energy to walk back to the Club where we slept very soundly that night.

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The Goodenough Club 3

The British Museum was our first stop the next morning. We photographed the restored Great Court and the beautiful Reading Room, where I noted that Wilkie Collins was duly represented among Britain’s best authors. George gave me a tour of some of his favorite things, including a stunning Assyrian frieze of a dying lion and sculptures from the Parthenon enhanced by a computerized depiction of its construction.

I was anxious to get across the street and make my customary visit to Jarndyce but was disappointed to find them closed.

Instead we headed for Covent Garden and poked around the shops until it was time to meet Vicky Palau and William at the Theater Royal Drury Lane for My Fair Lady. We had a box to ourselves, and had a lovely afternoon enjoying the music, eating chocolates and catching up. Their big news was that William will be a papa in October. Vicky was a bit bemused but Will couldn’t have been happier. As for the musical, it was great fun. London was a perfect backdrop for this American masterpiece.

I had promised myself that I would not see any more attempts at American accents in England and this was the perfect antidote.

Following the performance, we walked to the Savoy and enjoyed a drink at the American Bar, home of the original White Lady (vodka, lime and Cointreau) which, of course, should have been named the Woman in White. We said goodby to Will at that point and Vicky drove us out to Hammersmith where we were meeting Trish and Charles McGregor at the River Café for dinner.

It was an unpretentious modern place but the food was fantastic. I made George proud by ordering the fresh sardines as my appetizer. After dinner, Trish drove us back to their home on Festing Road (my second London home) by way of Charles’s office and we shared coffee and Armanac and I signed their guest book for the seventh time. We headed home on the tube sharing the car with Saturday night revelers.

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Sunday morning we slept late trying to win over our jet lag. We had breakfast at Freddie’s before walking over to the Russell Hotel for the antiquarian book fair that I have enjoyed on several other occasions. I found Sylvia and Brian Harlow’s booth and bought two Wilkie Collins books in terrific condition. I also found the woman who I have bought antique games from in the past and made two wonderful additions to my collection. After George spirited me away from further temptation, we took the tube to the V & A. George again served as guide through the Indian and Islamic art where we savored the beautiful rugs, the Ardibel Carpet in particular. We also got a taste of ecclesiastical art before our little side trip and enjoyed a cup of coffee and a slice of cake in the tea room that William Morris and ByrneJones had designed. From the V & A, we walked to Bibendum, the Michelin Art-Deco building, for a glass of wine in the oyster bar which featured tiled murals of cars from the early 20th century.

While George had a rest back at the GC, I went with Suzanne for a glass of cider to a cute pub that Chris had taken me to. Later, we took a taxi to Swiss Cottage and Andrew Gasson’s flat in Belsize Park. I was anxious to see his latest Wilkie acquisition: the portrait of Wilkie and his brother Charles when they were nine and six respectively, painted by their uncle, Andrew Geddes. The painting had been in the Horace Pym family and had recently come up for auction. Andrew was quite ecstatic at his good fortune in being able to purchase the painting, and made a gift to us of a photographic copy. We walked to a neighborhood restaurant near Andrew’s flat and enjoyed a spicy Indian dinner and much too much food.

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We met Suzanne again at Freddie’s in the morning for breakfast and had a chance to say goodbye before she caught her flight back to Dublin. Our first stop for the day was Trafalgar Square and to the National Gallery to see the early Italian and Flemish art in the Sainsbury Wing. We made our way to Sloane Square, met Vicky at her work, and continued by taxi to Drones for an elegant but disappointing lunch. We walked back in the pouring rain, and stopped in Harrods so that I could buy a raincoat and show George the Dodi-Di memorial to tastelessness. Then back to Holy Trinity Church at Sloane Square, the first of the churches on our Jenkins list. He reports that it is “pre-eminent among the monuments of the Arts and Crafts Movement.” As George photographed the glorious windows

by Burne-Jones, I tried my hand at drawing the wrought iron and brass lighting fixtures that graced the nave. It had been my intention to draw features of each church that we visited but I learned quickly that we did not have the time necessary for such a venture. As my hair needed an overhaul before dinner, we hastened back to our room.

We cleaned up and headed to Club Gascon by taxi, meeting Faith and Bill Clarke shortly after our arrival. It was great to see them, just as it had been to be together with all of my lovely London friends. We had a dinner of many tapas-sized dishes, which turned out to be both tasty and expensive. The evening was very special as they greeted George warmly and the four of us thoroughly enjoyed our time together.

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Tuesday morning marked the start of our “church spotting” tour. George set out to find the car rental place near King’s Cross while I finished packing. After a quick croissant and coffee from Freddie’s, we headed out of London, map in hand and adrenalin pumping, on the A40 to Oxford. George performed admirably with a right hand drive and a left hand shift and we arrived in Oxford around noon. We grabbed a quick sandwich at a nearby pub and then joined a walking tour, deciding that it would be the fastest way to gain a sense of the University. We visited John the Baptist College and gardens and walked past Merton, Trinity, and the Victorian “horror gothic” (according to Ruskin), the red-bricked Kable. We stopped briefly at the Bodleian Library and the Science Museum before leaving the tour and going on our own. We visited the Ashmolean Museum in order to see their collection of Pre-Raphaelite paintings and, in particular, Charles Collins’s Convent Thoughts, which I had seen in London, and greeted as an old friend.

From Oxford, we drove to the first church on our itinerary, St. John’s in Burford, which Jenkins calls “a paragon of the English parish church.” We were fortunate to find the verger at closing time, who let us in and gave us a bit of a tour, pointing out a great old working medieval turret clock, made in 1685. Interesting in the churchyard were the bale tombs with rounded tops that resembled bales of wool. Perhaps they were resting places of wealthy wool merchants from the 15th century.

We continued to Fairford and the church of St. Mary. Here we were impressed with the medieval stained glass, beautifully restored, that was described to us by a rather zealous guide who used an old fishing pole as a pointer. St. Mary’s has England’s only complete set of medieval glass and it is of the highest quality, depicting contrasting scenes from the Old and New Testaments on opposite sides of the church.

The day was moving into evening as we arrived at our hotel, the New Inn at Coln St. Aldwyns. We were delighted with the inn and with our room with its exposed beams and slanted ceiling. We enjoyed a sumptuous dinner in the tiny hotel dining room, impressed by the formal dress of our fellow guests (in contrast to the casual nature of the one- and two-starred restaurants we later visited in Ludlow, Bath and London.)

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Burford

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Fairford 17

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Wednesday morning, we left a bit later than we had planned and drove to St. John the Baptist Church at Cirencester, the “cathedral of wool gothic,” according to Jenkins. It is one of the largest parish churches in the country and boasts a beautiful porch that is almost a separate building of its own. From there we continued to Gloucester to see both its cathedral, and the tailor’s shop that is pictured in Beatrix Potter’s Tailor of Gloucester. We were not disappointed in either one.

The little tailor’s shop lies in an alleyway immediately adjacent to the cathedral. After visiting the shop and its charming display of little Potter characters and after purchasing a few Peter Rabbit items (in honor of Peter’s 100th birthday this year), we photographed the exterior, trying to emulate the view painted by Beatrix. We continued to the cathedral which was built in 1541 on the site of a Norman church dating from the 11th century. Of particular beauty were the 14th century fan-vaulted cloisters which resembled a walkway of ghostly white trees. An interesting thought, for these cloisters were filmed with ghostly figures floating down the hallways in the recent Harry Potter movie.

We continued on our way, next stopping at St. Mary in Deerhurst and its nearby pre-Conquest Odda’s Chapel. Deerhurst, a former Anglo-Saxon monastery, is most interesting for its Angel, a rare survival of 10th century carving, located high on the east wall. We tried to

Cirencester

photograph it without success, for we would have needed a cherrypicker to do the job.

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We went on to Tewkesbury Abbey, described by Jenkins as “one of England’s most splendid churches.” In addition to the glorious Norman nave and medieval glass, I made a grand discovery at the gift shop. I picked up an intriguing book entitled The Green Man and read about those mysterious ancient faces with leaves and branches spewing from mouths, noses and eyes. Ancient fertility signs or symbols of eternal life, they are still an enigma to scholars. I had found a new quest and began my own search for the Green Man by finding the one pictured in the book. By careful observation, I found and photographed several others, including one on the 20th century iron gate to the grounds.

Our last stop for the day was St. Michael’s Church at Ledbury. We felt fortunate to find it through a “rabbit warren” of tiny lanes.

Jenkins points out that it is a church of multiple periods, with a Norman chancel that looks like a church within a church and with Gothic aisles surrounding it. There is a Baroque font and an amazingly garish modern window that resembles a “furious flame.”

It was time to relax after a day of successful hunting and we drove on in to Hereford where we found Castle House, our place for the night. We were shown to our room, the William and Mary Suite, which was luxuriously beautiful. Sherry and fresh fruit awaited our arrival, and delicious Escada toiletries were supplied in the bath. After cleaning up a bit, we went for a walk along the River Wye, taking pictures of the cathedral and the evening sky reflected in its waters. As George was after cask-conditioned “real ale” we looked for a pub for dinner. At the Spread Eagle we found real ale but the food left much to be desired.

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Tewkesbury 24

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The next morning we enjoyed a bountiful breakfast in the sunny restaurant at Castle House before setting out to explore Hereford Cathedral and its chained library with the Mappa Mundi.

Predominately Norman, the cathedral has seen constant additions, alterations and rebuilding. We happily photographed the beautiful structure and the plethora of details that awaited us inside, from the little pigs that decorated the tomb of John Swinefield to the legions of Green Men who lurked from the ceiling bosses.

We continued to the library where about 1500 books from as far back as 800 AD are chained to ancient reading desks.

We also saw, in a carefully illuminated chamber, the famous Mappa Mundi, a circular map of the world centered on Jerusalem and drawn by Richard de Haldingham around 1290.

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Hereford 27

We checked out of the hotel and drove to our next stop, the church of St. Mary and St. David in Kilpeck. As Jenkins noted, Kilpeck is regarded as England’s most perfect Norman church. I could not speak for that, but I can say that Kilpeck was my favorite of all the churches we visited. It sits unobtrusively on a mound next to a castle ruin between the Wye and Dore Valleys. The most incredible part of this simple little gem is the carving. To more fully quote Jenkins, “The Kilpeck carvings demonstrate the vigor of the Saxon-Norman sculptural tradition. Themes and styles are drawn from the pilgrim routes across northern Europe, from Vikings, Saxons, Celts, Franks and Spaniards, the entire ‘Northmen’ diaspora.” The doorway holds perhaps the most remarkable of the carvings. There is a Tree of Life tympanum, where Green Men peer through foliage. The carvings around the apse on the exterior include a sheela-na-gig (erotic female figure), an upside-down pig, a Disney-esque dog and rabbit, and acrobats. They were fun to find and fun to photograph.

When we tried the door, we at first were afraid that the church was closed. However, we found some ladies working in the cemetery on the hill above and one of them assured us that a strong push at the door was all we needed to gain access. This was true.

The interior of the church was whitewashed and simple. I climbed the dark and narrow stairs and sat in the loft, absorbing the peaceful solitude. What a special place this was. I descended to the world again and was met at the door by the cemetery ladies. The one who had spoken to me before informed me that her grandfather had been vicar there and her parents were buried in the churchyard above. As we walked back to the car her words set me to thinking of what it would be like to live in such a place with one’s family a part of the land for generations untold. It must bring a certain kind of peace and comfort that I can only imagine.

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Jenkins describes Abbey Dore as “a corner of France delicately dropped into an English meadow.� Passing through an arched wooden gate, we walked down a little path, past ancient tombstones to the main entrance.

There was restoration work going on but we still could get a feel for this Norman and early Gothic creation. I found two wonderfully carved Green Men, as well as a symbol of the five wounds of Christ, a heart surrounded by two hands and two feet.

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Our drive next took us to Llanthony Priory in Wales, an evocative ruin from the twelfth century tucked away in a green pasture. We

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walked through the grand arches of the church, devoid of its roof, and imagined what it must have looked like when it was full of life.

Continuing into Wales, we followed the winding, one-lane road through the Golden Valley below the Black Hills, watching for wayward sheep from the cattle that dotted the rolling green fields as we passed from hedgerows to barren hills. At Hay-on-Wye, we drove through this hamlet of book-sellers and continued on our way to Whitney-on-Wye and the home of Michael Cleghorn, an old friend of my parents from South Africa. Following his directions, we were able to find the turnoff up a steep hill to the garden house that he had shared for many years with his wife, Jocelyn. Now a widower, Michael seemed frail and lonely and we were glad that we had made the effort to stop by for a visit. After tea, he took us across the road to Whitney Court, a grand manor house that belongs to the family of his late wife. The housekeeper, Mrs. Miller, showed us around the huge place, now rented to wedding groups and house parties. It was an interesting view into another era to see the large number of bedrooms, the extensive servants’ quarters, the fanciful bathroom fixtures and even the maids’ call box with its fifty or so room buttons.

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Day was fading when we drove to Ludlow and found Dinham Hall, our hotel for the night. Located on a grassy circle in the town, the hotel resembled an aging Victorian spinster. A plump young woman met us at the door, gave us a key, and showed us to our room, nicknamed Palmers. It had a four-poster bed, uneven, creaky floors and a very dated look. Oh well, every hotel can’t be the Castle House. We freshened up and walked to Merchant House, one of Ludlow’s three Michelin-starred restaurants. (Ludlow is the only city in the British Isles other than London with such a number.) Small and charming, this half-timbered sixteenth century doll of a house had great promise. We did have a very pleasant evening although the meal was a disappointment.

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The next morning we got an early start and set out for the church, stopping first to shop at a delicatessen on the market square, where we bought a tiny ceramic mustard pot resembling a box of Coleman’s mustard. Ludlow’s St. Laurence Church is one of Jenkins’ five-star favorites, one he calls “the cathedral of the Marches.” It contains many delightful details, especially the carvings on the misercords in the choir. One, with Green Men and a hart, was especially interesting. We both photographed it, as had the author of my little Green Man book. Also of note was a tiny Pieta, discreetly carved on the inside end of a bench, perhaps to protect it from vandals.

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We drove to Leominster and the church of St. Peter and St. Paul. We had passed it on the previous day, and wanted to see it up close. Of greatest interest to us were the carvings around the old Norman door, showing Green Men and animals, and a weird little guy in quilted trousers.

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The rain came down as we drove to Tintern Abbey, a 12th century monastery that was the first Cistercian house to be founded in Wales. It is a king among ruins whose church and monastic rooms extended over acres. How grand this quiet place must have been! How teeming with activity, as the monks went about their daily tasks of praying, washing, eating ‌ I sat on one of the tipped stones and imagined what life must have been like there, centuries before.

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Tintern Abbey 39

Crossing the broad Severn River Bridge, we continued by motorway to Malmesbury Abbey. Striking from the outside, the abbey, now a partial ruin, has remained a working church since the 12th century. The friezes on the inner walls of the porch are beautiful, depicting the apostles and an angel flying overhead. George climbed up on the stone ledges to capture these wonders on film. I, of course, went looking for Green Men, and was told by a docent that there was a particularly good Green Man in Sutton Bender, just a short distance away. George realized that I was not to be restrained, and off we went to Sutton Bender.

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The little church there has little else besides a wonder of a Green Man. The Green Man field guide gives it two stars, and the author is quite stingy about such awards. To quote Mike Harding’s Little Book of the Green Man, “Perhaps one of the great works of art of Western Europe, the position of this beautifully carved head in such a small church still remains a mystery. Dated by Pevsner to the Middle Ages, the naturalism of the face and the intricacy of the carving have prompted some scholars to doubt its antiquity…Was it bought here from a larger church destroyed at the Reformation? Was it created at the behest of a wealthy benefactor? We have no way of knowing…” Whatever its story, it cast a spell on us as well and, as shadows began to deepen on that gloomy afternoon, we were caught up in questions of our own. This tiny church boasted several other Green Men outside. We counted four along the gutter-line of the roof, their edges beginning to soften with the weathering of years.

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Before making our way to Bath, we detoured to the tiny hamlet of Castle Combe, heralded as “The Prettiest Village in England.�

Nestled in the valley cut by ByBrook Stream, this little town has a unique charm. Fortunately, we arrived late enough in the day and early enough in the year to find a place to park nearby. We could walk through the town and take pictures that were not obstructed by other cars. We visited the tiny church of St. Andrews and stopped at the miniature market square. As we walked along the narrow street I day-dreamed of returning one day to live in one of these tiny houses and to write my book. Well, why not?

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As we drove toward Bath, we wondered what the impact would be of the International Bath Music Festival that was starting that night.

We found out soon enough. We arrived in town about an hour before the opening concert and about three hours after a bad road accident. Crowds were everywhere and traffic was a mess. Road barriers had been set up and, when we finally got close to our hotel, the Royal Crescent, we were told by a policeman that we would have to leave our car until after midnight. Fortunately, we persisted and found a policeman at another location who had a list of hotel guests and let us through, and we gratefully surrendered our car to the hotel valet. We checked in and were taken to our room (very nice but not overly luxurious) and we realized that it was special just to be at a hotel located within a Michelin three-star attraction no matter what the room was like. Our room was quaint, boasting an old castiron claw-footed bathtub “for the lady,” as the porter said. Later, we walked a few blocks down the hill in a driving rain to A Hole in the Wall, a Michelin Bib Gourmand. We had a nice dinner—again, nothing fancy—and walked back up the hill just in time to catch the fireworks in celebration of the start of the festival.

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First thing the next morning we took the car in to a Vauxhall dealer to fix a damaged side light cover. We asked the serviceman for a recommendation for a breakfast place and he suggested Bill’s Bar, just across the bridge. If this sounds flakey, it was. Bill’s was a real dive, full of smoke, characters and bad food. We ordered breakfast, which we hardly touched, even after we found almost-clean forks that did not have egg stuck to them. Local working-class color does not begin to describe Bill’s Bar. An hour later, we were able to pick up the car and we were on our way again.

We were pleased to see a bit of blue sky poking through the clouds as we drove into the town of Wells. As it was a market day we had a bit of trouble parking but we did find a place which we thought was close to the cathedral.

However, we found out that we had instead come to St. Cuthbert’s Parish Church. It was not for naught for I found two Green Men there—a bit of a bonus. We continued to the cathedral after asking directions from an elderly gentleman gardening in the front of his little house. Although Wells is one of England’s smaller cathedrals, it was my favorite of the ones we saw. Most striking was the scissor arch at the crossing. This ingenious feat of engineering was designed to provide additional support for the central tower when an elaborate addition was constructed in the 14th century.

Another particularly interesting feature was a 14th century painted astronomical clock with mechanical knights who jousted on the quarter hour. The 13th century steps to the chapter-house were intriguing as well.

Well-worn and widely curving, they appeared almost surreal as they swirled up to the beautiful octagonal room above. It made me a little dizzy to climb the uneven treads. I made myself busy finding Green Men while George happily photographed the interior architectural features.

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Wells Cathedral

After leaving Wells we drove to the village of Shepton Mallett. We saw the masterpiece of the parish church of St. Peter and St. Paul, the 350panel wagon roof that dates from the second half of the 15th century. Fortunately, a mirror had been strategically placed on a table so that the roof could be studied without damage to the neck.

I set about trying to find the Green Man that Jenkins insisted was there. With perseverance I found it complete with plums emerging from his eyes. George set up his tripod and telephoto lens and photographed it for me.

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We continued to Bradford-on-Avon to find the church of St. Laurence but before we could see it, I sniffed out an antiques show and persuaded George to let me have ten minutes to scout it out. I have such wonderful memories of past antiquing ventures in the small towns of Europe and find it impossible to pass one up. Fifteen minutes and a toast rack later I emerged. We walked on to an ancient Saxon chapel dating from the 8th century. It was tall, dark and bare of any ecclesiastical accoutrements which created an eerie atmosphere of the darkest past.

We left Bradford and drove on to the village of Lacock with its intriguingly spooky Abbey that has been featured in Harry Potter films as the Hogwart School. We strolled through the lovely grounds and visited the cloisters, finding many Green Men hiding in the ceiling bosses. We also visited St. Cyriac’s Church in the village and photographed a silhouetted Green Man on a tomb within. We were unsuccessful in finding a place in the village for an ale and a glass of cider. Instead we decided to head back to Bath and get ready early for dinner.

Our reservations that evening in Bath were at Blinis, a two-starred restaurant located below a little delicatessen adjacent to the bridge that spans the Avon. It is a charming place although we would have liked to have been seated by the window overlooking the river. Instead, we enjoyed a lovely meal and then walked back to the hotel by way of the river, stopping to take time exposures of illuminated buildings and enjoying the clear, crisp evening and the beauty of Bath.

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We woke the next morning to a beautiful bright sky, checked out, and drove to Stourhead Gardens. Created by Henry Hoare in the 18th century, they have been called one of the supreme examples of the English landscape style. We took the mile walk around the lake, stopping to take photographs of mammoth rhododendrons set against the focal points of garden architecture that dotted the water’s edge. The English weather is unpredictable and the sky started to cloud up, but not before we had completed the circuit and basked in the beauty and color of the place. At a pub on the grounds we had a Ploughman’s Lunch complete with the ale and cider we had unsuccessfully sought the day before.

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Salisbury Cathedral was the last of the great churches we would see. According to Michelin it epitomizes medieval Gothic in its purest form. In contrast with other churches we have seen, Salisbury was built totally in one style. We lingered at the many tombs within and noted England’s oldest working clock. In the chapter house we saw one of the four original copies of the Magna Carta.

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George thought that I should not miss Stonehenge while we were so close, so we drove there next. The day had become quite brisk and cloudy and seemed the perfect backdrop for the great stone circle. We parked, walked through a tunnel beneath the adjacent road and followed the crowd in a slow circle around the monuments. I had always heard how crowded Stonehenge was but was pleasantly surprised how close one could get to the circle.

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The final church on our list was at Devises.

However, after driving there, we found that it was locked up tight. George noted with irony that Sunday was the only day that we had found a church to be closed. We were disappointed, for the ancient gravestones and interesting exterior carvings suggested great things within. We would have to settle for Jenkins’ description and our imaginations.

The last stop of our driving tour was Avebury.

Again, George remembered it from a previous trip and wanted to show it to me. We parked and walked through the little town that has grown up around and within the multiple circles of prehistoric stones, ditches, and mounds dating from 3700 BC. Leaving Avebury, we headed back to London on the M4. Just as we were congratulating ourselves on our excellent progress, we came upon a major slow-down and were forced to creep along at under 20 mph for more than an hour. Our eventual relief that things had started to pick up again was soon dashed when I miscalculated the direction of an offramp and sent us north towards Oxford. Not to worry, however, for we promptly managed to turn around and make our way into the city along with thousands of weekend travelers with the same idea.

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We found the Goodenough Club again, checked in and then returned the car to the agency near King’s Cross. We were relieved when we found the place, parked the car with an additional 700 miles on the odometer, and deposited the keys safely into the slot.

We were now free to grab a much-needed pint and find something to eat. We decided to take the tube to the Green Man Pub near the Great Portland station. Although we did manage to have one round before the 10:00 cut-off, they were out of food that night.

At that point we opted to purchase cheese and crackers, wine and grapes at Hart’s Grocers and had a picnic in our room when we returned.

Monday morning meant our last day in England. We used the day to visit the National Portrait Gallery for the children’s exhibit From Beatrix Potter to Harry Potter. What fun it was to see portraits of some of my favorite authors, from Frances Hodgson Burnett to C. S. Lewis, and, of course, Beatrix Potter herself.

On our last day in England, we enjoyed our best meal of the trip, lunch at La Tante Clare. George had eaten there once before at their old location and it was all he remembered and more. We took a long walk after that memorable meal, stopping at Saville’s to see Vicky and say goodbye, and getting an extra bonus by seeing her daughter Alice as well.

We walked along King’s Road, looking in at the stylish boutiques. When we came to the Antique Emporium we decided to see if a dealer in old traveling cases was still there. He was. We found a vintage Louis Vuitton trunk which we intend to use as a coffee table in our den. We had a delightful time speaking with Lindsay and Michael, the proprietors, and made arrangements for the trunk to be sent to Chicago. By this time we needed to return to the Club to organize and pack but stopped just once more for chocolates and honey to take home.

Tuesday morning came all too soon and we were up and breakfasted and on our way to Heathrow by 8:00 AM, noting that just a few days before we had been sitting in the same seats on the Express into London. What a special trip this had been; we had seen and experienced so much together and had made lovely memories to share.

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Cover: London Visscher map Kilpeck Church Door