Moving Into Autumn

Posted on September 24, 2023 by johnshortlandwriter

The autumnal equinox has just past and with it comes those rare, clear and sunny days when the outdoors beckons, and your senses become alive to every detail. Perhaps it is because you’re all too aware that soon there will be many days when the countryside is shrouded in a clinging, wet mist that takes hours to lift, if it does at all. An early-start walk is all the better for several reasons: the light is extraordinary, the air clear, and there are few, if any, people out and about. Perhaps, best of all, with the shortening days, early isn’t at some God-forsaken hour 😉

From our little, Cotswold stone-built house it is only a matter of yards to the river. Unlike the true days of Autumn, the river is also clear. All too soon, the warmth mixing with the cool will see the vapours rise, often hiding the surface and sometimes blanketing the whole valley. Today, despite the frequent rain showers we’ve been having the water levels are low, there are no birds singing and I have only a sentinel heron to share it with. Dismayed at my appearance, he flies off lazily with a scolding, harsh croak only to settle a few yards further away to watch me as I pass. No sooner have I done so than he returns to his favoured spot to continue his hunt for crayfish.

Although the sun is shining, it is still set low in the sky, casting lengthy shadows and intensifying the first changes of colour in the trees. As it climbs higher, so the colours will appear to fade and the shadows shorten, and another part of the early-morn magic will be lost for another day.

Reaching the plantation, the sun filters through the still-densely clothed branches, diffusing the light and giving it the look of an Impressionist painting. Perhaps this is how Monet got his inspiration when looking at his waterlily pool. The path stretching ahead just invites you to walk onwards. At its end, where it meets the lane, the first of the stone houses in the nearby village remain silent, as do they all, for their occupants are still either asleep or not yet venturing out. They are missing so much but I relish the silence and glad that it isn’t disturbed by the sounds of civilisation.

*Almost, if not quite*, *an Impressionist painting!*

There are four lanes that lead into the secret valley. The one that I now take is little used and the grass grows thickly in its centre. Another is similar and, with no passing places for a mile should you meet another vehicle, only those with good reversing skills tend to use it. Occasionally a ‘lost’ driver attempts it, thinking it will be a short cut to their intended route, only to end up traumatised by the experience.

*One of the little-use lanes out of the secret valley…*

All along the lanes, the banks and hedgerows are thick with berries and the fading flowers of summer. Every year I intend to make a note of what I see but, although I never do, I can be fairly certain of seeing the same late bloomers, sometimes right though to Christmas. These single flowers are extra-special, as they cling onto life reminding us of their glories past and giving us hope for the following year.

*l-r top: hawthorn berries, crab apples, campion*
*l-r bottom: cranes-bill, prickly sow-thistle*

I have reached the cattle sheds now at the top of the hill above my cottage. Large and airy, they are empty and silent now for the livestock is still out in the fields and making the most of the last of the summer grazing. By Christmas if the season is reasonably mild and dry, or sooner if not, they will be brought in to be kept dry, warm and fed. The barns surrounding the sheds are stacked high with straw and hay, their bedding and feed – in a good year, there will be enough to last the winter however long it maybe; in poor summers extra will need be purchased for they will not be returned to the valley’s water-meadows until they have calved and the weather is right.

*Enjoying the last of the good weather…*

It is a short downhill walk to home now. Within minutes I will be back, the kettle on and looking forward to a well-deserved breakfast.

Three Very Special Cotswold Reasons – revisited

Posted on February 18, 2023 by johnshortlandwriter

Back in 2009 – which seems a lifetime ago now – I responded to a question posed by The Guardian newspaper and the English tourist authority: select three things that make a place very special. Naturally, I chose the Cotswolds and to my delight, my blog was just one of ten chosen and published by them to promote visits to this country. After fourteen years, I thought it time to take another look. Although the reasons still stand up well I’ve updated the photos and some of the text.

1. Space and Peace. I know this is technically two reasons but they are so interlinked that, in my mind, they only count as one. Besides, that way I can cram in an extra reason without appearing to cheat too much. The flat topped, rolling limestone hills that make up the Cotswolds offer far reaching views to the vales beyond. They free the mind and let the spirit wander – a rare occurrence in the busy world we all inhabit. This view looks north over glorious country to the Vale of Evesham and just invites you to start walking towards a distant goal.

Hidden in deep valleys, crystal clear streams create more secretive places to explore or to sit quietly by their banks to watch the water flow, sometimes gently, sometimes more noisily, by.

The King’s Men stone circle forms part of the Rollright Stones and have been a meeting place since they were set here 4,500 years ago. In early morning light they appear mysterious and brooding but when the sun strikes them their colours and markings are awe inspiring. Rest here a while, at a time when you can be alone, for the feeling of peace is palpable.

And give back to the soil an offering, (when we have taken so much away), as others have done from the beginnings of time and continue to do so. Single flowers placed at the centre of the circle have a calm simplicity…

2. Nature. It is impossible not to be aware of nature in the Cotswolds, whether it is the magnificence of old trees, the deer crossing roads in front of you or the cloud formations of our large skyscapes. This ancient ash tree has watched centuries of agricultural change take place and, despite modern farming practice, still stands proud in a hedgerow dividing wheatfields. In 2009 the fungal disease Ash Dieback was unknown. It is now thought that the majority of ash trees will succumb to it robbing the English landscape of their beauty. At present, the old pollard seems unaffected but whether it will survive only time will tell.

Since 2009 we have all become so much more aware of the value of dark skies. With so few big towns, the Cotswolds is a place where the nights are darker and the stars shine more brightly.

Deer are common throughout the Cotswolds. Roe and the introduced Muntjac are frequently seen but perhaps the prettiest, when in their spotted summer coats, are the Fallow.

In our rivers and streams, otters, although rarely seen, are now becoming evermore common – something else that has happened since 2009.

There are some exotic surprises too! A macaw outside a garage in Charlbury and alpaca seem to be everywhere, I wrote in 2009. The macaw has gone and even alpaca seem less common now but not far from the secret valley it is possible to see wolves and bear. I don’t think the two facts are connected!

3. History. The Cotswolds are steeped in history and it is the history of wealth and the power it brings. Sheep – or more accurately, their wool – were the originators of this wealth and the region still has a higher population of sheep to humans. But how to illustrate this when there is so much scope to choose from? Bliss Mill, in Chipping Norton, is now converted to luxury apartments but, for most of its time, produced some of the finest tweeds in Britain. I have since written in more detail of the history of the mill, the fire that engulfed it and the strike by the workers that brought poverty and starvation to the town (link here).

The churches of the Cotswolds were also a by-product of wool – the wealth it created is often shown by their huge size in proportion to the numbers of the local population. The photos I originally published were of St Mary’s, Chipping Norton. The ones below are of St Mary’s, Swinbrook; the village was the home of the famous (or, perhaps, infamous), Mitford sisters.

*In 1940 the church suffered damage by a stray German bomb during WW2*…

*…the vicar collected the ancient shattered glass* *which was incorporated into this memorial window*

So, come and visit the Cotswolds and decide for yourself. And, in the meantime, select three things that make your special place, special.

The Boy from London

Posted on December 13, 2020 by johnshortlandwriter

I am a hills person. I love walking – or even better – cross-country skiing in the mountains. I can also admire the huge skies and vistas of flat country. However, it is with hills that I have always strongly identified with. So, when I’m asked “where was home for you?” it isn’t the county of Buckinghamshire, or even the village I was brought up in that I respond with, it is the hills and the Chiltern Hills in particular.

*A country lane in the Chiltern Hills winds its way through dense woodland*

As a child, I lived on the very edge of the village and not being schooled locally and with no children of my own age nearby anyway, I learnt to spend many hours on my own during the lengthy holidays. Although our house was close to the River Thames I found fishing of limited interest preferring always to be out walking or cycling. As I grew older I travelled further afield exploring the lanes, fields and woodlands, learning all the time about the ways of nature. Back in the fifties and early sixties people seemed to have more time to answer inquisitive children about these things or, perhaps, it was just that in those days people were more connected with the natural world so were able to answer their questions. Whatever the reason, I became more knowledgeable and enthusiastic about country ways than I ever did with schoolwork. A consequence of this is, when asked the question, “where are you from?” I respond without hesitation (and with a certain degree of pride), “I’m a Chilterns man.”

*A childhood spent exploring the fields and woodlands that surrounded home*

It was not until I reached the ripe old age of 49 that I moved away from the Chilterns to start a new life in the Cotswolds. Although as the crow flies, the Cotswolds are not many miles away (I can even see the distant Chilterns from the top of my lane) they are very different in character, the former being chalk and flint country, the latter limestone. But it wasn’t the exchange of deep, wooded valleys with few, if any, streams for a landscape of far-reaching views, fast-running brooks and drystone walls that I noticed most of all, it was the language. When I moved to this then unfashionable part of the Cotswolds twenty years ago it was still a forgotten corner of the world where, even if the local dialect had mostly died out, the twang of local accent hadn’t. It reminded me of, for it is related to, the south-western tongue spoken by many of my country cousins and also by my friends further west still. So, when I gave my usual response to the question, I was rather peeved to hear it acknowledged by the words, “so you come from London way, then.”

*A Chilterns cottage built using the local flint*

*Cotswold cottages look very different and are made with local limestone*

Now, I hasten to say, that there is nothing wrong about being referred to as a Londoner. It’s just that our capital city is as much a foreign land to me as it would be to an overseas visitor. Ok, so that might be a slight exaggeration, but somehow, I just don’t relate to city life despite my mother being born and raised in London’s West End. She had come to the Chilterns as an evacuee from WW2 through her war work and there met my father, a local boy – but that’s another story. Suffice to say, that I am a child of two halves – I have country family and I have city family much in the same way as I am a child of two cultures and two religions. Despite my relating to country ways and to complicate matters further, (although I should be used to it by now), it is to my mother’s culture and religion that I feel a closer affinity to. It still grates, ‘though, when I’m thought of as a townie.

*City girl sophistication* *meets country gent: my parents soon after marriage*

As I mentioned earlier, school life didn’t hold much appeal and so I persuaded my parents that I should leave aged sixteen. As soon as I could, I took myself off on my bicycle to holiday in Devon. Leaving Exeter with tent, camping gas stove and billy cans loosely tied to the crossbar I clanked and clattered my way along the lanes of Dartmoor. At the end of each day I would pitch my tent wherever I could and reflect with delight upon all the new experiences that had come my way. Getting hopelessly lost, I ended up at Westward Ho!, a small seaside town on on the north Devon coast. From there I travelled east finding the hills becoming ever steeper and the villages further and further apart. One day, I ended up on a remote farm on Exmoor where I decided I would spend two days to recuperate before heading for home. It didn’t happen.

*Remote hill farm, Brendon Barton where I intended to stay for only two days*

Looking back, I can’t imagine what my poor parents were thinking for there were no mobile phones or credit card statements for them to track my progress or whereabouts. I would telephone them occasionally or send a postcard always being deliberately vague as to where I was staying. In the meantime, I remained at the farm working – at first for food then, as I became more established and with the tent discarded, for a bedroom and beer money. By the time my parents turned up at the door several months later (after some shrewd detective work) I had settled into my new life and rapidly adopting the ways of the hard but exhilarating Exmoor life. Dragged back home to “get a proper job” I never completely left Exmoor behind. Every spare moment was spent on the farm and, as regular readers of my blog will know, I still spend as much time on Exmoor as possible. Being a National Park, the landscape and buildings of Exmoor haven’t changed very much over the 50+ years since I turned up on Lorna and Dick French’s doorstep although they have, as have most of the others I knew in those early days, since died. To my dismay, there is one other thing that hasn’t changed at all: when I respond proudly to the inevitable question with “I’m a Chilterns man”, their response remains the same: “So up-country then? London?” Over the years, the ‘boy from London’ has become ‘the man from London.’ And I’m sorry, Londoners, Mum and cousins – I don’t like the label!

*Dick & Lorna French who welcomed me into their lives and in the process changed mine*

Dreaming of a White Christmas – again

Posted on December 23, 2019 by johnshortlandwriter

When Irving Berlin wrote the now immortal lines, “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones we used to know” he was pining for colder weather for he was staying in California (or Arizona, for both states lay claim to the fact). The original version of the song actually began with a complaint about warmer climes: “The sun is shining, the grass is green, the orange and palm trees sway…” How, as a child I could relate to that – well almost.

My childhood home was not in the Cotswold Hills but at the foot of the Chiltern Hills, along the banks of the River Thames which thirty or so odd miles downstream flows through London on its way to the sea. The microclimate of the river meant our village had a much milder climate than the higher villages just a few miles away. Although nowhere near warm enough for oranges and palms to survive we very rarely had any snow at all. The village wasn’t renowned (or so it seemed as a child) for its sunshine either and the grass remained obstinately green all year round. Searching through old photos, I can only find one where our garden had turned wintry white and that was only a heavy frost. The winter of 1963 where we had to push a car through a small snowdrift was such a rare event that it is still talked about some 56 years later.

Hawthorne Cottage Xmas 1970 watermark

When the time came to leave home and buy my own house, I moved to the far side of the Chilterns where snow was more common. Within a couple of months of my arrival, I had to learn to master wintry driving conditions that a Canadian or American driver would barely think twice about. For in the UK an inch or two of snow causes major panic, road closures and travel disruption.

Watlington 1982 (3) copyright

Fast forward to 2001 and my move to the Cotswolds. Until then, I had to go for my snowy ‘fix’ overseas to Norway, Switzerland, Austria or Canada. Never a great sportsman it seemed rather bizarre that I had hit upon a sport – Langlaufen or cross-country skiing – that not only did I love and turned out to be rather good at but one that I couldn’t practice easily in my home country. However, the Cotswolds are far snowier than anywhere else I have resided and in 2010 I actually manged to ‘live the dream’ by skiing from the back door of my home and along the secret valley.

Living the dream in Norway

Snow in the secret valley

So why am I, like poor old Bing Crosby, singing that same old dirge? Is it because snow here rarely falls before Christmas and quite often doesn’t fall at all? The only white Christmas I have photographic record of (and I can’t remember any other) is of 2017 and even then, by Christmas Day nearly all of it had melted.

Snow Dec 2017 (10) watermark

Just occasionally, the snow does finally fall deep and crisp and even. When it does, much of Britain hibernates, nervous of venturing out. However, we still have horses and other animals to feed and tend to. And when I’m out in the four-wheel drive I feel rather satisfied that I have mastered the elements, satisfied in a smug way that only the English would understand for those used to snowier climes would wonder what all the fuss is about.

Driving to the horses

Christmas 2019 is proving to be mild and green yet again. It has been a bizarre year weather-wise for we have had the wettest autumn on record and the fields surrounding our cottage are under water once again where the little winding river has burst its banks. In Australia, bush fires are burning out-of-control under fierce, all-stifling temperatures. Friends in America have already had to cope with exceptional winter weather. Perhaps I should, rather than have a little moan about the lack of a white Christmas, be thankful that I live in a country where extremes of weather are unheard of. On the other hand (and trying not to sound to whiny), it would be nice if we could have…

Floods rather than snow for us this year 😦

Wishing you all a very peaceful, safe and happy Christmas – and may the weather be kind to you. John.

Guiting Power, a Cotswold village

Posted on January 28, 2017 by johnshortlandwriter

The Cotswolds (Cotswold Hills) are fortunate in having very many attractive stone built villages, protected by its AONB (Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty) designation. One such place, and a little off the beaten track so not as well visited as some of its more famous neighbours, is Guiting Power.

guiting-power-2-copyright

A visit during the week, when most others are working, is like stepping back to a time when life was much slower and with fewer cars and people. The village has a population of 300 and also lies on the Wardens’ Way, a fourteen mile footpath, but even during the busiest of times it is hardly bustling. Linking with other public paths it is possible to make a circular walk centred on the village.

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As well as for the building of modest cottages, the soft Cotswold stone is used everywhere – to enclose fields, to create stiles, churches, barns, pubs and the grand houses of the wealthy.

guiting-power-stone-stile-copyright guiting-power-cotswold-barn-copyright

If long country walks aren’t your thing, there’s still plenty of things to do and see. The church dates from the twelfth century and has the foundations of an earlier one nearby. Sudeley Castle, near Winchcombe is just a few miles away. Within the village, The Farmer’s Arms pub offers traditional beers and skittles; just outside the village The Hollow Bottom is a pub popular with the horse racing fraternity. The Old Post Office, as well as continuing in its traditional role is also now a thriving coffee shop For almost fifty years the village has hosted an annual music festival. Adam Henson’s Cotswold Farm Park is also close by.
guiting-power-5-copyright guiting-power-copyright

Useful links:
How to get there

The Wardens’ Way Footpath

The Hollow Bottom Pub with rooms

The Old Post Office

Guiting Music Festival

Sudeley Castle

Adam Henson’s Cotswold Farm Park

The Year in Review: January – June 2016

Posted on December 28, 2016 by johnshortlandwriter

As always the year has flown by to leave us with much uncertainty and sadness in the world. Fortunately, life in the secret valley continues pretty much the same – it is easy to find relief from everyday stresses when surrounded by unspoilt countryside. Rarely does a day pass when I don’t count my blessings for having had a rural upbringing and the opportunity to continue to live and work in such beautiful surroundings. frost-4-copyright

However, I am no hermit and I enjoy visiting other places – even cities! One city I loved when I visited it some years ago was Stockholm, the capital of Sweden and I began the blogging year with a post about the Skansen open air museum. Skansen was the first tomove and preserve traditional, threatened buildings; it was founded as early as 1873. As well as buildings it also houses a zoo, concentrating on breeding native wildlife for reintroduction schemes including the European Bison which had become extinct in the wild. To see more of the buildings click on the link here. 8 Sweden. Skansen copyright 13 Sweden. Skansen copyright

Exmoor is a second home to me and features regularly on my blog. In March, with some misgivings – for why would I want to share such a magical place – I took readers on my favourite walk, one that wouldn’t be found in any guide book. The walk encompasses all that is best on Exmoor: open heather moorland, deep wooded combes, rushing streams and traditional pubs. It also passed the door of the hill farm where I turned up as a lad looking for work after leaving school. I was taken in and cared for – and made to work hard – and, well read the story by clicking on the link here.

April saw me back on the Continent (as we Brits call Europe). This time in the south of France visiting the ancient town of Lombez. It is far from the tourist routes and we discovered it quite by chance. With its ancient, timbered buildings and wonderful, brick built cathedral it deserved a longer visit than we were able to give it. An excuse for a return trip, perhaps? In the meantime, you can visit it by clicking on this link here. Lombez (22) copyright Lombez (4) copyright

If April saw us travelling slowly through France, May saw us travel at an even slower pace – by longboat on the Oxford Canal. Passing through traditional buttercup meadows – we were miles from the city of Oxford – and in glorious sunshine it was the perfect way to relax as well as to see the wildlife that seemed oblivious to our passing. Click on the link here to see more. 016 copyright 076 copyright

Our native butterflies struggle to thrive but I have been fortunate in living in places where they prosper reasonably well. As a gardener, (both my hobby and my profession), I probably see more than most and in June I wrote about the species that visit gardens. See how many you can identify in your own garden by clicking on the link here and don’t forget to record them with your local conservation trusts or online. Comma Butterfly (2) copyright

2017 may well prove to be a year that none of us forget too easily. Travel abroad or in the countryside – and the British countryside is second to none – always helps to refresh the spirits. I have numerous plans for the year ahead and hope that you will be joining me month by month. In the meantime, the review of the second half of this year will follow shortly and don’t forget that images of the Cotswolds and other places I visit are updated regularly on my Facebook page and on Flickr. You can also find me on Twitter @johnshortlandwr a typical Cotswold scene copyright

A Tour of the Secret Valley

Posted on October 26, 2016 by johnshortlandwriter

Ask people – both here at home or abroad – how they imagine Great Britain to be, the answer is often the same: an overcrowded island. We do, of course, have our fair share of big cities, motorways and densely populated housing estates but it often comes as a surprise just how much unspoilt, open countryside remains. A few of us are lucky enough to live in it.

The M40 motorway where it enters Oxfordshire

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Less than two hours drive from the centre of London, the secret valley, seems more like a million miles away rather than just the eighty odd miles that, in reality, it is. Tucked down an unclassified side road and not shown on a number of maps, only those ‘in the know’ tend to visit it. Time for a quick tour.

The Secret Valley

The approach to the secret valley gives little hint of what’s to come. Lined with crab apple trees, the lane gently descends between a fold in the hills where, on the steepest banks, wild thyme, orchids and other wild flowers grow.

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A bend in the road conceals the valley’s crowning glory: the most perfect, easily jumpable river (as can be seen in the header image of this blog page). Twisting and turning as it passes through meadows, in its shallows watercress grows where both trout and crayfish hide. By its banks willow pollards, now elderly and bent, wear garlands of wild roses; they grow from the tree crowns courtesy of seed dropped by birds generations ago.

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The lane, crossing the river, passes our tiny stone cottage and climbs towards the village – a cluster of nine houses, a farm and little else. Our home sits alone, down by the river bank, with just one other as companion. Here, the lane – barely wide enough for a combine harvester to pass – once was busy with drovers taking their cattle and sheep to the markets in Oxford.

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These days the drove road enters and leaves the secret valley by a different route, only its mid-section by our house is still in use. The ‘old road’, as it is known, can still be walked – its path clearly defined by the wild flowers and hedgerows that line it.

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The river, too, has chosen a different route according to the earliest maps. Downstream from our house, it flows past wooded banks to widen into a small lake before passing through fields, these days marshy where the watermill’s sluice gates have decayed with age.

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Further downstream still, where the sheep cannot graze, swathes of scented, moisture loving plants such as wild valerian – looking very different from the one grown in our gardens – provide nectar for insets and a hiding place for deer.

a forest of Valerian & Meadowsweet

On the higher ground of the secret valley, the fields are cultivated with wheat, barley and oilseed rape. Even here, in the favoured places, wild flowers and birds of many types can be found: the diminutive hay rattle, a relic from the old farming days to ravens, buzzards and red kites, all now common again after centuries of persecution.

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Red Kite

Sounds idyllic? You’re quite right – it is!

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2014 in Review: the first six months

Posted on December 21, 2014 by johnshortlandwriter

So another year is almost over and it certainly has been a busy one for me. Living and working in the spectacular Cotswold countryside, a classified area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB) is a great treat and one of which I never tire. It’s also nice to go off exploring other places so 2014 found me in other parts of the UK and Ireland too. One of the first places I visited, however, was only twenty miles down the road but light years apart in reality!

typical Cotswold countryside

Like many people that live close to tourist attractions I don’t often visit the ones on my doorstep but last January found me walking the streets of Oxford. I hadn’t come to explore the colleges but the covered market which dates back more than two hundred years. The history of the market and the building is fascinating and is well worth making the time to visit – especially if you like a bargain. To read more about it and to see other photos click here.

One of the fathers of ecological writing died tragically young and in February I matched quotations from his work to images I had taken (to see them, click here). My favourite was noticed by the Society that bears his name and reprinted in their journal. I felt very honoured!

Wild and rugged scenery is often best appreciated over cake and coffee and at Watersmeet in Exmoor National Park you can do just that. Two rivers collide spectacularly besides the Victorian fishing lodge that is now owned by the National Trust and run as a café. March found me walking through beautiful scenery as well as indulging myself and the link to this remote but very accessible place is here.

Dublin, the capital city of Ireland is a favourite place of mine and in April I visited the Casino Marino, one of the most impressive and perfect neo-classical buildings in Europe. Everything about it was designed to deceive so although you only see one window on each side you actually have – well, click here to find out what plus all the other deceptions the Georgian architect managed to fit in.

Planting trees is a long term project for they rarely mature during the life of the planter. Of all the hundreds I have done in my professional life none has given me as much pleasure as this particular one. I have waited for years for it to flower and in May it did so for the first time. I felt quite emotional – it was a case of finding a handkerchief. Take a look by clicking the link here.

The Cotswolds are world renowned for their ‘chocolate box’ village scenes and Lower Slaughter must be one of the contenders. Despite its name it is a beautiful and tranquil place to visit for it has everything from crystal clear trout streams to olde-world stone cottages to a mill complete with working water wheel. If you choose the right time to explore you can have the place to yourself. To learn more click the June link here.

Brasserie Blanc Cheltenham

Posted on November 24, 2014 by johnshortlandwriter

Cheltenham, on the western edge of the Cotswolds, is full of historic Georgian buildings which make it an interesting place to visit if you are readily bored by the now characterless towns that have had their hearts ripped out in the interest of modernisation. Although it has all the major chain stores there are still very many smaller, independent shops which help to make the centre busy and vibrant. There are, however, plenty of opportunities to escape the throng of shoppers by relaxing in its parks and green spaces which are close to hand and beautifully maintained. With so many positive attributes, it is not surprising to find that there are also numerous cafes, bistros and restaurants – great news if, like me, you prefer your relaxation to revolve around food and drink.

One street that incorporates all of the above elements is The Promenade, a wide tree-lined boulevard. We made our way to the top end of it, walking past the splendid Town Hall with its fountains, to reach Brasserie Blanc where we had booked a table for a Saturday lunch. Set in a delightful Georgian townhouse, it has very recently been completely refurbished and, judging by the number of diners there, has retained its loyal clientele.

Any culinary venture that has Raymond Blanc’s name attached to it is bound to be a good choice and Brasserie Blanc didn’t disappoint whether in its understated interior design, the friendliness and efficiency of the staff and, most important of all, the quality of the food.

The huge arched windows and high ceilings give a feeling of space and natural light, both of which prevent the L-shaped marble bar, which runs almost the full length of the building, being too dominant. It is visually impressive and imparts a delightfully informal atmosphere to the dining area.

Our Italian waitress, Chiara, who was both charming and efficient, guided us through an extensive menu. For the starter my partner selected the cheese soufflé with a rich cheese sauce which came with the most wonderful, crispy outer crust. I went for the salt beef salad, chosen to test the chef’s expertise for, having a Jewish grandmother, I consider myself to be rather an expert when it comes to salt beef. It didn’t disappoint, the combination of flavours being both subtle and mouth-watering.

For our mains, I chose the slow-braised Scottish venison casserole. I was impressed when Chiara advised me that it was both quite gamey and rich which wouldn’t suit everyone’s taste but was just perfect for me. My partner had scallops with poached, smoked bacon. In the interest of research, I insisted upon tasting and it was beautifully soft and tender. Puddings also didn’t disappoint. My pears with salted caramel would be worth a special trip to Cheltenham just for those and my partner’s meringues were just as they should be, soft and chewy.

Brasserie Blanc Cheltenham is one of twenty mostly situated in London or the south of England. This does, for me, create rather a problem: do I return to Cheltenham or do I try some of the other locations? One thing is certain, I will definitely be returning!

Brasserie Blanc Cheltenham is located at The Promenade, Cheltenham GL50 1NN

All photographs of Brasserie Blanc are taken from their website. More information including booking details can be found here

Don’t Be Put Off By Its Name…

Posted on June 7, 2014 by johnshortlandwriter

Slaughter may not sound the most promising of names but Lower Slaughter situated in the heart of the Cotswold Hills is one of the prettiest and most unspoilt villages you can visit. Its unusual name is a derivation of the Old English word ‘slough’ meaning muddy patch but, if it was many years ago, it is certainly not one now. In fact, three years ago it was described in a poll as having ‘the most romantic street in Britain’.

Although there is some more recent housing discreetly tucked away most of the buildings date from the mid sixteenth to mid-seventeenth centuries. Its origins are even older for it was well established even before being recorded in the Domesday Book; this means that it has been continuously inhabited for over a thousand years.

Many of the oldest houses cluster around the the River Eye which, although shallow, is powerful enough to feed the undershot waterwheeel of the mill. This building, which now houses a small museum, is made from red brick – an unusual building material in this area – and was working as recently as the the late 1950’s. It is a comparatively modern building having been built in the 1800’s although a mill was recorded on the site in 1086. The tall chimney was built to give the mill additional steam power.

A similar tale can be told of the picturesque church with its tall spire which also dates from the ninteenth century. There are a few traces of the original building within it: an arcade of four bays dating back to the early 1200’s. The lichen encrusted gravestones in the churchyard also belie their age for burial rights were only granted in 1770 – before then villagers were buried in nearby Bourton-on-the-Water.

The countryside surrounding Lower Slaughter, and also the village itself, may not appear to have changed much in centuries but there is no doubt that they are very much ‘tidier’ than they once were. An old Pathe News clip shows the banks of the Eye overgrown – there probably wasn’t the same enthusiasm for cutting its grassy banks when it has to be done by scythe. Another change the film shows is the ‘locals’ sitting on the benches: nowadays, many of the houses are owned by the wealthy as weekend retreats and those exploring its lanes are visitors.

Lower Slaughter, despite its obvious attraction, has done very little to encourage tourism. It is still possible to sit there or cross its little stone footbridges or paddle in the ford and be transported back to a time when life ran at a much slower pace. It makes a very refreshing place for visitors to recharge the batteries after the crowds of its larger neighbours, Bourton and Stow-on-the-Wold or, for us lucky enough to live in the Cotswolds, to do the same after a hard day’s labour.