Kendeline Fields Farms, Claybrooke Parva, near Lutterworth, Leicestershire

This morning, like everyone else in the UK, we woke to find that Mrs May had screwed up in calling a snap election, and that the young British voters were no longer disengaged from the political process. I have to confess that had I the privilege of voting in this election, I would have voted for my Conservative candidate, but then so did more voters than before, and if this country had Proportional Representation or Mixed Member Proportional systems rather than First Past the Post, the outcome may have been very different. In the meantime the United Kingdom is saddled with a hung Parliament and the political stage for the next year or so will be very interesting indeed.

Interested as we were, we remained glued to the television set long after breakfast was cleared away, until I insisted we either mute or kill the set, to sort out our travel schedule for the next week or so. Surprisingly this met with little resistance and within half an hour we had made telephone calls, been rejected then accepted for accommodation ahead. 

And so with some certainty, we headed off into the local settlement of Lutterworth to attend to a few domestic matters, posting of mail and a haircut for Chris. En route we noted that Lutterworth was the workplace of both John Wycliffe and Frank Whittle.

The former was one of the great Christians of the Middle Ages. Born in the north of England about 1328, he was educated at Oxford University and soon became famous for his learning and skill in debate. He also believed that people should be able to read the Bible in their own language, so in the early 1380s, he translated the Bible from Latin to English.

Frank Whittle who lived from 1907 to 1996, developed jet engines and did some of his work in Lutterworth. His name was unfamiliar to me, although not to Chris; the reverse of our limited knowledge of Wycliffe. This second son of Lutterworth, albeit a fleeting resident, is celebrated in the little town square.

Back to the car park within an hour, hence enjoying the amazing generosity of the local council in not being charged, we headed south on the M1 to Northampton, the county town of Northamptonshire, today with a population of over 216,200. There is no Park & Ride here, or none shown on the map, so we headed straight into town and found a spot in the multi-story car park. With the aid of a local, we were saved from wandering about lost between the concrete floors, and led out into the market area of the town. Here there was the noisy vibrancy of the weekly fresh produce markets along with the ever present stalls of books, cell-phone covers and of course the chippy.  Chris indulged in a paper “cone” of hot chips to reward himelf for the stress of having dealt with the slow progress on the M1, the whole extent of our journey undergoing road works.

Northampton has an ancient past like most such settlements, but was mostly destroyed by fire in 1675. Of course it was subsequently rebuilt and a Georgian town grew up in its stead, this in turn swamped by the Industrial Revolution.  It was the shoe and boot making industry that Northampton became famous for and there is apparently a wonderful celebration of this in the local museum, which unfortunately is closed until next year for expansion and modernising; a great disappointment to us.

We had a list of attractions gleaned from our travel guides and managed to find the Information Centre, whose employees explained that this one was closed or that might not be open. So much of our exploration was restricted to viewing the exterior of structures.

Next to the vibrant market place is the Church of All Saints which was rebuilt after the Great Fire to a design by architect Henry Bell. It has such a fine interior, and outside, a statue of bewigged and Roman attired Charles II stands above the portico, as a token of thanks for his donation of a thousand tonnes of timber.  A bistro straddles the entry of the church, no doubt providing welcome rental income to the parish, but seemingly at odds with the spirit of the building. We entered to the strains of the organ, a young man practicing for services; to enter a church or cathedral to resounding organ music sends tingles up one’s spine, no matter how secular one’s leanings might be.

We lunched within sight of the porch until the rain drove us under the eaves; cold showers persisted until we returned to the car to leave.

The Victorian gothic Guildhall is well worth a visit, and would be even more so if one were allowed inside to enjoy the interior. Unfortunately the rooms were all closed up for security purposes, but the glimpse we did get, impressed greatly.  This was constructed in the 1860s to a design by Edward Godwin and is very fine indeed. 

Walking west of the centre, we came first to Hazelrigg House, a substantial Elizabethan town house built about 1580 which survived the Great Fire and was owned by the Hazelrigg family from 1680 until 1831. I found the street frontage very attractive, even viewed through the rain.

Almost next door is one of the five churches with survived the fire, St Peter’s Church, dating from the 12^th century and one of the finest examples of Norman church architecture in the region. Unfortunately this too was padlocked up, the church yard and the church likewise.

A little further on we arrived at the Castle Mound, all that remains of the famous Norman castle built by Simon de Senilis, Earl of Northampton. The trial of Thomas a Becket took place here in 1164. In 1660 King Charles II had the castle destroyed as punishment for the town’s disloyalty during the English Civil War. Any views from this promontory are obscured by trees and modern structures, although the extensive modern railway station lies immediately below to the west.

From this viewpoint too one can see the National Lift Tower which was visible as we travelled into the city from the M1. Truly it is an eyesore and we did wonder what on earth it was all about. Fortunately these days if the tourist information people don’t offer answers, there is always Google. The 1275 metres high tower was completed in 1980 and was amazingly given Grade II Listed Building status in 1997, making it the youngest listed building in the United Kingdom. It was built as a lift testing tower, the only one in Britain, but fell out of use in 1997 when Express Lifts was taken over by Otis, but reopened for business in 2009. It is used by lift companies for research, development, testing and marketing. There are six shafts of varying heights and speeds, including a high speed shaft with a travel of 100 metres and a theoretical maximum speed of ten metres per second.  Since 2011 the tower has been used for abseiling, a fact that makes me feel a little more sympathetic toward a structure so at odds with the surrounding environment.

Near the castle mound there is another of the five surviving churches, this the United Reformed Church, built in 1695, and later enlarged. It has little in common with standard Anglican or Catholic churches, but is an attractive building. Apparently 18^th century non-conformist Philip Doddridge preached here for twenty two years, in a time where he was unlikely to lose his head for doing so. 

Back up through the centre of the town, we headed north past the multi-story car park and headed for the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Dating from 1103 and the oldest building in Northampton, it is the largest and best preserved medieval round church in the country inviting further exploration. Alas, this too was locked up, so we were left to wander about the exterior. We found the grounds very neglected, grave stones leaning this way and that, if not entirely fallen. There was litter everywhere and a notice lying in the long grass, “Overnight camping is prohibited. Bedding, etc. will be removed”. This seemed a rather strange directive until we spied an abandoned sleeping bag in a doorway and there and all along the north side of the church, abandoned hypodermic needles and discarded packets of drugs handed out to addicts to ease them off their habit, among a pile of other unpleasant rubbish. It is no wonder that the keepers of the church keep their doors locked in an attempt to keep this all out of the church’s interior, although one then must ask about the concept of Christian refuge for the needy.  

By now the skies were clearing, but we felt we had seen all there was to see in Northampton, or at least that open for view. We retraced our steps to the car, paid the parking fee and headed north on an alternative route home, via the A5199 through beautiful Northamptonshire and Leistershire rural countryside, crossing the A14 and A4304, routes we had travelled two days ago when travelling to Stamford, on up through the lovely little villages of Husbands Bosworth, Walton, Gilmorton, Ullesthorpe and home. It was still only mid-afternoon and we passed the afternoon in a relaxed manner, glad that our fellow campers had already moved on.  

Kendeline Fields Farms, Claybrooke Parva, near Lutterworth, Leicestershire

It was Election Day today, the polls still not closed here as I start this. Unlike New Zealand and other countries about the world where the polls close at 7pm, here they are open until 10pm. This is not at all convenient for political tragics like us who like to be part of every blow; the results will not be even at guess-stage by the time I need to be abed. Interestingly we saw no evidence of one polling booth today during our travels and yet we learned this evening on the news, that forty seven million eligible voters had the opportunity to vote in any one of the forty thousand booths; did I hear right!?

The weather forecast was not great for today; a good deterrent for the lazy or apathetic voters, and better suited to city touring. We headed off to Leicester, just less than half an hour to the north accessed via the A5 just down the lane, then north up the M69 to the Park and Ride.

Leicester is the county town of Leicestershire, lying on the River Soar, with a population of about 342,500, about half of those white British, over 37% south Asian, over 6% of Caribbean type heritage and rest of very mixed ethnicity.

Its claim to fame is that of being home to Leicester City Football Club which miraculously clinched their first national league title in May 2016. Even I, not known for my interest in sport, could not have missed the frenetic joy that was expressed by the locals when this happened. It almost eclipsed the confirmation that the body raised from the rubble in a car park was the lost corpse of King Richard III in 2015, he who was killed at the Battle of Bosworth in August 1485.

We arrived in the city centre this morning, alighting from the bus about 9.30am when the streets were still relatively quiet. We were disappointed to discover that the Information Centre was not to open until 11am, but managed to fill the time by having printing and mailing projects dealt with, wandering through the marketplace and indulging in morning coffee at Maccas, a treat that is becoming all too frequent.

Once armed with a map, we were able to find our way to many of the attractions flagged a few days ago when I had been doing the tour planning. The rain managed to restrict itself to times we were indoors, and the wind blew enough to dry the park benches in time for a very late lunch.

We visited St Martin’s Cathedral, a much modified eleventh century structure, cluttered with fittings and decorations both old and new. It was hard to see past all the distraction to admire the fine ceilings, stained glass windows and carved porches. However we were greeted by several elderly welcomers who managed to appear beside us whenever we showed the least curiosity. It is here that Richard III’s skeletal remains were finally laid to rest, and there is much about this, facts and discussion subjects raised, interweaved with the business of the cathedral, the outreach of Christian faith. 

We were most impressed with the King Richard III Visitor Centre, located on the site of the car park where his remains were dug up. Here the story of Richard’s life, death and resurrection are told in depth in a very modern way, using 21^st century technology. I had balked a little at the admission price, £8 each for AOPs, given that we had already had several history lessons about this king and his kingship, particularly last year at York, but truly, this was well worth every GB pound.

The Guildhall also proved to be a delight; apparently one of the best preserved timber framed halls in the country, dating back 600 years. Over the years it served variously as the town hall, prison and police station.

We wandered through the Lanes and took in the medieval atmosphere, contrasting with the market and the pedestrianized retail precinct once the shoppers had arrived. We noted a heavy police presence all about and were glad of that, because this city is significant enough to be a target for the loonies currently on the rampage.

Jewry Wall was another tourist target for the day, but we did not arrive until mid-afternoon.  This is all that remains above ground level of the Roman town, the western wall of a public building alongside public baths, the foundations of which were excavated in the 1930s. It stands eighteen feet high and seventy three feet long, and interestingly the baths were an engineering disaster. The professionals miscalculated the line of the aqueduct that was to pipe the water in, and so bathers had to rely on a hand-filled cistern replenished from the nearby river, not part of the plan at all.

The museum bearing the same name sits on part of the ruin’s footprint and is a wonderful collection and commentary on the archaeological discoveries here and all around Leicestershire. It seems that the area has thrown up all sorts of treasures and if this is of interest, is certainly a must-see. Sadly, after having first visited the super-modern KRII Centre, the exhibits and interpretation all seemed rather dated.

It was already later than our normal exit time when we boarded the bus, soon arriving back at the Park and Ride car park, then made our way to a superstore for more groceries, one area of spending of which we are unstinting. Arriving back at the farm we found two other parties in, one a small motorhome carrying two humans and one outsize dog and the other a caravan, the occupants whom we have yet to see.

It could be a big night, the Dauphine cycling tour is on, the Paris Open is becoming very exciting and the election results should start rolling in about 11pm. I might have to leave the entertainment to Chris, and wait for the morning to learn the damage.

Needless to say, we did not see everything we had wanted to in Leicester, but we have decided we need to review our plans for the area, staying closer to our camp and leaving the more distant must-sees for our next camping location. We need to apply ourselves to this matter soon, but somehow I don’t think that will be tonight.

Kendeline Fields Farms, Claybrooke Parva, near Lutterworth, Leicestershire

Yesterday the weather deteriorated to such that there was little point in venturing out to tour, so we spent the day hunkered down in the caravan, watching the rain fall turning the surrounding grassed area into a marshland. The wind rocked and rolled the van about, the foliage blowing off the surrounding trees and the hedges along the roadside viewed later. It was cold; so cold I wrapped myself in five layers and pulled my slippers out of storage. We lunched on canned soup and toasted sandwiches, just more of the calorie laden fare we have consumed over the past week. Later when the rain had eased to short sharp showers, we drove into Lutterworth, shopped at the local Morrison’s superstore and decided that our local town warranted further inspection if weather and time allows in the next week.

Later we phoned our oldest, Larissa, to wish her a happy 40th birthday, managing to catch her before she was out walking the dog and heading to work; a bit scary to have a forty year old daughter, albeit a step-daughter.

But this morning dawned more promisingly and we headed off soon after 8 am, across the counties and the pages of the road atlas, with plans to spend the entire day at Burghley in Lincolnshire. We were aware that the House did not open until 11am, but believed we could easily fill between one and two hours enjoying the extensive grounds open to the public for no charge.

As we drove eastwards toward Market Hayborough, we noted a sign for the Foxton Locks, one of the attractions on our list to visit whilst here near Lutterworth. We turned northward and within five miles pulled into a car park beside the Grand Union Canal, then walked along the well-marked path to the head of this very unusual lock system. Foxton is a place where great minds of engineers and the hard working hands of labourers shaped the landscape in quite a dramatic way. As well as the famous staircase of ten locks climbing the hillside, there are also the remains of a gigantic inclined Plane Boat Lift.

In 1814, when canal builders seeking to link Leicester with London, reached Foxton, they faced a problem: a 75 foot rise in the space of 300 yards to a summit of 425 feet above sea level. Their solution was the Foxton Staircase, ten locks, just seven feet wide, arranged in two groups of five with a passing pond for barges between them.

The Staircase worked but the locks were large enough for only one narrowboat at a time. The problem of how to provide passage for wider boats was solved in 1900 by an even more extraordinary feat of canal engineering, the Foxton Barge Lift. Its huge tanks could move four narrowboats at a time, two up and two down, in only twelve minutes. Wider haulage boats were also accommodated because this was, after all, the whole point of the lock alternative. Alas in 1911 improved road and rail competition were all too much and the locks closed, however in 1909 they were put back into service and continue to be used to this day.

Much of the lift workings were sold for scrap in 1928, but enthusiasts are now working toward restoring it, although at this stage it is still words and thought-bubbles around the table.  

Signs at the car park suggested that one needed at least two hours to explore the lock area, however we rushed about and were back to the car within an hour and a half. Had the museum been open, we would have spent much more time there, but then we hadn’t planned on coming here today. We did agree that one could spend more than half a day here, watching the narrowboats come and go up and down through the locks, chatting with the boatmen and women, and the lock-keepers, all of which we did this morning but not for long enough. No matter how often I observe the progress through locks, I continue to be fascinated, and these this morning were even more captivating.

So we travelled on, soon turning north east, across rolling picturesque countryside, grazed by sheep and dotted with charming villages that England does so well. As we travelled up through the Welland valley, we were confronted by splendid views of the Harringworth  Rail Viaduct. Time did not allow for much more than a photo stop, but I did do some homework later.

The viaduct, also known as the Welland Viaduct and the Seaton Viaduct, is 1.166 kilometres long (or 1,275 yards) and has eighty two arches, each of them with a twelve metres span. It was completed in 1878 just two years and four months after the first brick was laid. It is the longest masonry viaduct across a valley in Britain and is a Grade II listed “building”.

We continued on to Burghley, a couple of miles south east of Stamford, a distance of over fifty miles from our starting point in the morning. We did discuss the foolishness of having travelled so far and the fact we should have better planned the logistics of our touring. But we agreed the trip over had been lovely and later we could only confirm that, after having passed over four hours at Burghley House.  

Burghley is advertised as England’s greatest Elizabethan house, and we would have to agree it is a most impressive property. The House was designed and built by William Cecil, the 1^st Lord Burghley, Lord High Treasurer and Chief Minister to Queen Elizabeth I. Over the centuries it has been passed from one generation to the next, his descendants the Earls and Marquesses of Exeter, until the death of the 6^th Marquess in 1981 when the house and its contents became part of a charitable trust, always a good option when you are trying to minimise wholesale monetary donations to the national treasury.

The title has continued on but the current Marquess, the 8^th, resides in the United States and the day to day worries of the property are handled by the Trustees, who include his cousin, Miranda Rock. It is she who resides in the property with her husband and children, or at least in the parts of the house that are not viewed by the curious public. 

In fact the placement of the property in a trust has saved the estate from being broken up and sold, the demise of so many of these large properties owned by the high spending aristocracy. It was William, 5^th Marquess of Exeter (1876 – 1956) who managed to hold on to the property through the two World Wars and witnessed the declines of agricultural incomes. He was more interested in the property than society, horse racing, gambling and the other activities the idle indulge in.

The House is the centre of an agricultural estate comprising some 11,500 acres and the upkeep of the house is derived from agricultural and property rentals in and around the town of Stamford. 

We arrived right on opening time, and spent three hours wandering through the house with audio guides, distracted occasionally by interesting conversations with the room guides. We had eaten half of our lunch beforehand, but were still glad to find a spot in the warm sunshine out of the blustery wind to refuel. After doing so, we headed off on foot across the open parklands, from where we could see the grazing deer behind the higher fences, enjoying the wonderful well established trees. 

The grounds were remodelled by Capability Brown, the famous destroyer and re-constructor who spent about thirty years extending the pond, and redesigning the interior and exterior of the House itself. 

From the Lion Bridge we had a lovely view back to the house, and then back near the entrance we spent time wandering about the Sculpture Garden and Garden of Surprises, this latter including fountains and other weird and wonderful water features.

By the time we hit the road again, the traffic had started to build, although it could be said that the A43 and A14 we travelled homewards are always congested like this. 

Kendeline Fields Farms, Claybrooke Parva, near Lutterworth, Leicestershire

We were away soon after 10 am, glad to have packed up before the forecasted rain, yet not expecting to be so lucky the other end. It was a relatively uneventful trip on the M1 for most of the way, three lanes of nose to tail trucks and other vehicles all travelling close to the speed limit, however there is nothing as a 100% perfect or imperfect trip.

As we pulled out of the Camping & Caravan Club Site at Milton Keynes, we were treated to a close-up of a Green Woodpecker, the first time I have absolutely identified this lovely bird. This was a positive; the next little happening less so. 

We were making our way around one of the dozens of roundabouts on our way to the M1 when I heard an alarm; was it an emergency vehicle? No; was it an alarm going off in one of the distribution warehouses tucked away behind the dense hedges of trees? It followed us too far to be that and I suggested to The Chauffeur it might be the delinquent caravan we were towing. Last year when we had been camped up at Onehouse near Stowmarket, we had gone out for the day, setting the security alarm on to guard against errant opportunists, and been told in no uncertain terms on our return that the alarm had gone on and off all day, most upsetting for all seeking peace and quiet by the fishing lake. We decided never to bother with it again so this audio intrusion this morning was a bit of a surprise. It stopped after a while, then again when we reached the motorway. Fortunately I managed to turn it off from the moving vehicle. I suspect that Chris had inadvertently set it off in his pocket; he is like so many men who insist upon stuffing their pockets with wallets and keys and anything else that might be required. It does not matter than a man’s wife might remark that the trousers would look so much better if there were not a bulge in odd places; it seems it is only women who are vain enough to consider their “ligne”.

The third matter was of a more serious nature and it will remain so until we have it fixed. When I was packing up the interior of the caravan this morning, I found a puddle of water which I traced back through under one of the seats, through sodden cardboard and possessions, to the water heater and pump. There is a leak that requires attention, and even after Chris had tinkered with it after we arrived this afternoon, the leak is still there whenever we use the pump.  The problem seems to be more than a few loose screws.

And so we found our way to this farm, a Camping & Caravan certified site. We are the sole guests or at least for the next few days. There is a small fishing pond down the back, yet to be properly explored and excellent facilities along the farmyard wall. We have pulled out our maps, travel guides and the few brochures from the information room, and compiled a list of attractions to visit. Alas the weather forecast for the week ahead is not great so we will have to pick and choose carefully so we can maximise the best days for outdoor activities. However our first task tomorrow will most likely be to locate a caravan fix-it man.