Everything was closed

We’ve just come back from a short holiday in Norfolk, a place we’ve always wanted to visit. Flat, unlike Wales. The first sign of trouble and a harbinger of things to come was the motorway. It was closed, or at least a part of it was.

Enroute, we stopped for the night at Cambridge and discovered the hotel restaurant was closed and we ended up with a Pret A Manger sandwich.  Thus nourished, we walked by the side of the Cam on a scenic path.

 Across the river were some of the major colleges which, seen from the back, exuded a peculiar intimacy. From the front, they merely look impressive, Trinity especially.

Trinity above. Kings below from the back

 Unfortunately, like the motorway and the hotel restaurant, every college we went to showed the same sign: Closed to visitors. Fortunately the Anchor Pub was open. 

We sat and watched the light gradually fade

Ely Cathedral

It towers over the town and can be seen for miles on flat fenland. 

The following day we stopped off at Ely, eager to explore the Cathedral; to our horror, that too was closed for five days. A major film production, a very nice lady explained. Even The Almonry – an interesting looking tea house was closed and not a film crew in sight. 

Unable to see the interior we took exterior shots from every conceivable angle and imagined what we were missing.

Oliver Cromwell’s house and information centre was not closed; there I bought three bottles of beer, a compensation Cromwell would have understood.

Our cottage – we half expected it to be closed —offered a fine sunset and an eerie walk in surrounding woods. 

Along a dark and gloomy path, a sinister rustling prompted X Files unease. A weird guttural wailing sound clinched the matter, and we retreated briskly. The following day we felt a bit ashamed on hearing we’d been spooked by a Muntjac – a small stocky deer about the size of a dog.

   

And finally, our first real day in Norfolk. Blakeney, a truly magical place. And open. Blakeney was very open

 

 

 

 

 I suddenly had boat envy

 Salt marshes for as far as the eye could see

Here, I played mind games, trying to imagine this as an arial view of Canadian forests and lakes. It worked if I squinted. 

Blakeney, meaning Black Island is a fine name and a vast improvement on its earlier name of Snitterley. That in turn was a corruption of Esnuterlie recorded in the Domesday Book along with its two major landholders, Walter Gifford and William de Noyers. Snitterley to Blakeney was, in my view, a triumphant rebrand. But there it stops, its only other claim to fame being that Edward III’s wife, Queen Philippa enjoyed a fish that came from Blakeney. Other than that minor gastronomic triumph  Blakeney was noted for its piratical inhabitants and its refusal to supply a ship for the battle against the Spanish Armada. 

Can you see that house in the far distance? (It's easy if you try, as John Lennon might have said)

And there it is  zoomed in from a distance. We were thoroughly intrigued. No garage but a boat for when the tide's in. But then what happens to the house?

And because it was 'open' a final photo. I found the bleakness exhilarating after the rolling, wooded hills of 

Monmouthshire. 

To be continued.

Ludlow Castle

Built on a rocky outcrop overlooking the River Teme, Ludlow Castle was started by Walter de Lacey who died in 1085. The family lost possession after a series of rebellions against William II. 

During the 19-year anarchy ‘when Christ and his saints slept,’ Gilbert de Lacy took advantage of the chaos by siding with Matilda against King Stephen, seizing back the castle while he had the chance. Stephen marched his army into Ludlow, risking his life to save Prince Henry of Scotland. The unfortunate prince had been caught by a grappling hook and was being hauled up the walls of the castle by its defenders. King Stephen leapt on him and dragged the young prince free as battle raged about them, and in 1139 regained Ludlow Castle.

The castle was eventually returned to the Lacy family but in the early C14th fell into the hands of the powerful Mortimer dynasty

Chapel interior. The walls show where a first floor  balcony would have been laid for those too important to hear Mass with the rabble. 

Through the portal you can see the foundations of the chapel's full extent. 

During the C12th the round Norman chapel was built in the inner Bailey, and the castle extended to form a large outer bailey surrounded by a curtain wall. The main gatehouse is on the east curtain wall facing a growing town. To the west of the curtain wall is Mortimer’s tower, a smaller gatehouse. The Keep , well and the important Northern Range are top left.

The Keep from the inner bailey and the flag of St George. I need to get up there.

Mortimer's Tower on the West curtain wall

View of the inner bailey from one of the towers.

Penetrating the ruins of the Northern Range is akin to wandering around a medieval Escher, with missing ceilings and openings leading to nowhere in particular. But my aim is in sight. The Great Keep which is higher than it looks here. 

The main complex of the castle is now a dark and

gloomy maze

But eventually, we get there

The Keep and the walls from where Prince Henry may have been hooked.

About halfway up. Yaroo!

Magnificent corkscrew stairs. Ideal for defenders allowing space for their the sword arm. Almost impossible for attackers to use theirs. By the time I'd reached the top I was too weak to use a pea shooter. 

The pole without the flag. Bit of an oversight, sorry

That's me up their waving down. My wife had more sense. I was reliving my childhood.

The castle really came into its own during the War of the Roses, when Richard Duke of York inherited the castle following the failure of the Mortimer line. Lancastrians captured it in 1459, but in 1460, Richard’s eighteen year old son, Edward, raised an army from the area around Ludlow and defeated the Lancastrians at nearby Mortimer’s Cross. It proved decisive and Edward became king in 1461.

In terms of famous deaths, Edward’s two young sons, Edward Prince of Wales and Richard Duke of York were brought up there before being taken into ‘protection’ by their uncle, infamous Richard III. They disappeared soon after in the Tower of London.

Arthur, a later Prince of Wales enjoyed married life with Catherine of Aragon in Ludlow, before his premature death in 1502. The excitement proved to much for the fifteen year old boy who'd boasted that he had 'been in Spain.'  His heart, (a euphemism for his bowels) is buried in St Lawrence Church, as seen from the top of the keep.

Outer Bailey and St Lawrence Church beyond

 

More specifically here:

Close to the High Alter

                                                     

But back to the castle.

In the C16th Ludlow Castle became the administrative centre of The Council of Wales and the Marches, which met in the Great Hall. A new ‘Judge’s Lodgings’ was built near the entrance to the Inner Bailey, with a first floor bridge connecting it to the round chapel. 

The Judge's Lodgings

Note the Elizabethan style windows

Showing on to the Inner Bailey, Northern Range in foreground.

                                    

And the round chapel that once had a connecting bridge to the Judge's Lodgings

In the Civil War, it surrendered to the Roundheads and fell into disuse after the Council of Wales was abolished in 1689.

As for us? We ended our stay in a very nice tea-room with Earl Grey and a bun. 

Carvell's—it was like stepping into an Agatha Christie

Feathers and Ghosts

After exploring Powis Castle we stayed the night in Ludlow, to be precise at The Feathers Hotel. It’s long been on our bucket list, which fortunately fills up as soon as it's emptied. Behind that façade it’s very reminiscent of an illustration I remember as a child. It was from a book of nursery rhymes with a picture of the interior of a large leather boot and the accompanying rhyme.

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.

She had so many children she didn’t know what to do

She gave them some broth without any bread

Then whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.

I spent hours imagining myself in that shoe, climbing its Escher like stairs and exploring each nook and cranny. Now I was in its equivalent, though it offered more than broth and bread, and we weren’t whipped soundly to bed.

From the street it is hard to believe that The Feathers has 40 ensuite rooms, never mind a Reception, large bar and lounge, and spacious restaurant with oak panelling up to the ceiling; presumably there’s a kitchen  somewhere in there too, certainly toilets.

The building itself was constructed in 1619 and when it became an inn in 1670, a balcony was added to the frontage for electioneering. Inside, it’s an intimate but visual feast, the weird nooks and crannies: Jacobean carved cupboards and chests, and above, richly plastered ceilings, exposed Elizabethan timber-framing and ceiling beams. It even has the original C17th door, which I stroked as I walked through. And, of course, it’s heavily haunted. I now regret we weren’t in room 211, though my wife probably doesn’t.  

But back to important things. The food was excellent, as was the beer. The New York Times was so impressed, it referred to it as the ‘most handsome inn in the world’. And I won’t argue with that. 

Still, it has its contenders. Opposite The Feathers is the even older Bull Inn and such is the rivalry, they have a yearly ‘Tug of War’ across the street on Boxing Day.

This is the Town Preacher and Lecturer's house. Worth enlarging for detail

Again worth enlarging for detail

There are more Elizabethan and Stuart buildings in Ludlow than you can shake a stick at, and when done with shaking sticks, pubs I could spend a happy week exploring. 

Powis Castle

In the early Middle Ages, the major Welsh princes and their English neighbours were like the proverbial cats in a sack. Nationalism didn’t come into it. In those days it was more a matter of power. The three major Welsh principalities (Gwynedd, Powys, and Deheubarth)  spent as much time fighting each other as they did the English, and in the process, Powys made several disastrous decisions. Prince Gwenwynwyn, in an effort to make himself the dominant Welsh prince, organised the various principalities in an attack upon England where he was soundly thrashed in 1198.

In 1208 he was summoned to England by King John, stripped of his princely status, and forced to swear fealty to the English king. Thus weakened, Powys succumbed to Gwynedd which took advantage of its diminished state. (Bit of a tongue-twister coming up) Twenty-five years after the death of Gwenwynwyn and Gwynedd dominance, his son, Gruffudd, succeeded him with the support of Henry III. Showing a lack of gratitude and good judgement, Gruffudd sided with Gwynedd and Simon de Montford against Henry III, and then a few years later attacked his new overlord, Llywelyn ap Gruffudd of Gwynedd. Llywelyn burnt Powys castle to the ground, and Gruffudd fled seeking the protection of the new English King, Edward I.

 In 1282, following Edward’s conquest of Wales and the death of Llywelyn, Gruffudd was restored to his lands. From that time on, his successors prevailed over quarrelsome family members and neighbours by siding four square with the English and in time joined the ranks of the powerful Marcher Lords.

The exterior photographs are mine. Note the changeable Welsh weather. Interior photographs were forbidden so these are scavenged from the internet and a book I actually paid for. Unbelievable. 

The castle dominates the landscape, views from windows and terrace

The wonderful topiary ahead, the tunnel through it and the other side.

View of the castle from below

The castle has changed over the years, its unusual shape dictated by the peculiarly narrow formation of the sandstone on which it stands. Instead of the more usual concentric pattern, Powis is more an impregnable jumble perched on a formidable rock.

Powis* castle was much improved during the Elizabethan  and Stuart periods

 Sir Edward Herbert was responsible for the Long Gallery

Sir William and Elizabeth Herbert at their snootiest.

The state bedroom reserved for visiting monarchs. Puts our guest bedroom to shame.

The Blue Room

the Oak Drawing Room

The ceiling over the Grand Staircase

The Grand Staircase

                                                                       

The Dining Room

Civil War and Restoration

During the Civil War Edward’s son and heir, Sir William Herbert suffered for his loyalty to the king. Parliamentary forces seized the castle, destroyed its defences, and requisitioned everything of value. Sir William, 82 years old and a broken man was reduced to living on £4 a week in lodgings in London. Powis Castle in the meantime was run by the perhaps more democratic Welshpool Committee. 

After the Restoration, Sir William’s grandson, another William, was created Earl of Powis by a grateful Charles II but when the king’s brother, James II succeed him Herbert’s luck changed. James, an open Catholic, was driven from the country and the Earl of Powis followed him, Herbert loyalty trumping self-interest.

Corrupted by exile and poverty, the family lost themselves in reckless speculation, penury and pointless quarrels. When the 3^rd Marquess, another William, was eventually restored to Powis in 1745 he promptly turned to drink and died three years later. He in turn was succeeded by his Protestant ninth cousin.

The Clive Connection

Henry Arthur Herbert was a loyal Hanoverian, and a grateful George II revived the Powis peerage and made him the first (restored) Earl of Powis. Heavily in debt, the new Earl was forced to sell one of his manors, Oakley Park, to a new national hero: Robert Clive (Clive of India.) It was the beginning of a momentous connection.

Robert Clive

When the earl died, castle and estate went to his seventeen-year-old heir, George, the second Earl of Powis, and, when he in turn died some years later, his sister Henrietta succeeded—or more accurately her husband did: Sir Edward, son of the famous Robert Clive (Lord Clive of Plassey who had bought Oakley Farm Manor all those years ago.) Their child, another Edward, assumed the Herbert name out of respect, a small price to pay for a castle.

Edward and Henrietta, the ultimate power couple

The formidable Henrietta, Countess of Powis as painted by Joshua Reynolds. The hat was a much later addition to the original portrait which she insisted on as fashions changed.

After her husband’s spectacular victory over Tipu Sultan, Henrietta Countess of Powis travelled through the newly conquered Mysore with 14 elephants 2 camels and 750 attendants and soldiers travelling over a thousand miles with her two daughters and their governess. I think she deserved a new hat.

The Powis State Coach

Clive wealth and astute management saw Herbert fortunes restored and what we have now is an architectural jewel in terms of history and accumulated treasure.

*Powys is the Welsh name of the county. Powis is the Anglicised name of the castle and the earldom.