- Early morning in Devon
September 7 2012
I am not totally convinced that William Blake ever imagined that a completely off key woman with an Australian drawl would belt out Jerusaleum as she sped down the A14 but it somehow seemed fitting as I drove across England’s green and pleasant land. I am sure he no longer sleeps peacefully in Bunhill Fields as the noise within the car was enough to wake the dead.
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountain green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England’s pleasant pastures seen?
And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among those dark satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England’s green and pleasant land.
While I was sure that I was waking the dead, I never imagined that in the next day I would have a surreal brush with ghosts of time past at the beautiful St George Martyr Deans Prior; but more about that later.
As I crossed into Devon the patchwork fields of England were on all sides. The GPS was set to a postcode and the woman talking to me seemed to know where we were going – I had no idea but the scenery was so fantastic I really didn’t care. The English sun was shining, I was on my fiftieth rendition of Blake and the drive was easy. It really is imminently sensible that a small group of numbers will take you directly to someone’s house but the Aussie in me was highly suspicious. As I found myself in a maze of tiny country roads only wide enough for one car my suspicion increased.
Highways in Devon !!
While my singing of Blake’s pride rendering poem really was doubtful my brush with large Devon livestock aka Paul Hogan in Crocodile Dundee made it clear that I am neither a singer of British Hymns or an Aussie knife wielding croc hunter. Coming face to face with a herd of Devon livestock along the skinniest road I have ever driven along was a slightly oh shit moment – the fact that the cows stood their ground and expected me to back back was made very clear by the look they gave me. When five minutes later a massive piece of machinery came hurtling along the road (read goat track) toward me I realised that my driving skills fitted well with English roads ie I always say I drive better backwards than forwards!
While I knew Ruth lived in a picturesque part of the country, nothing quite prepared me for the sight of her thatched room farmhouse that went back to Domesday times. Parts of the house were quite new (400 years old) but the room that I slept in was much older. The thatch made the house incredibly comfortable but I felt like Hagrid with the tiny doorways and fantastic narrow staircase where I had to grab a rope to swing myself up the tiny winding staircase.
Ruth had her friend Julie visiting from Jerusalem and I feel like I have made a new pal as she regaled me with stories of the City of David – yes I am now desperate to visit Jerusaleum.
We piled into the car and went for dinner (yes into the maze of tiny roads again) to the village of Spreyton for proper English supper at the Uncle Tom Cobley pub. A huge pile of chicken and leek pie, proper chips and of course peas had me groaning as we piled back into the car.
Tom Cobley’s pub Spreyton
One of the farm workers was picking up large round hales and placing them on a machine that wrapped them – he worked late into the night – when the weather is good they work – I went to sleep with the sounds of the farm outside and dreamt of Devonshire defiant cows on narrow country lanes.
Sleeping under the stars 