THEY SAY: Okay folks, the title was just to see whether you were still awake. The Red Dragon refers to the pre-Christian symbol of Wales, whereas the White Dragon refers to the wicked English dragon of the east. Richard had a shank of great lamb with mint sauce for lunch, so the reference to a three-legged lamb is to the poor creature with 3 remaining shanks which is hobbling around somewhere in the English countryside. It should be noted in passing that as we left Ireland and went on to Wales and returned to England prices fell by about half; Ireland is bloody expensive.
Well, we have left Ireland, and have woven our way through Wales and back into England. I was perhaps errant in failing to mention that Dublin has a wee Jewish community of about 1, 000 people, split between the Reform and Orthodox clans of the tribe. Those of you who survived your Intro to British Lit will remember that Molly Bloom, Joyce’s buxom, red-headed heroine in “Ulysses”, had a husband who was Jewish. But if you didn’t remember that you at least remember the opening sensuous and titillating Molly Bloom first paragraph in the novel that would make DH Lawrence blush.
We travelled through northern Wales and through Avon, which is associated with King Arthur, although this is something of a feat since there really is no hard proof that he actually existed. From what I can tell, both King Arthur and Robin Hood are both composite figures created over the centuries from stories, legends and folk songs. Interestingly, only in later centuries were their respective heroines and love interests added, no doubt to spice things up.
Further into Wales we journeyed into what used to be coal mining country. The classic novel and b&w film about the harsh and dangerous lives of Welsh miners was told in Llewellyn‘s classic, “How Green was My Valley”. Subsequently, an academic discovered that Llewellyn changed his name to make it sound more Welsh; in reality, he was from east-end London. Perhaps the most powerful, brutal and heart rending of all novels about unemployed coal miners during the depression is Orwell’s “The Road to Wigham Pier.” But times have changed. At the turn of the century there were about 100, 000 miners employed in the Cardiff area, today 2, 000. But heating our homes and powering our factories with coal came with a sharp price tag: we stopped at a memorial to the 266 miners who died in a 1934 pit explosion; earlier in 1913, 800 men were killed in another mining accident.
I think we mentioned earlier that our guide, Dylan, is Welsh, and pulled a few strings to prolong our trip through Wales, so instead of an hour or two rushing along the motorway en route to England after our ferry ride from Dublin, we spent a full day driving through the Snowdonia Mountains, visiting a walled town and its castle in Conway, and then driving south to Dylan’s home, a beautiful town named Llangollen, where we were invited to his local pub for drinks. He ordered a Welsh whisky for Richard called Pandenic (no, not a pandemic) which was as good as any Scottish single malt. Eleanor had a great local beer, but unfortunately the memory of its name was gone before the glass was drained.
We really believed that our disappointment in the scenery of Ireland was due to having seen the spectacular highlands of Scotland beforehand, but our love of the highlands didn’t get in the way of our appreciation of Wales. It really is stunning. Sitting in that lovely old pub right beside a fast-moving stream in such a beautiful mountain valley, was one of the highlights of the trip for many of us. Several people mentioned how happy they would have been if the Chester leg of our trip had been cancelled, and we had stayed in the pub for dinner. I’m not sure where a busload of tourists would have been able to sleep in Llangollen, but we’d have taken our chances. Except for the fact that the majority of the locals speak Gaelic, we’re thinking it would be a lovely place to retire…and the weather’s much nicer than it is on the Orkney Islands. It would certainly be nice to come back and spend a longer time seeing the rest of the country.
The following morning we went to see the lovely town of Chester (pop 80, 000) with its Roman walls and half-timbered shops and houses. Just being able to stand on the rampart walls where the Romans stood to view this outlying and backward province of Pax Romana was a real thrill. Contrary to what we had learned in high school Latin, despite the fact that Britain was viewed as a backwater whose savage inhabitants were to be kept at bay by Hadrian’s wall, you realize after you the see the Roman amphitheatre (3 AD) here in Chester and the elaborate baths in the City of Bath that the Romans intended to stay and were more than passing through. They were here for 400 years! And compared to the locals of the time, the Romans probably represented progress in a variety of ways given their level of civilization and culture. As well, after one appreciates that Brown’s dress shop in Chester was founded during the reign of George II (early 1700s), one has an entirely different sense of historical time than do we upstart North Americans. The fact that the Blue Coated Hospital (later a home for boys) was founded in 1700 again re-enforces the point.
Earlier in our trip, after Oxford going north, we passed by Sheffield, which used to be part of the Britain’s industrial base in the mid-lands. In the 1980s it became part of the rust belt with massive layoffs. That demoralizing story was told in the almost humorous film, “The Full Monty”; whereas the desperate situation of unemployed municipal labourers in the 1980s was told in a pathos-filled BBC mini-series titled, ”The Black Top Workers.”
As we were driving through the countryside, it was pointed out to us that in certain parts of Wales the pub was located right next to the Church. What cause and effect was, in this instance, remains to be determined; perhaps it was just a matter of convenience. A cynic, however, would suggest that it was necessity.
In Ludlow we had lunch at a pub called The Blue Boar and then went to walk around a lovely outside market with local produce, sweet stalls and book vendors. This is much like our Byward Market in Ottawa. This little market, we were told, has been around for a mere 900 years. Lordy, the notion of time is so different. It makes one feel small- like the proverbial grain of sand. But despite its great age, the food is fresh, and their chili-chocolate fudge was great!
One of the recurring things that Richard keeps saying is how the English countryside and the paintings of Gainsborough and Constable mirror one another. The rolling pastures and meandering streams, the cows, sheep, trees, and the infinite shades of greens and yellows are all captured and reflected in the social realism of Gainsborough and Constable, although they wouldn’t have called it that. They were gendre painters who captured a particular milieu , and social set such as Gainsborough’s painting titled Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, who were landed gentry, and caught their personal relationship which was based more on finance than on romance. What these painters do is to turn the prosaic into art. Richard says he will never look at the English countryside in the same way again. Eleanor, on the other hand, doesn’t care who painted what; the countryside looks like a huge patchwork quilt in shades of green, with trees or stone walls dividing the square fields and cows and sheep and wildflowers adding tiny touches of colour for effect.
Today’s trip took us to the beautiful old Roman baths built on a hot spring in Bath, with a detour to pass the grand old houses that the Londoners spent their summers in while “taking the waters” in Jane Austin’s time. At least 2 of her novels were set there, and there’s a Jane Austin museum there as well. This afternoon we arrived in Plymouth, and after a cruise on the harbour, when the sun came out to greet us for the first time in a few days, we settled into our last hotel, where we spend our final two nights of the tour, before heading back to London. Tomorrow, we visit Cornwall: Princetown and across Dartmoor to visit Tintagel, the supposed site of King Arthur’s castle. We return to Plymouth via Bodwin Moor.
Tomorrow night we have our farewell dinner, because when we arrive in London on Wednesday, the group will be scattering. Some head home that night, some leave on Thursday, and many of the Aussies in the group are getting their clothes cleaned and heading off on other 2 or 3 week tours in different parts of Europe. That sounds strange to Canadians who can get to Europe in 5 or 6 hours, but it takes them 26 hours to reach London and once they’re here they make the most of it! We’ve enjoyed our time, but are happy to be heading home and unpacking at last!
It sounds almost anti-climactic, but on the way back to London we’ll make our final stop to see Stonehenge. That means that we have at least one more instalment of this blog, so don’t give up now! We probably won’t tackle that until we get home, but when we’ve caught up on our sleep, we’ll also post photos, so stay tuned.
No comments:
Post a Comment