St. Cyriac's Church

We were going to Oxford for the day, but missed the bus to Chippenham by five minutes (it can be hard to walk briskly so soon after a full English breakfast*).  With an hour to spare until the next bus, we wandered to St. Cyriac's Church on the outskirts of Lacock.

We walked around the church, admiring the windows,

The church is known for its collection of "grotesques"

the gargoyles,

and the cemetery. We wondered whose grave this was, stuck in the ivy-strewn corner of the cemetery.

The rector came out while we were wandering the churchyard and told us we were welcome to enter and have a look.

This stone lady watched over the foyer.

The heavy doors opened after some coaxing.  We crossed the threshold into the silence of light and air, and our breath was taken away.  The walls were thick with the reverence of centuries of worship.

Not a relic of the past, St. Cyriac's is still a church. Sunday School tools were left out in the sanctuary.

These were the first of many death memorials we would see during our time in England. Scattered on the walls to our right were plaques commemorating church members who are most likely buried somewhere in the church floor.

Note the skull, or death's head.  Nothing like our modern day gravestones!

Here is a typical memorial.

Look closer and you'll see Sharington emblem: a scorpion

Up front, in the oldest part of the church, is the Sharington tomb, built in memory of Sir William Sharington, owner of Lacock Abbey, who died in 1553.

The ceiling above the tomb, with remnants of the original paint.

Our hour nearly up, we took one more long, fierce look about the church before leaving to catch the bus to Oxford.  Of all the churches we visited, this is the one where I felt most at home.

*We requested a full English breakfast little knowing what we were in for.  Out hostess cooked us scrambled eggs, baked beans, link sausage, bacon, black pudding, grilled tomatoes, and fried mushrooms.  And if that wasn't enough, there was also toast with jam and marmalade (which I did not care for), cereal, and yogurt.

Of course, there was tea.  There is always tea in England.

Ridiculously charming

More pictures from Lacock.  You can see the complete set on my flickr.

Lovely tree

Most of the houses had flowers and ivy madly crawling about.

"Licensed in pursuance of act of Parliament for public music and dancing or other public entertainment of the like kind"

"Antique furniture and resident ghost"

Alert Janeites will appreciate knowing that the exterior of the Red Lion stands in for the Meryton Inn, site of the dance where Mr. Darcy sees Elizabeth Bennett for the first time in the 1995 Pride & Prejudice. 

Cat in the cemetery

Other wildlife of Lacock, schoolchildren

Tithe barn dating from the 14th century.  This is where tithes in the form of crops and livestock were stored until the church made use of them.

But, of course, a blue door.

And so it begins

Jon was soon to wearily acknowledge his wife's propensity for picture-taking, especially self-portraits documenting places they've been, even airplanes and trains

After the long haul over the ocean (during which I am certain I saw lights along the Icelandic coast) and the flurry of Heathrow Airport, we arrived at Paddington Station in London. Pigeons fluttered about underfoot.  Grand Victorian architecture soared overhead.

This picture makes me wonder how often I show up in other people's pictures, a random person caught mid-step for perpetuity

People spoke with British accents. Normally - because that's how they really talk. I couldn't get over it. English is their native language too, and yet they pronounce things differently. What a concept for my parochial brain to grasp.

After this stunning introduction to the country, we caught the train to Chippenham and from there, the bus to Lacock, located in the southwest part of England in the county of Wiltshire. While waiting* for the bus, we got to be amateur anthropologists and covertly study the natives.  Our conclusions?  Teenagers are the same everywhere, regardless of accent or nationality.  What a revelation.  We did not indulge in amateur anthropology anymore after this discovery.

We arrived in Lacock, then shouldered our duffel bags for the walk** to Reybridge.  We had packed as light as we could, but our bags were still heavy (35-40 pounds), especially if you're packing for three weeks. Right when my shoulders began to protest vigorously, we made it to Damson Cottage.

Damson Cottage's blue door triggered my fascination with blue doors specifically, and painted doors in general.

Our hostess informed us of the public access footpath to Lacock.  It passed between several really old houses,

 through several sheepfields, 

over several stiles, and up a shady lane bordered by lovely stone fences.  I was happy, especially at the thought of walking through sheep.

The sheep weren't as thrilled.

I couldn't get enough of green doors, either

Lacock was a delight to explore.  

These buildings are older than America.  

It hasn't changed much over the past 250 years, due to careful management by the National Trust, which purchased nearly the entire village in 1944. 

The George Inn was a public house while Chaucer was alive.
 

We had our first dinner in England at The George Inn, which dates back to 1361.  When we first arrived, we sat at a table and waited.  And waited some more, looking over at the bartender, who was chatting with a fellow at the bar, occasionally glancing over at us.  We waited some more before we realized he wasn't coming over.  We finally asked for a menu at the bar, at which time we discovered that You Always Order At The Bar Before Taking A Table.

The George was very atmospheric.

Full of nooks and crannies.

Mismatched furniture and oriental rugs were crammed into every available space.  Light came in through windows still fitted with their original glass, imperfections and all. 

We had a hearty meal of steak and ale pies, "veg" (vegetables for us), and warm beer.  After relaxing for a bit, we walked back through the sheepfields at dusk to Damson Cottage.  It was the fitting end to a very long day.

*This was to be a preview of our travel for the duration of the trip: waiting.  We're so used to hopping in the car and going, that the notion of waiting is a somewhat foreign concept.  J. and I had to spend time throughout our trip examining bus and train schedules to make sure that we caught all of our connections in a timely fashion.  Initially, this was overwhelming, but it soon became curiously enjoyable.  Schedules and maps fascinate me.  I like perusing departure times and following lines on a map, imagining all the various permutations of possible travel.  This is probably why I was the primary trip planner.

**We walked.  A lot.