Up North, Down South and Good Luck Poo

With the lifting - just a little - of the lockdown, Son the Elder arranged a trip for us to Minsterworth, just outside Gloucester, where he needed to pick up a purchase from off eBay, and to Gloucester Cathedral, where he was meeting his friend Tom for the handover of acting DVDs. It was only going to be a flying visit, but I was glad of the chance of getting out of Bristol for a couple of hours, as well as giving my new-to-me car a bit of a run. 

So here's Gloucester Cathedral ...

... and some ghost signage on Berkeley Street ... 

... and 99 - 101 Westgate Street, which building dates from c1500 and is said to be the last lodging of Bishop Hooper before his execution by burning at the stake in St Mary's Square on 9th February 1555.  

When I got back to the car, I noticed a bird had christened my car with some poo, which I took as a good luck sign. 

Today I was off again - this time with the Northerner and Cwtch the collie - to Uphill, where I was due to get my second dose of Pfizer vaccine at Weston General. Immediately afterwards, we headed to Berrow beach so that Cwtch could get her first taste of the sea proper (her recent visits to Portishead notwithstanding). 

Upon arrival it was clear that the powers-that-be at Burnham and Berrow golf club had been brandishing industrial-sized secateurs and diggers during the enforced shut down, much like at the local golf club.  For a start, there was a pill box I'd never seen before ... 

... and much of the lovely tunnelling footpath through the dunes had been ripped open and the sky let in.

The pussy willows lining the reedbeds were lovely, though, and the ascent and descent to the beach was as exciting as ever. 

As luck would have it, the tide was so far out that Cwtch still didn't encounter the sea ...

... though she did get her first taste of the beach. 

We didn't walk too far as the Northerner has been recovering from something narsty (albeit not in the woodshed) and I was being careful on account of my jab. It was enough to be at Berrow with our eyes on ... well, more or less the same horizon as up the meadow, actually, but from a very different angle. 

It was sandy enough to walk out to the wreck of the SS Nornen too, which was as photogenic as ever, with no need to dodge the sinkinny sands and mud. 

A different dog that is ours with us on this visit, though - and she couldn't quite contain her surprise and delight that such a place exists, even if the sand looks better than it tastes and the water is salty.

There are even sticks, which are one of Cwtch's favourite things. (Ted was only interested in balls.)

Time to go back through the sand dunes and around the marshes ... 

... and past the little white bench with its views of Brent Knoll and Crook Peak ... 

... and through the churchyard of St Mary's with its cowslips and dead nettles ... 

... to the car which once again had been anointed with good luck poo. 

I did start to wonder if you could have too much good luck poo, so when a muck spreader pulled out in front of me between Berrow and Burnham-on-Sea, I decided to keep well back, just in case. 

Unexpectedly in Gloucester Docks

Well, not in, exactly - just in the vicinity and at a loose end. So I took some photos.

Every warehouse is labelled with its name which is just as well as many of them are now bars, pubs, restaurants or microbreweries, and seem much of a muchness. 

In that respect, there's been a fair bit of change in half-dozen years since I was here last. 

I like the unchanged, unchanging things best. 

Bishops and Bunnies in Gloucester

With a few hours to while away in Gloucester, we had a best forgotten curry (Saag Cheddar - seriously!) and a wander around an almost deserted city centre.  

  

St Oswald's Priory

Somewhere a football match was taking place.  It wasn't really any of my concern. It was good just to wind down a little from my book launch the previous night.  

  

Beyond St Mary's Gate we came across the monument to John Hooper, Bishop of Gloucester and Worcester, who was burnt at the stake for treason during the reign of Queen Mary.  At that time a huge elm had stood very close to where he was martyred and people watched the proceedings from its boughs. It took three-quarters of an hour for Hooper to die. It is said he asked repeatedly for more fire so that he might die more quickly. 








Rather more cheerfully - if bizarrely - we spotted lots of rabbits running around on the roundabout where Barnwood Road, Corinium Avenue and Eastern Avenue meet. When I got home, I googled them. It turns out they are A Thing and have their own Facebook page. Which I have liked, obviously.  

Remembering: Gloucester Part II

Can't possibly leave Gloucester Cathedral without exploring a few more places and sighing over the artefacts therein, like the Lancaut Font in the Lady Chapel.  














I have a soft spot for the remote, ruined church at Lancaut on the banks of the Wye.  I first saw it from the Welsh side of the river years ago and longed to get a closer look.  Then, newly single and in possession of a car, I discovered a walk in a book, the route of which took me and Ted right past it.  Inside there was a grave slab with a heart etched on it.  

So it was especially lovely to see the font from the old church here. It is made of lead and dates from c1120-40.  Can't help wondering how many children have been baptised in it, and what were their lives like.

The soaring vistas of butter-coloured stone do much to lighten wintry spirits.

Some rather lovely turn-of-the-century Arts and Crafts stained glass by Christopher Whall.  

And, of course, the stupendous Great East Window which boasts the second largest expanse of mediaeval glass in the country. 

 Wooden parclose screen and Tower

Struts supporting the arches which support the Tower

The Romanesque nave built in the final years of the 11th century

Stained glass stone ... 

The 15th century Tower and South Transept

The South Porch built at the beginning of the 15th century.

As the Treasury is closed on Sundays and the Tower and Crypt were closed for winter, I reluctantly left, squeezing my way past men in khaki and women in black who were filing in for the next Remembrance Service.  The City Museum and Folk Museum were also closed, so I hobbled down to the docks on my poorly feet to make the most of the sun on water.

Taking a short cut back to the Leisure Centre to wait for Son the Elder, I found myself trundling down a road that looked disquietingly familiar, given that I barely know Gloucester at all.  Then the penny dropped: I was walking down Cromwell Street.  

Where so many women were murdered, there is now a tarmac walk way with a sign post pointing to the city centre. 




Of course it's impossible for anyone old enough to remember those terrible discoveries in 1994 to be at all objective, though I would defy anyone to wander down that street without feeling a sense of foreboding.