Sunday, February 1, 2009
Battle, Sussex
For some inexplicable reason, I am still waking up at 5. 30 am. While this gives me time to stay on top of all the things I want to do, I keep wondering if I am getting enough sleep and keep checking my eyes for dark circles and unsightly bags!
I left my flat at 8 .15 am after a cereal and yogurt breakfast to meet Stephanie outside Wimbledon Tube Station. We had talked on the phone yesterday and decided that despite the forecast of a snowy afternoon we would stick with our plans to visit Battle in East Sussex. With Stephanie behind the wheel, her GPS and my Britain Atlas by our sides, we felt well-equipped to find the fastest route to get there.
But we were distracted en route by signs for Hever Castle and Penshurst and since Stephanie shares with me such a consuming interest in Tudor and Elizabethan History, we decided to make a detour to visit these sites: Hever Castle is the ancestral home of the Boleyns--the same one from which emerged Anne Boleyn, second wife of Henry VIII and mother of Queen Elizabeth I. Penshurst, as I recalled vaguely, is the ancestral home of Sir Phillip Sidney, Elizabethan courtier-poet and contemporary of Edmund Spenser..
We passed the most beautiful Kentish countryside along the way. Though the fields are barren at this time of year, sheep still grazed as they have done through the centuries, oblivious to the few cars that sped past them. Oast houses (in which hops are dried) with their peculiar conical roofs punctuated the rambling country lanes. Old stone churches with squat towers and clock faces beckoned. Rambling, almost crumbling, gabbled houses that turned out to be pubs sported the quaintest names (The Shy Horse, The Little Brown Jug) and dotted the pasture land to make for some of the most appealing sights in rural Kent. I know that I will always carry images of this part of the country in winter in my heart wherever I might roam.
Unfortunately, we found the stately rambling home called Penshurst that sits in the midst of vast property, parkland and gardens to be closed until March. However, I gazed upon it and so many names rushed through my mind--Sir Phillip Sidney, of course, Elizabethan courtier-poet, who from this grand estate made such a mark upon the court. Then, of course, there is Ben Jonson's famous poem "To Penshurst" which I had studied as an undergrad and have never forgotten. Penshurst is a compilation of honey toned walls, towers and turrets that speak of a romantic past and of royal antecedents. How marvelous it was for me to look upon what Jonson called "an ancient pile". I took a few pictures of the exterior and hoped we would be able to return when it opens its doors again to visitors for the new season.
We met with the same fate at Hever Castle which was also closed and which will reopen in March. I realized that these stately homes are closed in the winter as it is too expensive to heat them. While we did get a glimpse of Penshurst from the outside, Hever lay concealed behind high walls--all we saw was the Tudor Gatehouse. Again, we resolved to return on another trip and made our way down south towards the Sussex coast of England to Battle.
Ironically, the town Battle derived its name from the Battle of Hastings which was fought here in 1066. It was called the Battle of Hastings because the battlefield was closest to the town of Hastings! Yet, because it became such a revered site in England, a whole new town developed around the battlefield and it seemed fitting, I suppose, to name the town Battle! It is this strange coalescing of history and geography that never fails to fascinate me, especially in ancient countries like England. Be that as it may, we arrived in Battle, starving and ready to eat an ox.
Battle is a quaint town with a very picturesque High Street. Tudor structures with black gables and exterior beams have been converted into pubs, tea rooms and gift shops. They make a very charming impression on the viewer but we resisted the impulse to explore as our hunger led us to the nearest meal. Our first port of call, therefore, was a pub called, appropriately enough, The 1066, where we decided to have a very proper British meal--Fish and Chips, of course, with thick tartar sauce and ketchup on our fries (chips). It was delicious and particularly warming on this frigid afternoon. The tall gates of the Abbey towered right by our window and after our hearty meal, we went straight to the entrance of the Abbey to find out how to access the battlefield.
Our 6. 50 pound entrance fee provided us with an audio guide that also entitled us to watch a short documentary film that was beautifully made. It described, very effectively, the origin of the enmity between Duke William of Normandy and the Anglo-Saxon King Harold Godwinson that ended in the arrival of hundreds of Norman ships and troops that vanquished the English forces on October 14, 1066. (I can never hear that date mentioned without remembering my History of Literature classes with Dr. Homai Shroff at Bombay's Elphinstone College. It was she who had told us that if there was one date we could commit to memory from the vast annals of British History, it ought to be 1066! And I have never forgotten it!!!) Well, England came under French rule and would never be the same country again as its language, law, customs and traditions became influenced by the Normans.
At Battle, we, visitors could actually walk around the Battlefield and see where the bloody fighting took place. We visited the ruins of the church built by William, who subsequently became known as The Conqueror, in accordance with the Pope's directives, in 1070 in reparation for the bloodshed and suffering he had caused. This church was subsequently destroyed by Henry VIII during the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1532 but the Refectory building, the cloisters and the monastic dwellings with their beautiful fan vaulted ceilings, etc. can still be inspected and it made for a stirring visit indeed.
There is a also stone marker on the site that shows the exact spot where Harold fell fighting and upon that very spot stood the altar of the church that William built. These very evocative moments in British history that go back to a time when the United States of America was not even a concept make such visits richly rewarding for me and I am so glad that Stephanie shares my enthusiasm for history and for such folk lore.
We would gladly have spent more time at Battle but large snowflakes began to come down and paint the town with a light whitewash! We decided to start our drive back to London as Stephanie wanted to avoid driving in the snow. But, to our enormous shock, when we reached the car park, our car would not open, try as we did to get the handles to turn. After a few frantic moments, Stephanie called Lexus' Road Assistance Service and they promised to send a technician out to help us.
This unexpected wait took us into a very old Tea Room called A Taste of Battle where we settled down with large hot chocolates and a warm fruit scone which we piled with clotted cream and strawberry jam. I could certainly think of worse things to do on a snowy day than curl up in a warm rustic tea room with an English cream tea! In fact, within minutes, a large number of other people came tearing out of the snow and shook the flakes off their coats as they settled down to warming cups of tea.
It wasn't even ten minutes before Stephanie received a call from the technician telling her to meet him at the car park. It turns out that the remote signal on our key fob was conflicting and crossing swords with other signals being emitted by other cars in the parking lot. These were making our car reject the signal from our own key! The technician set it right in minutes and we were on our way deciding to drive through the nearby town of Hastings. The clerks in the Battle Abbey had told us a joke about Hastings which went like this: Hastings is a one-horse town that would have been exciting if there were a horse in it! Still, we decided to see it for ourselves (primarily because a TV show I have enjoyed watching for a while called Foyle's War is set in Hastings in the 1940s). Alas, Hastings on this dull and dreary winter's afternoon with the snow coming down looked nothing like its depiction on the small screen and I was disappointed.
The flakes came down larger and faster as we found our way back to the highway and home to Wimbledon where Stephanie dropped me off to the Tube station and returned to her own flat. I caught up with a number of small chores and sat down to write my blog as well as get myself prepared for my classes tomorrow.
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