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

Travelling as a tourist is quite exhausting, especially when you are no longer thirty or less, even more so when you are twice that. So it was with some relief that Chris expressed a desire to watch the final mountain stage of the Tour de France on the television. 

The day dawned sunny and clear, our new neighbours soon arranging their paunches and appendages on outdoor furniture outside their awnings. We elected to head off to nearby Kegworth to buy fresh bread and the weekend newspaper from the Co-op store, then to park near the Flood Lock and set off on foot along the banks of the River Soar. 

There were perhaps a dozen narrow boats tied up along the river, fishing lines hung into the dark murky waters, unappealing for anything but motoring upon. Our path took us through several small herds of cattle, so docile, even those with calves, who were not bothered to step aside for us. Alas, they favoured the shade around gateways, routes we needed to pass, so we edged carefully around them, minding their rear legs while murmuring endearments.

Several narrow-boats and motor launches passed us, returning our greetings. On such a glorious morning, how could anyone do anything but exchange such bonhomie.

Narrow Boats on the River Soar

We paused to pass the time of day with a couple relaxing on their little deck with cups of coffee. They are currently living on their narrow-boat, and living the gypsy life as we are, although not rushing from one attraction to another as we seem to be. We discussed the fixed costs of such a lifestyle, theirs that is, the acquisition of diesel, and the fundamentals of canal life. Mrs Narrow-boat looked like a classic gypsy, her hair dyed jet black, her face heavily made up, her eyes darkened with kohl and her body so slim we wondered at her longevity. Her husband, or lover, whichever he might be, was more au naturel, and might have felt right at home with the bare chested sun seekers here in our camp. 

We continued on along the river until we were almost beyond the towers of the power station, not quite reaching the village of Ratcliffe on Soar, then turned and walked back along the stop-bank, passing through a field of mown hay currently being tedded for even drying, another field of maize still growing to its optimal height, alongside fields of wheat nearly ready for harvesting, and between hedgerows of Hawthorne and nettles; always the nettles. We emerged onto the streets of Kegworth and walked back toward the river, to the car and home just in time for an excellent lunch of French bread and some of that excellent cheese picked up in the Birmingham market.

We have learned a little more about the power station at Ratcliffe on Soar:

It was commissioned in 1968 and has a capacity of 2,116 MW which is enough electricity to meet the needs of approximately 2.02 million homes. The plant emits some- 10 million tonnes of CO2 annually making it the 18^th highest CO2 emitting power station in Europe. Some 48 Million cubic meters of cooling water is taken from the River Trent. Evaporation losses through the eight cooling towers account for some 11 million cubic metres of that water. It certainly dominates the landscape from the river side where we turned to head homeward.

After we had ascertained that there had been no accidents on the greasy descent of the last leg of The Tour, I suggested we explore the village we are currently residing in. Chris was not averse to the idea, although he might have been if I had detailed the full itinerary.

Just opposite the entry to our “farm” camp and along the street a little lays St Michael’s Church. Historical records first mention this in 1220 as a “chapel-of-ease” of the mother church at Kegworth. By 1260 Bonington was a parish in its own right. The earliest parts of the church were built in the Early English period, 1190 – 1250, but like most ancient buildings there have been alterations and additions over the years. 

We wandered in and about the interior, certainly appreciating the peace if not the dimness, and marvelled that even little villages have supported such structures through the centuries.

Village Cattle

From here we wandered further down the Main Street, past the pub already busy with Saturday evening patrons, along to the General Store for future reference then down onto the playing fields that suggested access to the river. We were not disappointed, skirting around the more manicured soccer fields then down over the meadows now left to nature until long enough for hay and tired enough to have dropped all their seeds. The Sutton Bonington Spinney & Meadows Nature Reserve comprises some 3,000 square metres and was first planted in 1981 and extended in 1997. It runs down to the River Soar, with a low concrete dyke between the narrow river path and the reserve behind.

We arrived at the river’s edge to find ourselves in company; a lone fisherman well equipped with paraphernalia for a long stint had settled on the edge to our right, and to our left, partly obscured, was small group of young people who would have been happier without the presence of two old fogies. 

We stood for a wee while surveying the scene, a narrow-boat on the river, the hay bales lying in the field across the river, swallows swooping about; a peaceful spot despite the laughter of the youth further up the bank. We left them all to it and retraced our steps across the fields, back past the cattle grazing in a nearby wooded field, and the Hall which seemed to be readying itself for a Saturday celebration, perhaps a wedding reception,  then back to our dinner preparation and a bottle of red, after agreeing that Sutton Bonington was indeed a delightfully attractive village.

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

The ruins of Old Hall

Did I say that our camp is under the flight path into the East Midland’s airport? This is only a problem if one lies sleepless very early in the morning, or restless in the heat of the late evening. The camp is otherwise without fault, well-appointed with waste facilities, a couple of showers and toilets, all diligently cleaned by our lovely hosts every morning. Internet is a little spasmodic, but functions if one perseveres. And the M1 lies a mere two and a half miles away. What more could one want for?

With such motorway proximity, we were quickly on our way north this morning, heading for Hardwick Hall, less than thirty miles to the north. We arrived soon after 10 am and made our way up through the lovely rural landscape surrounding the historic dwellings. We had been a little confused to see that the Hall appears under the auspices of the National Trust and that of English Heritage. 

From the tower of Old Hall

Once ushered into the expansive grounds, we understood the confusion. Within the same grounds are the English Heritage Old Hardwick Hall and the marginally more recent structure, simply named Hardwick Hall. We were glad to be subscribers to both institutions; hence there was no question as to which property we should pay entry for.  Alas, many visitors may choose to miss the Old Hall, simply to save their entertainment pounds, but really both need to be explored to completely understand the amazing story surrounding Hardwick. While there have been generations since the famed Bess of Hardwick built the properties and others in the surrounding county, it is she who monopolises the saga, and rightfully so.

Remains of plasterwork in Old Hall

From small beginnings, Bess Hardwick (1527 – 1608) rose to become one of Elizabeth I’s oldest friends, outstandingly wealthy and a powerful landowner in the region. She rescued the historic family estate at Hardwick after her brother died penniless, and returned to live in the house where she was born.

Views of the New from the Old

Aged sixty, having been widowed four times, she began a new building project to transform the old manor house. Here she was her own designer, and she put into practice some cutting edge ideas for the design of aristocratic houses. Bess’s passion for architecture was so great that she went on to commission the New Hall at Hardwick even before the Old Hall was finished.

The history of such a woman, and the families whose lives she touched or begat, is far greater than this nutshell portrayal, but must suffice for now; in fact it is for the visitor to be left with something to find out for themselves. And for myself, we now have the souvenir booklet to refer to when we wish to relive our visit, and of course, there is always the internet.

But is interesting to add that after her death, it took twenty years to survey all the land that her sons had accumulated, a grand total of 200,000 acres between them, almost all by their mother’s endeavour. 

A peak of the New Hall from the garden

It is also interesting to note that the 6^th Duke of Devonshire expressed his opinion of his ancester, Elizabeth, Countess of Shrewsbury, as a “hideous, dry, parched, narrow-minded, but my prudent, amassing, calculating buildress and progenitrix, Bess of Hardwick”.

Our introductory guide said that Bess was often considered “a shew”, but she thought she was more “shrewd”.

The ruined state of the Old Hall came about in various stages. The 5^th Duke of Devonshire ordered the eastern half to be demolished and the salvaged remains sold from 1747. The surviving western half was still lived in by servants until the 19^th century, however the roof was not repaired and it became increasingly dangerous to go up the stairs. The family began to repair the ruins from the 1890s, to prevent further decay. Visitors came to see both the Old and New Halls and the ruins took on a new role as a public attraction. Old Hall left family ownership in 1959, the Ministry of Works taking it into care. English Heritage took it over in 1984 and opened up the west lodge to visitors.

After the deaths of her husband and her eldest son, Evelyn, the last Duchess of Devonshire, and the last resident, became responsible for an estimated £7 million of death duties. Even with a reduction of £2.5 million in 1954, it became clear that drastic action had to be taken to clear the tax bill. In 1956, ownership of Hardwick passed to the Government in lieu of tax. Three years later the Government transferred Hardwick Hall to the National Trust to look after on behalf of the nation. 

There are other stately homes, and properties held under the National Trust umbrella in the region, but the day had been quite complete enough, so we joined the M1 once more and headed home, this time finding ourselves in the slow late afternoon traffic.

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

A little research enlightened us about our current home village. Sutton Bonington lies in the River Soar valley and has its own 420 hectare campus of the University of Nottingham, here home to the School of Biosciences and the School of Veterinary Medicine and Science. The population of 2,200 includes about six hundred students. There are apparently two medieval churches here; I can see the spire of one from my position here in the caravan, however have yet to explore either of them further. There are twenty five listed buildings dotted about the village, surely the bane of every British developer. 

This morning, the Park & Ride at Clifton South offered a surprise on arrival; regular trams run from here into the city of Nottingham. However purchasing a ticket provided the first frustration of the day; the card facility was not working, which caused my husband to grumble and moan in a very audible fashion. I whipped out paper tender and soon we boarded the tram, but not until Chris had berated the poor conductor about “systems” and “modern technology”. Poor man; the conductor, that is. He assured us it was not the tram service, but BT (British Telecom); they had just had word on the radio.

The ride was smooth and interesting as we passed through the suburbs to the south of the city, picking up folk at each stop until it was quite full by the time we crossed over the River Trent and cruised into the Birmingham Station. 

St Mary's Church

We walked up through the town, found the Information Centre and gathered a wad of pamphlets together for today and the days immediately ahead of us. The Lace Market begged to be explored so we set off on foot again, even though our day’s tram ticket would have served as well. This proved a little disappointing, the lace industry long gone, and the references to its history scant. 

The city’s oldest church, St Mary’s appeared before us and we entered to look about. Through the gloom we saw the stained glass windows, elaborate ceilings and other features, now also familiar in religious structures. Outside in the graveyard, a couple of homeless bodies lay sprawled on the grass with their worldly belongings; to their credit, no dogs. 

Not far from the church, we found the Nottingham Contemporary, the city’s gallery of modern art. Like most such galleries, it is rare that we find much that suits our conservative taste.

We found a shaded bench in a busy and bustling street where we could observe the activity while eating our lunch. The city was already vibrant with shoppers, buskers and tourists, although less of the latter. While the buildings are a little shabby and the shopping centre in need of renovation, one could not help but be impressed by the vibrancy of the city centre.

After lunch we walked across to the castle precinct, the hill spied from the tram which we had at first thought to be home to an old water tower. 

The Castle

The “castle” is in fact long gone, more recently replaced by a mansion which was subsequently destroyed by fire and vandalism, then even more recently rebuilt as a museum and art gallery for the people of the city. Alas the art gallery fills a small area, most of the civic collection stored away somewhere out of sight, and the museum, while narrating the distant history of the city and the castle itself, does not bring one up to date with the last century. I suspect that is covered by the Museum of Nottingham Life, which is covered by a separate entry fee and accessed from the other side of the “castle” hill. 

However none of that should detract from the story well told within the bowels of the mansion, several times over to embrace the range of ages who may well pass through the doors. It goes without saying that the legend of Robin Hood, his Merry Men, Maid Marion and all the villains of the piece were well represented in those stories, and while the history of the “story” was well documented, there was no suggestion that it was a factual account of some past goodie two-shoes. (Actually the legend is celebrated all through the city and why not, if it draws the tourists?) 

The actual history of the city however is no less fascinating:

The original castle was constructed by William the Conqueror within two years of his arrival on British shores, a timber castle high on the natural outcrop of rock. In the 12^th century, King Henry II upgraded the castle, and in the 13^th century King Henry III rebuilt the outer bailey. With this the castle became one of the greatest in England, equalling the fortifications of that at Dover and Windsor. It was from here that Charles I rode out in 1642 to raise his standard and start the Civil War, however there was little sympathy to be found hereabouts.

The Market Place & Council Building

Despite this, the parliamentarians demolished the castle at the end of the Civil War, and then in 1678 the Duke of Newcastle rebuilt a palace in its place although it was not inhabited and became neglected and fell into a state of decay. 

In 1831 the workers of the city rose up in what became known as the Reform Act Riots and destroyed the property yet again, this time by fire. Insurance paid out for restoration but the owner of the castle was in no hurry to rebuild.  

After a further forty years of inactivity, it was acquired by Nottingham Corporation and eventually the work was carried out. In 1878, the building was opened as a museum and art gallery, becoming the first municipal art museum outside London. This much abbreviated history of the castle more or less reflects the story of the city.

The uninspiring "Castle"

After absorbing all this, we wandered about the exterior of the castle, checking out the excellent views from the terraces; the headquarters of Britain’s Inland Revenue Department, the chimneys of the large refuse incinerators and the massive funnels of the power station at Ratcliffe on Soar, one of the largest coal fired power stations in Europe. To the north of our Park & Ride lay Clifton, built in the 1950s, once the biggest council housing estate in Europe.

The day had warmed up and driven the crowds to the Market Square, some who were making use of the fountain and other water features. We bought ice-cream sundaes and sat in the sun watching the carryings on, including grown men paddling in the water features despite notices forbidding the same,  then headed back to the Station, catching the tram with dozens of school children, timing our trip rather badly. Children en masse are really quite disagreeable.
 

From the Park & Ride, we drove south to Loughborough to shop at Sainsbury, finding our way into the superstore’s car park with great difficulty. The designers have set out to annoy would be shoppers, the access streets much like a maze, but we would not be deterred. The frustrations of the day were adding up.

20 July 2016 Littleover Farm, Sutton Bonington, near Loughborough

We packed up and left this morning earlier than planned; such is our efficiency. Our route via the M42, then the A42, up past Tamworth toward Nottingham, was without event, simply joining the hundreds of trucks heading in the same direction, a distance of about fifty miles. The road passed through the rolling countryside of Warwickshire, then on up into Leistershire, the road lined with ragwort and rubbish, the grain crops spied through the hedgerows sandy coloured and begging harvest. Large round hay bales were sometimes seen lying scattered across shorn fields, also patiently waiting collection and storage.

We pulled into the Donington Park motorway service centre, taking its name from the motor racing circuit close by. There, parking between rows of big trucks and trailers, we sat over morning coffee, the daily newspaper followed by lunch before making our way south west to our little farmlet camp here on the edge of the village of Sutton Bonington.

While the sun had been just as fierce as yesterday, when heat waves were reported as sweeping the British Isles, there was a pleasant breeze about, and the day was much more comfortable. Late in the afternoon,  burning the bottom of the stew whilst pouring over maps and travel guides with my attentive husband, a wild storm swept over us, the wind rocking the van and the rain causing a mini flood in the yard. But as I type this, the day has returned to its pre-storm state, although the sun is now setting beyond the rear field grazed by a small mob of sheep. 

We look forward to heading into Nottingham tomorrow and putting some shape into our plans for the next week. I fear we are going to run out of days here, so what’s new?