(no subject)
So, the last events of England to record are the visits to fantastic castles. After A&C and Noel Fielding (but before the V&A and Julius Caesar), on the day between the two London showstravaganzas, mama and I drove around in the southeast and saw Leeds Castle, which is huge and majestical and contains absolute miles of fascinating history, being initially fortified by Henry II (yes, the Henry who married Eleanor of Aquitaine and had sons called Richard and John that are inaccurately portrayed in both the Disney Robin Hood movie and the new Globe production Holy Warriors). Not only does it have endless grounds and gardens and a good medieval fortress, it was last owned by Lady Baille, an Anglo-American heiress, who was interested in Deco and Nouveau decoration, so some of the shoe collection and the onyx bathroom and the Chinese screens and the abalone-inlay chests-of-drawers put me in mind of the tastes of my family. It was an unbelievably cool castle, permeated with both history feels and aesthetic feels. I picked up a goose feather to bring back.
A little way down the road, further south and west, was Sutton Valence's little St. Leonard's Tower. It is only a tower, and it is more to my taste of ruins, but its surrounding paths are covered in blackberry brambles and heavy plum trees and elderberry bushes. You wouldn't starve there, now. I looked in the keyhole and saw a proper grass-covered floor with vines up the walls. And the sunset was beautiful on it.
AND THEN! After the marvelous day of V&A and Julius Caesar, after the evening of wonder that was Holy Warriors (and let me tell you, even if it was trying very hard, it was still an evening of wonder, not least because the frankincense was constant and completely overdone), was the day we spent exploring the castles in the furthest Southeastern reaches of the isle.
We set off from Chatham and our lovely homestay intending to see Dover Castle, as we knew (from both our hosts and the internet) that they were having a melée there that day. And it was a little bit of a drive, with a little bit of navigating, but we pulled into the overflow parking lot and goggled in wonder at the silhouette. The castle on its defensive hill, high-ramparted and perfectly towered, was visible in complete array from the neighboring hill where the car park was. I took the little bus up to the castle, and spent hours and hours exploring.
They had rebuilt the main keep to the standards it would have maintained in the time of Henry II, its founder. There was a cellar, a kitchen, a great hall, a throne room, bedrooms, arrowloop corridors, and myriad labyrinthine edges all furnished with period-style furniture and tapestries, and I have never seen such a grand fort-castle so accurately and completely appointed. I loved it dearly, more than the wall-external museum with its explanation of the Henry II-Eleanor-Richard-John relationship, more than the vast and lavish gift shop, more than the battlements and the barbican, more than the medieval escape tunnels. It was amazing.
And there was a melée! Four teams, named for the cardinal directions, fought each other (attempted to knock off their opponents' captain's magnetic helm crest) over the course of the afternoon. The marshal was clear and made good calls. They were selling flags and shirts with their heraldry, and I don't even remember who won, but it was pouring by the fourth and last bout, and I was among the last of the crowd to leave the field (I had my plastic Globe poncho and was unaffected by the downpour).
I did a few more circuits of the bailey and acquired a couple presents for various friends at home, and admired the SCA event-style camp the armies and the camp supporters had set up. The whole place had the feeling of an SCA event held in a place that actually contained the history we try to recreate. The musicians, a piper and a cittern player, were friendly enough when I asked them how one gets this kind of gig (one is invited), and I was sad to leave Dover Castle, glorious as it was.
There were two more small castles up the coast from Dover; Walmer, first, is now known as well for its gardens as for its Tudor artillery. Henry VIII built it to defend the coast, and it is adorably round and cannon-housing, but it is completely overgrown with vines and friendly English plants, and it sits directly across from the gorgeous shore. I stared in the wrought-iron gate at the formal gardens, and there was lavender and rose and apple and everything lovely.
Deal, second, was also built on the order of Henry VIII and heavily fortified as a border castle on the southeast coast, but with smaller lands and fewer trees, it still looks mildly defensible. It's shaped like a pile of adorable short, fat cylinders, even more so than my favorite South Welsh castles, which I suspect has something to do with its origin as a set of gun towers, but never mind; it's incongruously cute, sitting there on the shore with its moat (full of pear trees) and its drawbridge) covered in vines).
It was a beautiful drive back to the homestay, even if it was a little sadly final. Tomorrow was fir the airport and Iceland.
A little way down the road, further south and west, was Sutton Valence's little St. Leonard's Tower. It is only a tower, and it is more to my taste of ruins, but its surrounding paths are covered in blackberry brambles and heavy plum trees and elderberry bushes. You wouldn't starve there, now. I looked in the keyhole and saw a proper grass-covered floor with vines up the walls. And the sunset was beautiful on it.
AND THEN! After the marvelous day of V&A and Julius Caesar, after the evening of wonder that was Holy Warriors (and let me tell you, even if it was trying very hard, it was still an evening of wonder, not least because the frankincense was constant and completely overdone), was the day we spent exploring the castles in the furthest Southeastern reaches of the isle.
We set off from Chatham and our lovely homestay intending to see Dover Castle, as we knew (from both our hosts and the internet) that they were having a melée there that day. And it was a little bit of a drive, with a little bit of navigating, but we pulled into the overflow parking lot and goggled in wonder at the silhouette. The castle on its defensive hill, high-ramparted and perfectly towered, was visible in complete array from the neighboring hill where the car park was. I took the little bus up to the castle, and spent hours and hours exploring.
They had rebuilt the main keep to the standards it would have maintained in the time of Henry II, its founder. There was a cellar, a kitchen, a great hall, a throne room, bedrooms, arrowloop corridors, and myriad labyrinthine edges all furnished with period-style furniture and tapestries, and I have never seen such a grand fort-castle so accurately and completely appointed. I loved it dearly, more than the wall-external museum with its explanation of the Henry II-Eleanor-Richard-John relationship, more than the vast and lavish gift shop, more than the battlements and the barbican, more than the medieval escape tunnels. It was amazing.
And there was a melée! Four teams, named for the cardinal directions, fought each other (attempted to knock off their opponents' captain's magnetic helm crest) over the course of the afternoon. The marshal was clear and made good calls. They were selling flags and shirts with their heraldry, and I don't even remember who won, but it was pouring by the fourth and last bout, and I was among the last of the crowd to leave the field (I had my plastic Globe poncho and was unaffected by the downpour).
I did a few more circuits of the bailey and acquired a couple presents for various friends at home, and admired the SCA event-style camp the armies and the camp supporters had set up. The whole place had the feeling of an SCA event held in a place that actually contained the history we try to recreate. The musicians, a piper and a cittern player, were friendly enough when I asked them how one gets this kind of gig (one is invited), and I was sad to leave Dover Castle, glorious as it was.
There were two more small castles up the coast from Dover; Walmer, first, is now known as well for its gardens as for its Tudor artillery. Henry VIII built it to defend the coast, and it is adorably round and cannon-housing, but it is completely overgrown with vines and friendly English plants, and it sits directly across from the gorgeous shore. I stared in the wrought-iron gate at the formal gardens, and there was lavender and rose and apple and everything lovely.
Deal, second, was also built on the order of Henry VIII and heavily fortified as a border castle on the southeast coast, but with smaller lands and fewer trees, it still looks mildly defensible. It's shaped like a pile of adorable short, fat cylinders, even more so than my favorite South Welsh castles, which I suspect has something to do with its origin as a set of gun towers, but never mind; it's incongruously cute, sitting there on the shore with its moat (full of pear trees) and its drawbridge) covered in vines).
It was a beautiful drive back to the homestay, even if it was a little sadly final. Tomorrow was fir the airport and Iceland.