Drove up into Wiltshire again on Thursday, for a visit to Old Wardour Castle - splendid ruins in a lovely remote setting, miles down a winding single lane track.
The thing that amazed me about Old Wardour Castle was that when we arrived there, having struggled for endless miles along a labyrinth of ever-shrinking roads... That when we finally reached the ruin, exhausted and relieved, like quest heroes finally reaching their goal after weeks of hardship, we found it absolutely heaving with people having very civilised and lavish picnics on the lawn. It wasn't an organised event, just dozens and dozens of separate family groups, all with blankets spread out on the grass. It seemed such a strange thing to do - to brave such a long and awkward journey in order to entirely ignore the castle and sit with your back to it, eating quiche.
LOL. It is surprisingly hard to get to, isn't it? When I looked at it on the map before setting out, I thought, "Ah, it's near Shaftesbury...", but actually it's not. It's nowhere near anywhere.
Like wasps to jam, I expect the lavish picnickers were attracted by the great area of smooth-mown lawn.
A blast of hellfire from the latrines must have been very alarming indeed.
There are metals signs here and there forbidding the public from climbing on the ruins "by order of the Ministry of Works", and the signs are as much a part of our history as the ruins now...
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Like wasps to jam, I expect the lavish picnickers were attracted by the great area of smooth-mown lawn.
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The Civil War has a lot to answer for. As does the Ministry of Works.
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There are metals signs here and there forbidding the public from climbing on the ruins "by order of the Ministry of Works", and the signs are as much a part of our history as the ruins now...
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