Cotswolds

Monday August 13th

Today I leave St. Albans. The singing is over. If I would go to the cathedral now, I would be just a tourist. The sense of belonging has gone. But nevertheless I get up at the usual time, rearrange my luggage and belongings, putting the music books, instructions, robes, hood and black shoes far back in the boot of the car. No need for those till September. I phone my friend in the Cotswolds and leave at 11 o'clock sharp. Even today I am given a picnic lunch by my landlady and hostess which is very sweet of her. It isn't as warm as yesterday, and the forecast is for rain. I am on the M25 in just a few minutes. The going is slow, however, but better once I hit the M40. Worse again on the A40, mainly because we have to negotiate the roads around Oxford.

At Burford I stop. It is such a lovely town, and the church on the river never loses its charm. There is free parking as well, but I have to go down all the way to the river. Burford is a tourist town, and everybody can see why. Built on a hill, the high street sweeping down to the river, the houses built of mellow Cotswold stone with slate roofs, the narrow alleys with unexpected views of houses and small gardens, the many pubs with their colourful hanging baskets, and the specialist shops: antiques shops, cook shops, a delicatessen with amongst other things a mouth watering selection of cheeses, the bridge so low on the river where once a ford was, everything is beautiful. Although this is not my first visit, I have never been inside the church.

The font

It is very surprising, old and partly Romanesque, but like many churches it has been changed and added on over the centuries with chapels, altars, graves and monuments. One memorial stone on the wall is for a man who apparently had 16 children, and the words on the memorial mention that he will live forever through his children and grandchildren. I am interested in those memorials on which the children of a deceased couple are depicted. Usually they are arranged in order of age, all kneeling, the oldest and tallest in front, the girls all alike with similar hairstyles and clothes, and the boys also. The only difference is their height. But here there is hardly any difference in size/age. They are like a litter, born at the same time, like twins, all nine boys and all seven girls. I love those monuments.

Ceiling of St.Peter's chapel in Burford church

The churchyard too is interesting, with big tombs, crumbling, sliding down and almost toppling over, covered in lichen and moss. The path through to the church doors lined with flowers and lavender. It is very picturesque, a peaceful place for the dead, within earshot of the Sunday hymns and sermons.

The website has many very nice pictures of the church, as well as information about the

History of the church.

I walk up one side of the street and had planned to have a coffee, but when I start my walk down it begins to rain and I decide to drive on to Coln st. Aldwyns before it pours. Nevertheless it comes down in buckets on my last leg through the country lanes.

At my destination at 2.30/ It is lovely to be here, with a friend, in a beauty spot. Life couldn't be better.

Detail of a grave monument in Burford Church

Because of the Cathedral week, I have totally missed the Olympics, taking place just a short train ride from St. Albans. I have been without a TV this past week, and so also missed the closing ceremony. It doesn't bother me, I am afraid.

My dear friend and I don't do much, just catch up on the news, relax, and eat: A quiche for my very late lunch and a small salad, but at dinner time local lamb, potatoes and carrots from the garden, and as a desert freshly picked raspberries with cream and meringues. Delicious. Coffee, then News at Ten, followed by all the different rituals before going to bed.

A hidden corner in the garden of my friend at Coln St. Aldwyns.