Bath's Royal Crescent and King

It was in Bath that we changed Nüvi’s voice from Daniel to Serena. I had favored Daniel, English-accented and resonant; besides, I am sentimentally attached to the name. Serena, we had heard was the best voice, the most audible and the most authentically human. It’s true. Her voice is pleasant in pitch, cuts through noises in the car and is less electronic.

Serena, however, doesn’t do any better with B4027 than Daniel did. In Stanton St. John, B4027 is Wheatly Road. Farther afield it takes on a number of names. Most days, it is the turn from Bayswater Road that leads us home to New Cottage. The first five or six times we were sure, whether Daniel or Serena articulated it, that we were hearing a spondaic “beefrow-tooseven.”

Pheasant Alley

Further afield, somewhere between Enslow and Glympton, beefrow-tooseven is Pheasant Alley. Pheasants strutted in the woods, sat on the verge, and posed on the stone walls either side of the road. Ring-neck pheasants, gorgeous with their russets and gold, verdigris neck above snowy collar. They made the most awful fuss when I got out of the car, not in fear but in annoyance that I would trespass on their property. Predictably if sadly, Pheasant Alley was also Pheasant Morgue. The predominant road-kill on that stretch of road was those fowl of lovely plumage.

Serena helped us decide on what do on this our last day in Oxfordshire. Threatening skies and intermittent sprinkles discouraged us from a day in Stowe and the gardens there and turned our attention to Warwick Castle. Who knew that it would be a slightly hokey, more than slightly eccentric romp through the liberated marriage of Her Ladyship, Countess Daisy and her Brookie, the 4^th Earl of Warwick. Bits of the pile claim connection to the time of William the Conqueror. It figures prominently in English history, was remodeled extensively, and in 1978 became part of Madame Tussaud’s empire of waxworks.

Visiting Daisy and Brookie

The tour of the castle follows the script of Daisy’s diary. We got to meet the Prince of Wales, a lover for some seven years, and learn of Daisy’s other paramours, one of whom fathered her son Maynard. The rooms, in addition to late Victorian furnishings and effigies of various eminences, were populated by actors playing various parts. I was asked by a maidservant for my name then introduced as “Lady Eleanor from America.” My Dear One, a few steps behind, was identified as “her butler.”

That was amusing, in fact.

Every few rooms an actor would start of conversation. Brookie—if I remember correctly—was ready for a game of cards at 100£ a card. A maid working in an area where the household rules were posted mentioned that she had trouble with number 7: “Do not disagree with the Lord or Lady or their guests.”

That was all upstairs. On the ground level, the Great Hall, which had been terribly damaged in the fire of 1871, was tricked out in English Civil War weaponry and various suits of armor and dangerous objects. In one corner there was even a death mask of Oliver Cromwell. The state rooms were elegant and continued with stories about various moments of the house’s history. There was only the most minimal signage and a suggestion that people looking for more information purchase either the audio tour or guidebook. Given the amount of money already spent we felt we could do without.

We circled behind the castle, at the edge of the River Avon, to return to the car. There were peacocks everywhere, begging for crumbs at the picnic tables. Swans swanned in the river. Very picturebook.

We saluted William Shakespeare as we passed through Stratford but did not stop.

Reminder to self: NO TALKING when entering the roundabout. Those cars coming in from the right are sure death if they hit you. The rules of the Lands with Driving on the Left are: 1) no music in the car; 2) no conversation approaching or in roundabouts; and 3) constant vigilance when it comes to staying off the verge on the left and left of the center line.

Ploughman’s Lunch at the Lygon Arms in Chipping Camden, the “Golden Town” that perfectly preserves a modern vision of ancient England, was generous enough that we knew we would not have to worry about dinner. A visit to the gorgeous 15^th-century Church of Saint James and a quick tour of the Arts and Crafts Museum (small but absolutely remarkable) and it was time to ask Serena the best way back. She took us back down Pheasant Alley and soon enough, the butler and I were home.

A 1380 roofline - William Grevel's House, Chipping Camden