26 July 2016 - Littleover Farm, Sutton Bonington, near Loughborough

It was not until mid-morning that we headed off for our last touring day of the Nottingham area, today Eastwood, a little to the north west of the city and about sixteen miles away from our camp. Famous and infamous author D H Lawrence was born and raised in his early years in this small town, then one of those rather dreary and ugly “dormitories” for the coal mines all about. 

We found a park quite centrally, charging a mere £1 for a full day. We soon found the D H Lawrence Birthplace Museum, administered by the Broxtowe Borough Council. Admission is timed and charged for, which in the first instance may seem rather strange for a local body institution although we were soon to understand the reasons. There was, until recently, another “museum” celebrating the same child of the city, the Durban House Heritage Centre, however we were later to find this has now closed, perhaps for lack of patronage, or insufficient patronage to warrant the staffing. I am fully supportive that councils should concentrate of infrastructure, not dabble in cultural pursuits for minorities, and quite frankly I can believe this may fall into that category. Having said that, just as Nottingham and other settlements in the Sherwood Forest area cash in on the Robin Hood legends, Eastwood might have done better to cash in further on their own literary hero.

David Herbert Lawrence was born in 1885 to an ordinary working class home, son of a coal miner and an ambitious woman who had for a while worked as a teacher, then in harder times, as a lace maker. The fourth of five children, he and his siblings all escaped the normally inevitable track into the mines, the demise of 99% of Eastwood born children.

Lawrence, as he was known to his peers in adulthood, or Bert to his parents and siblings, was a sickly soul, and better suited to the life as a writer than the teaching career he first pursued. Most famous for writing the scandalous "Lady Chatterley’s Lover”, Lawrence wrote eleven novels, eight plays, over seventy short stories, many essays, hundreds of poems and thousands of letters, as well as painting a number of quite pleasing works, all in the space of his life cut short at the age of 44 years. I soon realised today that the collection I have of his works in just a drop in the ocean. I came away keen to read his first almost autographical work, “The White Peacock”, and biographies by others, just as I had come away from the Coventry Museum keen to learn and read more of George Elliot. I guess that is the measure of a good museum, or tourist experience, to whet the appetite for further learning.

The reason admission is timed soon became quite evident, as we, with one other couple, were led into a couple of small rooms above the museum shop to pour through static exhibits, then left to watch a DVD that concentrated on Lawrence’s early life in Eastwood. We were then collected and led from room to room through the restored house where he spent the first couple of years of his life, and the life of the family was recounted using photos and furnishings representative of the day. The hour and a bit passed quickly and we were glad of the interaction with our personal guide.

The Brinsley Head Stocks

We retreated to the car to eat our lunch, soon discovering I had omitted the fresh fruit, so we popped down the road to buy some apples and a dozen other items which leapt off the shelves into our basket. After finishing our lunch, and observing the weather was likely to change, we decided not to follow the Blueline Trail about the town, a painted line along the footpath leading from one place of Lawrence significance to another. Instead we decided to pick the eyes out of the list, the first the Durban House Heritage Centre which we soon found to be closed, the second the Brinsley Colliery, where Lawrence’s father worked. 

The colliery has long since ceased to operate and is now reclaimed and laid out as a picnic site and conservation area, surrounding the restored pit headstocks. We would have enjoyed our lunch better had we come here immediately after the Museum, however we would not have been able to rescue the poorly organised picnic had we been a mile out of Eastwood.

This particular area stopped producing coal in 1930, but was in use until 1970 for access to other mines in the area. The close links to Brinsley are not just because of his miner father, but Lawrence’s grandfather, who had been a tailor in Birmingham, settled here with his wife in 1838 and owned a shop where he made work clothes of the miners. Lawrence’s father, Arthur, and three of his uncles also worked at the mine.

We wandered up to the stocks and briefly considered undertaking a longer walk described on the interpretative boards, but decided instead to do a walk nearer home. As so we headed back to Sutton Bonington and spent an hour walking through the spinney discovered a few days ago, then along the canal toward Zouch, before retracing our steps and heading home to enjoy a leisurely afternoon, the last here before we move on to the Peak District.

25 July 2016 - Littleover Farm, Sutton Bonington, near Loughborough

I woke early yet again, and was kept awake with the regular plop, plop, crashing sounds on the caravan roof. Even in the few days we have been here, the ornamental cherry, if that is indeed the correct ID for the tree that hangs over our posse, has ripened and some of the tiny  cherries fall on their own account and the rest are helped along by the birds seeking their breakfast.

Once awake, I heard every plane that came and went from the airport no matter how many sheep or goats or moles were counted in my head. We now understand a little more about this very conveniently placed international airport; flights arrive and depart for Ireland, Portugal, Greece, Spain, the Netherlands, Hungary, Belgium and other centres within the British Isles. The airport was originally an RAF station, decommissioned in 1964, opening the year after as an airfield for the public. Obviously it has grown and gained its international flavour more recently and the folk who live near or under the flight paths have been eased gently into the disruption. Perhaps if I go to bed late enough, I will be too comatose to be bothered again?

Still juggling our schedule from here, we decided to head off for another National Trust experience for the day, but not before booking ahead yet again, taking our accommodation planning out to 22 August. We also agreed to abandon any plans to explore Scotland, that the limited time we have left will only just, if even then, be enough to finish our overview of England. Scotland will have to wait for next year when we return.

Calke Abbey

It was about 10am when we arrived at Calke Abbey, a Grade I listed country house near Ticknell, Derbyshire, about six miles south west from our camp as the crow flies. The site was an Augustine priory, as so many of these National Trust places once were, from the 12^th century until its dissolution. The present building, named Calke Abbey in 1808, was never actually an abbey, but is a Baroque mansion built between 1701 and 1704, with alterations made over the subsequent centuries.  But in-between the priory and the mansion, an Elizabethan house was built on the same footprint, so architecturally it has had more or less three lives.

St Giles Church

Subsequent to the dissolution, the property was leased by the Crown and finally sold to a series of notable people through to Robert Bainbridge, who sold it in in 1622 to Sir Henry Harpur, the first of a lineage who managed to hold on to the property for nearly 300 years, until it passed in 1985 in lieu of death duties to the National Trust. By this time, after ownership by the last three of the line, who lived in small corners of the decaying house, the house was in a state of decline. It is like this that the Trust have chosen to keep it and present it to the public. Repairs have been undertaken only to the point of keeping it safe for access, but otherwise the story is one about what happens to these jewels when the money runs out. It is presented as an “un-stately” home.

Several of the baronets were avid, even frantic, collectors of all things natural (stones, shells, and wild life). Sir Vauncey Harpur-Crewe (1846 – 1924) was an eccentric taxidermist, very skilled and without control of when enough is enough. The walls are covered with mounted heads of his father’s prized long-horn cattle, and stags. Glass cabinets abound, full of stuffed birds, foxes, anything that moved, apart from his fellow humans. Half of his collection was sold off early last century to alleviate the tax burden but still great quantities of dead remain. Needless to say, the rest of the family had their own eccentricities to tolerate all of this.

The author in the walled garden

The long road into the park is lined by glorious lime trees, and the rolling countryside supports a deer park, sheep and cattle, with the backdrop of the Staunton Harold Reservoir; all quite stunning. On arrival we walked a 3.5 kilometre walk of the park perimeter, and then took a small introductory tour of the house and another of the history of the fabulous gardens. After lunch we checked out St Giles’ Church, then spent over two hours inside the house listening to the guides, several in period costume, acting out their parts as past residents.

The extensive stables house cafes, a shop and facilities along with the abandoned workings of their function; blacksmith, stables and rising school, the brewery now defunct. The parklands and farm open to the public cover an area of 600 acres, but the Trust also administers more farms and properties within the nearby village, all part of the original property and now generating income so that the property is basically self-supporting. 

Glorious wildflowers

Fortunately the rain which threatened all day, stayed away and we managed to fill almost the full day enjoying this wonderful spot, all exceeding our expectations.

Rather than return by the route we had taken in via the Derby Road and the amazing crossing over the River Trent, we took minor roads in a more direct route home, slower and more scenic, traced on the map from one turn to another. 

The crossing referred to above deserved a little checking; my description of the incredibly long bridge was no exaggeration. The Swarkestone Bridge is an ancient Grade I listed bridge and a Scheduled Ancient Monument. It was built in the 13^th century to cross the river and the surrounding marshes and is almost a mile long, with seventeen arches. The first mention of the bridge was in 1204, but in part has been since modified. The majority of the existing bridge dates from the late 13^th and early 14^th centuries. It is the longest stone bridge in England as well as being the longest inland bridge. I was glad we were not towing the caravan because there are parts of this undulating bridge that are very narrow.

24 July 2016 - Littleover Farm, Sutton Bonington, near Loughborough

With the days on the calendar clicking over all too quickly, we could not sit around waiting to watch the procession of the Tour into Paris. We headed north to Sherwood Forest, up on the M1 , then eastward across the countryside skirting Mansfield , a market town, once the “dormitory” for the surrounding mining pits and a centre of light manufacturing. The town was home to the centre oak of the Sherwood Forest until the 1940s when it had to be felled, although now that the forest has diminished and retreated to the north east of the town, this would no longer be true even if it was still strong and healthy. Oak trees are famed for their longevity; reputedly growing for three hundred years, standing for a further three hundred and then taking a further three hundred to decay after death.

We found our way to the Sherwood Forest National Nature Reserve and Visitor Centre, paid the charming gate keeper the requested £3, then setting off for a couple of hours walk after picking up a site map. 

The Major Oak

The Forest is famous as the legendary home of Robin Hood, but as I explained when recounting our visit to the city of Nottingham, his existence is questionable. Here, as in the city, this does not deter the commercial appeal of the stories and all the paraphernalia that “supports” this. The “Major Oak”, a draw card for the tourist trade since Victorian times, and to those who appreciate nature more generally, is one of the largest and oldest remaining oak trees in England, and part of the legend. This particular tree, weighing an estimated twenty three tons, with a girth of 10 metres has grown here for over 1,150 years. Its massive canopy has a spread of 28 metres and is supported by a number of structures, increasing as the tree ages and bends under its own weight. With such artificial aids, there will come a time when there is more superstructure than tree.

In medieval times, Sherwood covered 100,000 acres, almost one fifth of the county, and was a royal hunting forest, its valuable game, timber, cattle and land protected by strict forest laws. It was, no doubt, the suppression of the common folk by those laws that created the folklore and stories of Robin Hood. 

Since the 1950s, the forest has been a Site of Scientific Interest, and was made a National Nature Reserve in 2002, because oak and birch woodland, and heathland, as ancient and undisturbed as this, is incredibly rare. The trees within the forest are some of the oldest oaks within Europe; around 900 of them are over five centuries old. This has given rise to a rich and complex ecosystem, so now Sherwood is a green haven for an amazing wide range of fauna, flora and wildlife, including 1,500 species of beetle and 200 different types of spiders.

We spent a couple of hours walking about the forest, firstly with the hundreds of others making their pilgrimage to the Major Oak, then heading off on a less popular trail of three and a half miles, plus the extra walked when we took a wrong turn. We sat in the middle of the forest soon after midday and ate our lunch, just as the legendary Robin Hood no doubt did all those years ago, watching baby squirrels scamper up the trunks of trees and leap across from branch to branch, robins flit about, butterflies alight on this plant and then another. We noted that the blackberries were still not ready for eating, that the nettles always added to the lushness of the vegetation if not the appeal. However we were not impressed with the number of dogs off leash that came by with their owners.

Walking in Sherwood Park

With the afternoon still relatively young, we decided to drive across to Clumber Park, not too far from Sherwood Forest, just up the road from Ollerton. This 3,800 acre National Trust property was once the country estate of the Dukes of Newcastle. 

In 1879, a disastrous fire swept through the house destroying the core of the building. It was rebuilt, the interior even more palatial than before. Then a second fire broke out in 1912. Fortunately nothing irreplaceable was destroyed and the accommodation was rebuilt.

All I can say is that they were a very careless lot.

Following the death of the 7^th Duke of Newcastle in 1928, the estate went into decline, neither his brother, the 8^th Duke, nor his nephew the future 9^th Duke, lived in the house and it was closed up. In 1928, the house was demolished and fixtures, fittings and even building materials were sold at auction. 

It was the intention of the 9^th Duke to build a new house on a different site in the park. However his divorce and the outbreak of war in 1939 brought a halt to such planning. Clumber was taken over by the War Department and used by the Army as a training area and an ammunition dump.

During the war, the estate was put up for sale. The National Trust purchased the property in 1946 as part of its Golden Jubilee celebrations. The Trust raised money by public appeal and received financial support from leading authorities in the area.

As a public park, it really is quite stunning. Entry is by a three mile stretch of lime trees, planted by the 4^th Duke in 1838; it is the longest such double avenue in Europe, with 1,296 trees along the main drive. While the house site is little more than a few raised concrete and stone marks on the expansive lawns, the stables remain and house an exhibition of the past grandeur, a café and the National Trust office. The lake is full of weed and thousands upon thousands of geese, swans and ducks. Bird droppings litter the walkways and lawns back from the lake, but none of this deters the hundreds and hundreds of folk who were visiting the park today.

The Church at Clumber Park

The Chapel of St Paul was commissioned by the 5^th Duke in 1864, but never completed, the 7^th Duke demolished it and commissioned a second chapel in 1886, dedicated this one to St Mary the Virgin. This was designed by George Frederick Bodley, cost £30,000 (the equivalent of nearly £3 million in today’s money) and is an over-the-top structure for a private chapel. The church has a central tower, which contains one bell and a 175 foot spire which rises out of an octagonal corona. It stands as complete as it ever did and looks rather incongruous in the gardens. Many a large town would be proud to have this as their parish church. It has in fact many features of a cathedral, although in a slightly smaller scale. Apparently there are weekly services held here even today which is probably just as well. Such a structure should not be wasted, and it does not beg recycling as a private dwelling as so many old churches find themselves to be.

We were anxious to pick up a few provisions before the superstores closed at four, their Sunday closing time, so we headed away and stopped by Ollerton, before heading south toward home, via the A614, the A6097 then south of Nottingham, turning directly westward across to our lovely little village.

En route, we passed a large construction site, just a couple of miles from home. Half a dozen cranes dominated the scene and a tantalising sign at the gate invited further research. This is the scene for a brand new Defence and National Rehabilitation Centre at the cost to the taxpayer of £300 million. The new facility will be four times the size of Headley Court, the institution that currently attends to this need. I wondered how many in the electorate were actively aware of what was going on in their patch.

Arriving home, we found ourselves still in time for the grand finale of the Tour de France. The Chauffeur was a happy man indeed.