May 8th - The Open Road - Poop-Poop !
I’ve been motoring through Nether Wallop, Middle Wallop and A Clip Across The Ear – known to its more groovy residents as Sock It To Me.
A town called Abbot’s Ann…?
So…there was an abbot with someone called Ann at his disposal and the locals built a town for her ?
What then to make of the hamlet of Little Ann ?
Was she Ann’d Over ?
Oh, yes, droll, me.
On the long trail from Cardiff to my last port of call in Andover, by way of the not-so-scarey-after-all Severn Bridge.
(Hard to know how high above the water one is with all that low-lying smog…er…fog).
Motoring, like Toad, along the highways and byways of Somerset and Wiltshire and Hampshire.
A flash of setting sun on the Great White Horse, and yet, nowhere to stop for the photo opportunity.
So un-American.
Hedgerows.
Miles of hedgerows.
So many bustles (see Stairway to Heaven).
Speed signs read 50 and 40 and 30.
50 ? I don’t know whether to slow down or speed up.
(Miles, Jane, it’s miles, and you’re doing 80k !)
No stopping and no overtaking on English hedgerows.
You’re stuck behind someone like me, you’re stuck there ‘til bathtime.
Ah, Bath…..
The untold joy of Bath !
I knew I wanted to go to there but wasn’t sure why.
Something about taking the waters….
I tried to book a stopover but the prices were too steep.
I could not, however, resist a little peek.
As soon as I drove in off the interminable M’s I fell for the city’s Georgian charms.
I came over all Pride and Prejudice.
Oh, Mr D’Arcy ! I simply must buy a fridge magnet with your – or is that Colin Firth’s ? – face on it !
Parked the vehicle with ease at the top of the magnificent Great Pulteney Street and hopped on an open-topped, double-dekker bus for a guided tour around the magnificent burgh.
Whiled away a whole hour in the blazing sun listening to ambient, crystal-shop music, interspersed with wry commentary on the headphones.
Did you know they built a castle on a hill overlooking the town just to give it a bit of gravitas ? Not a real castle, just an edifice. It’s known as Sham Castle.
My kind of town.
I wish one of my addresses had been in Bath. I would have justified at least a week there.
But, no, it was back to the schedule and on to Andover.
I spent the night in Salisbury – a stone’s throw from the Henge.
So close I had to drop by the next day and pay my respects to the Druids.
(You just never know who the real Gods/Special-Invisible-Friends might be….)
Is it before Amesbury or after ? I wondered aloud….
Oh, look ! There it is !
No.
A pedestrian walkway over the A303.
Look at all those big white stones… must be getting close !
Sheep.
Finally, there it was.
And it was so…Spinal Tap small…
I knew you couldn’t actually wander around the stones, that there was a fence and a walkway.
Should have known it would cost.
About $15.
Shopped for trashy souvenirs instead – Stonehenge socks, a miniature Stonehenge just like Spinal Tap, a pencil with a henge on the end – and took photos through the fence.
Decided to visit the lesser-known Woodhenge, a couple of miles down the road.
There it is ! I cried.
No.
Wooden sound baffles on the A303.
No, there !
No…. Those are clearly someone’s stumps for a new house. Like you’ve seen on ‘Grand Design’.
But there’s a carpark….
And a sign….
‘Welcome to the Woodhenge…. Bronze Age c.2000BC.
The concrete posts…”
Ah-hah…
“….mark the position of the original timbers, evidence for which was obtained by excavation.”
So….
Concrete-henge.
Concentric circles of concrete posts with different coloured tops, plus a small clump of what looked like left-over concrete – or is it an old rock ? - just near the middle.
No-one about. (No, really ?).
I take many self-timed shots of me among the buttercups and the …wood…concrete…henge.
A sudden urgency reminds me that the closest toilet is away across the paddocks and the tour buses and the retail outlets of the fancy-pants henge that boasts its own road-sign.
I walk towards my car but then curiosity about the clump of left-over concrete gets the better of me.
What’s that got to do with the henge ?
I move in for a closer look.
It looks like a gravestone.
No mention of what, or who, lies beneath, but there’s a tiny bunch of buttercups fastened with intent amongst the clotted stones.
Lying askew on the grass next to the slab is a small wooden cross with a union jack pin and a remembrance ribbon attached.
The wood at the base of the cross is frayed, like it was planted before and has come loose.
The wind began to pick up through the concrete.
Back to the open road.
Poop-poop !
view photos on my Facebook site at:
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=573908245