To the Cotswolds and Back

The Romans founded London (Londinium, then) and built roads while they were here, many of them leading west from the city.  We followed the path, slowly, of some of these roads as we ventured out into the Cotswolds, an area rich in British history.

We joined the workers headed into Victoria Station to meet our tour bus.  We made good time with time to spare.  I saw something that looked like a goblet

over a luggage carousel.  It looked like a good place to sit for a while, but a nice young man kindly requested that I not sit on the art work.

We loaded the bus and were on our way creeping through the traffic to the edge of London past some of the Olympic sites, the huge shopping center built a few years ago in Shepherd’s Bush, past the Royal Air Force Base to the edge of Oxford.  Our first stop in the Cotswolds was Burford.  We visited the church which was probably financed by wealthy wool merchants.  For centuries this was the main industry in this area. 

Many of the old graves in the cemetery have the shape of bales of wool on top of them.  The main street was lined by shops built out of stone and a lovely arched bridge crossed the little river, a thing each of the three villages we visited had in common.  Both Burford and the next village are on the same river, the Windrush.

 Our second village was Bourton-on-the-water  which is known as the Venice of the Cotswolds because it is prone to flooding. 

The river was beautiful with clear water, a rock bottom, and dozens of ducks floating under the graceful little arched bridges across the stream.  We saw a fine example of the dry stone fences as we walked up to Main   Street.

Stow-on-the-Wold (Holy Place in the woods) was our third village which is the highest Cotswold village with standing exposed to the surrounding countryside at 800 feet elevation.  It, too, was an important center in the woolen trade and when it was at its height, it wasn’t unusual for as many as twenty thousand sheep to be sold on one market day.

One of the buildings that fascinated us there was its town hall and library building.  This village also had lots of old stone buildings.  We also loved the roses blooming around the village.  Our guide told us about the covered gates leading into the church yard which are called lynch gates.  They were where the coffins were put overnight before the burial.  The town claims to have the oldest inn which was build in 947.

After the simplicity of the stone buildings and the cottages, Blenheim Palace, the birthplace of Sir Winston Churchill was absolutely not simple.  It was a rather complex baroque castle funded by Queen Anne for Sir John Churchill after his military victory over the French in the 1700’s.  Quite frankly, I cannot imagine living in such a place and rearing a family in it. The grounds were beautiful with a lovely lake and rolling lawns.

By the way, the 12^th Duke of Marlboro and his family did not come out of their private apartment to greet us.  Most of the house has been a show place for a good many years.  In fact, that is what finances its upkeep.

Although Churchill received a state funeral when he died, he chose to have his body brought back to the village of Blenheim for burial.

Late afternoon, the bus driver squeezed our bus through the stone arches at the entrance to the palace grounds and we were on our way back to the city through rolling countryside and forests

with a little mist in the distance on the hills.  Traffic was stop and go, especially around Oxford, but by seven thirty we were back on Old Street having a little (small order)  fish and chips before calling it a day.