An English Weekend - Part 3

"England's Garden"

Sissinghurst Tower

Southeast of London's thriving metropolis one finds the charming Weald of Kent, often referred to as England's Garden. Wildflower meadows and wide green fields surround sleepy villages nestled among gentle rolling hills. Dotted across the landscape are some of England's finest country homes and castles. Just an hour journey by train from Victoria Station we arrive in Staplehurst, our gateway to what will be stops in several "hursts," including the sublime Elizabethan era estate of Sissinghurst Castle.  [N.B. if you don't know what a 'Weald' is, that makes two of us - until I decided to actually look it up. P.S., N.B. is Latin for 'Nota Bene' - thank you, Steve Cheney.] 

Long before Vita Sackville-West and her husband created what many consider the finest garden in England, the castle and grounds were already steeped in history; two monarchs, Edward I and Elizabeth I, both spent time here. The brick home that exists today was constructed in the 16th century, but by the late 1600s the estate was all but abandoned, intermittently used for various purposes until becoming a farm. When Vita and her husband acquired the estate in 1930 the buildings were ruins - undoubtedly heartbreaking for Vita; she was the only child of Lord Sackville, having grown up at Knole House - one the largest homes in England. Due to primogeniture the bequeathment of Knole passed over her to her male cousin (the same way Matthew Crawley was to inherit Downton Abbey instead of Lord Grantham's daughters).

The happy couple wasted no time restoring the castle structures; more importantly, they cleared the grounds to implement designs for their enchanting gardens. They both were passionate about flowers, working closely together to design small gardens within the estate which they referred to as "rooms" - whereby strolling in the garden is akin to passing through palatial salons. A collection of their letters revealed only one known quarrel between them over the planting of azaleas - Not too shabby for a couple.

Violet Garden

Every "room" was designed with a different theme - a white garden, violet garden, cottage garden, formal garden, herb garden, meadows, each partitioned either by stone walls or large, manicured hedges. Two cottages on either side of the tower have roses growing up the side; The Priest's Cottage, which can be rented out for overnight stays, was plucked straight from a fairytale - or Disney.  From the rear canal we stroll up the grassy pathway lined with overflowing wisteria in brilliant hues of white, green, and purple; I dubb this "Wisteria Lane." From the formal gardens a Tudor arched doorway leads to the quaint herb garden lying within Sissinghurst Tower's shadow. 

A short queue separates me from sweeping vistas atop the tower over luscious countrysides. The spiral stone staircase opens to three interior levels, the first housing Vita's private study, a cozy cottage-esque feel complete with a day bed, fireplace, books, and her desk; I don't see a bathroom however. At the top I feel temporarily perched like a bird taking in breathtaking landscapes, blissfully imagining the freedom to glide around the estate without a care in the world (if only I had a suitcase-sized drone for my GoPro). 

After a delicious lunch of salad, pea soup, and lamb sourced exclusively from Sissinghurst's own farm, I set out on a three mile hike around the estate perimeter. The much needed peaceful walk leads me past grazing fields for cows and sheep, through orchards and across creaky wooden bridges over gentle brooks, finally rounding two ponds down the hill from the farmhouse. I am so energized afterwards I could walk it again, but sadly it's time to move on to the village of Goudhurst for the evening. 

[Seriously, what's with the 'Hurst' fetish?]

Star & Eagle

Goudhurst is - like all other 'Hursts' it seems - a small village with a quaint ambiance and quiet atmosphere, the centerpiece being our lodging that evening. The Star & Eagle dates back to the 14th century with well preserved architectural features fit for Harry Potter. On that subject, I'd venture a guess that 'death eaters' played a crucial role in the hotel's status as headquarters for the apply named Hawkhurst Gang (creativity notwithstanding) that robbed and pillaged the surrounding area. When the townspeople had enough, Corporal turned 'General' George Sturt formed Goudhurst Militia; when the bandits, led by a man named Kingsmill, arrived back to lay waste to the town, the militia swiftly defeated them. Kingsmill was later captured, tried, and sentenced to death. His body was eventually delivered to the Sheriff of Kent to be displayed in the village that defeated him.

Hint: the name is to your left!

Adjacent to the hotel is St. Mary's Church, a bastion of Christ dating back to 1170 - a mere four years after William of Normandy defeated the Anglo-Saxons in nearby Hastings. Gravestones of all ages and sizes surround the church forever preserving the memories of her parishioners. The mixed architecture, though not uncommon, is pleasing and opened a dialogue between Uncle Rick and me as to its origins and history. With the door unlocked and no one to stop us (then again, why would they?) we let ourselves in for a look. 

Why isn't the dog praying?
(Cause ALL dogs go to Heaven!)

Inside we notice how the windows on the south walls are dark-colored stained glass with intricate framework, while the north wall has simpler yet larger clear windows. Both central and southern naves have pitched ceilings, the former being much higher, indicating a later construction. The northern nave and its flat ceiling along with the west tower were constructed after the Catholic Church was ousted from England, which accounted for their 'Anglican' design. In addition to the effigial sarcophagi of a knight, his wife, and loyal dog companion along the south wall, we can see where the original catholic altar once stood. Though speculative, I presume the western nave to be the original church. 

THE ART OF CONNECTION:
As I write this article (well, attempt to) I wish to take you, the reader, on a brief tangent. That evening Uncle Rick and I dined at the Star & Eagle (because, where else?) and enjoyed a delightful meal accompanied by several glasses bottles of wine. On the one hand, it wasn't anything spectacular; but on the other hand, it absolutely was and here's why: in our rather empty restaurant seated between a window and an aged fireplace, sipping wine, rich conversations connected us. This topic, that topic, we both were constantly engaged in the moment. Not once did we check our phones as has become so common today; nothing except mother nature after 'x' glass required our attention. Being in the moment sans distraction unlocks tremendous energy - spiritual, intellectual, cultural which reignites our natural desire, necessity even, of returning to a state of BEING; we are, after all, human B-E-I-N-G-S, not human D-O-I-N-G-S. When you are with someone, let alone the doings and just be with it, be in the present; you'll be surprised how enthralling your connection becomes. 

Promenade along the beach, overlooked by Dover Castle

That evening we decide that the next day we should continue east to Dover. Neither of us has ever been and considering it's only one hour by train surely seems worthwhile to pursue. After a light breakfast and short walk in the crisp morning air, we are on our way. The weather holds well enough when we arrive that the famous White Cliffs reflect brilliantly in the sunlight. Our hope is to find a speedboat that can take us out to see them. The only boat tour with availability stayed in the harbor (which was very misleading because the office said we would be going next to the cliffs) and turned out to be a huge disappointment. Advice: book a high-speed inflatable craft tour well in advance. 

A hired driver brings us to the cliffs to walk around. The cliffs are actually chalk formations which accounts for their ultra white appearance. Walking along the path I am amazed at just how high they are and how one wrong step if you get too close to the edge could be fatal. As a bonus, I never realized just how close Dover is to France; in fact, we are able to clearly see the French coastline. 

Lastly, we visit Dover Castle, the largest castle in England. An impressive complex of fortifications, buildings, and bunkers used by military forces since the time of Henry II, archaeological digs have revealed early earth defense mounds predating the Roman invasion in 43 AD.  A huge Remembrance Day festival is taking place with reenactors from World Wars I and II, planes, cars, trucks, weapons, and everyday people of the times. Exhibits showcase the rations civilians lived off while make-up and hair stylists performed 1940s era makeovers for little girls. We opt instead to visit the medieval castle which has been painstakingly restored to the exact original designs. 

Henry II was the great-grandson of William the Conqueror. He was from France, spoke French & Latin, and married Eleanor of Aquitaine to acquire her land holdings. He was an aggressive king who fought many wars to expand his kingdom not just in Britain but France and Spain as well; Dover Castle was central command. His sons nearly undid everything he accomplished, feuding over their inheritances. Two of them you might recognize: Richard (the Lionhearted) and John (whom would become, by decree of Richard, the namesake of all toilets).  

The chambers inside are accurately adorned with period-style decorations, minimalist to us but decadent in those days. Four large rooms occupy two floors, the bottom containing the throne room and great hall, and the upper with the king's bedroom and next to it the queen, children, and chambermaids room. Unmarried men were not allowed to sleep in the castle but instead were forced to stay in the barracks. 

The Great Hall

We only have 90 minutes at the castle before heading back to the train station bound for London. We arrive in time to get ready for our last evening, attending a fictitious play about Alexander McQueen at the St. James Theatre. The show features some of his actual designs, my favorite being the famous gold feather coat. I found the performance very slow despite an interesting storyline, and did my best not to doze off. 

A TRAIL OF BREADCRUMBS
For my own amusement, I did not tell my mother about the last minute trip; instead, I would send her obscure pictures (breadcrumbs) teasing and torturing her with subtle hints as to my whereabouts. She never quite put the clues together, so after the show, I walked over to a nearby landmark and snapped my first selfie. If it wasn't obvious now, then there would simply be no hope... 

Thank you for your hospitality, Your Majesty