Cambridge and Folkestone

Next morning we set off across country to Cambridge where we had arranged to have lunch with an old business friend of Dad’s with whom he has kept in touch since Colmar days. We had an excellent meal and a Chablis in the conservatory at The Three Horseshoes in Madingley - to be recommended. This hamlet features the magnificent 16^th century Madingley Hall as well as the delightfully bucolic churchyard of St Mary Magdelene. Afterwards, we ensconced Dad in a comfortable hotel in Cambridge and drove up to Nuneaton where we had an enjoyable dinner in the local pub with Ingrid’s brother Mike and his wife Pat.

Next morning we headed back to Cambridge, picked up Dad and headed towards Folkstone. Our fear of the infamous M25 traffic was unfounded, so once over the Thames we were able to have a leisurely wander along the Medway in search of lunch. Later, we booked into a Faulty Towers like hotel and then went for a wander around downtown Folkestone.

The immaculate sunny Spring weather with which we had hitherto been blessed finally began to break. The blustery grey hue suited the town, with its omnipresent atmosphere of bygone prosperity. One bright note amongst all of this was The Samuel Peto pub on Rendezvous St. It had been a Baptist Chapel, boasting an extremely grand street façade with an even more over-the-top interior - a long way from its country cousin in Nyah.

For me, never has the term “faded grandeur” been more eloquently displayed than in the Grand Hotel, Folkestone. In its heyday 100 years ago as “Gentleman’s Residential Chambers” it boasted many famous patrons including King Edward VII and his companion, Mrs Keppel. We booked in for dinner in the Palm Court conservatory without great expectations. With the help of a bit of imagination, the setting was wonderful, with magnificent views out over the English Channel to the cliffs of Normandy. These were only slightly spoiled by the realisation that the imposing structure at the end of the immense shingle beach at Dungeness was, in fact, a nuclear power station.

Dinner over, we were treated to a grand tour of the establishment by another enthusiastic young man, taking in the immense function room and the ball room with its stage on which both Robert Morley and Michael Caine are said to have made their debuts (on separate occasions). The tour culminated with a visit to one of the penthouse suites with its rooftop terrace. Despite the blustery conditions, we stood and gazed out over the Channel with its twinkling lighthouses and passing shipping. This, together with our dinner in Calais 12 days earlier, neatly bookended a most enjoyable sojourn in England.

Cheltenham

Ingrid’s diligent searching through TripAdviser unearthed another gem. We booked into a charming, quintessentially Cotswolds, 16^th century stone inn. The Frogmill sits sweetly on trickle of a creek known grandly as the River Coln at Shipton Oliffe, about 7 miles out of Cheltenham.

The higgledy-piggledy stairs and uneven corridors were both quaint and a bit of a challenge for Dad and his walking stick. Our delightful suite of rooms in the roofspace was accessed by an extremely narrow, uneven and tortuous spiral staircase. We had our own roof terrace where we took our habitual pre-dinner aperitifs. The restaurant touted an association with the celebrity chef, Marco Pierre White. We can only surmise that he has never been in the kitchen as the food was pleasant enough, in a good pub food sort of way, but the service wasn’t.

On our evening walk we came across the idyllic hamlets of Shipton Sollars and Shipton Oliffe with the usual Cotswold stone houses, churches and bridges as well as a couple of rather lovely manor houses to daydream about.

Next morning, after the usual sumptuous English breakfast in the conservatory, we ventured in to Cheltenham, said to be the most complete Regency city in the UK. We discovered that many of the impressive old buildings have been successfully repurposed. One of the most spectacular is the former Montpellier Spa Rotunda which now serves the more prosaic function as a branch of Lloyds bank. The dome was apparently inspired by Rome’s Pantheon and was built by the magnificently named John Buonarotti Papworth.

Making the most of the glorious Spring sunshine, we had lunch at the Central Cross Drive Cafe in the Long Garden area of Pittville Park. We then visited the Pittville Pump Room where a very eager young man regaled us with the history of the building and treated us to a slightly dubious cup of spa water from the original ornate marble and scagliola pump. With some difficulty, we left to continue on our walking tour of the town.

Suffolk Square features terraces with elaborate pediments and balconies, but the most amazing building is the Regency Gothic St James church which has been recently converted to a more spectacular secular use as Zizzi’s Restaurant.

The Daffodil began in 1922 as Cheltenham’s first purpose built picture palace. Most of its exuberant Art Deco features have been retained in its present incarnation as a bar and brasserie. On asking the manageress if I might take a few photos, we were given an enthusiastic tour.

Jamie’s Italian Restaurant is situated in the former County Court building. It has been cleverly refurbished retaining many of the original court elements. Again, a very obliging manager gave us a full tour of the place from the court room with its magnificent, unusual corrugated iron ceiling down to the less magnificent holding cells in the cellars.

We were very much taken with the town, so much so that Ingrid went looking for situation vacant signs outside the prestigious Cheltenham Ladies College. After wandering through a couple of the many town parks, we finished the afternoon with a visit to the Cheltenham Art Gallery and Museum (The Wilson) to see a special exhibition of William Turner sketches.

Foregoing the pleasure of Marco Pierre White’s dubious legacy, we went out that evening to a local country pub and had a very pleasant dinner and bottle of red.

  

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Newquay and Exeter

Again, we were greeted by lovely Spring weather as we wandered over to the north coast around Newquay, renowned as the surfing capital of the UK. After Australian surf beaches, we were not expecting much, but we couldn’t help but be impressed with the spectacular coastline. At Newquay itself, there are nine beaches separated by jagged headlands. Fistral Beach apparently has the most famous beach break when the Atlantic is in the right mood producing perfect, powerful, hollow waves.

We continued up the spectacular coast road to Padstow, then crossed over to the south coast, planning on having lunch in Looe, a neat little fishing port where Mum and Dad had once stayed. Unfortunately it was shrouded in sea fog so we repaired to a local café for a gargantuan serving of fish and chips. We realised why the seagulls around here were so enormous.

Heading east, we left Cornwall crossing over the Tamar at Saltash just outside Plymouth. We vowed to return next year as, despite our best efforts in the past week, there remained plenty of places still to visit. Whilst Dad settled in for his post prandial, Ingrid and I ventured into Exeter. It’s an interesting city with the High Street displaying a patchwork of exquisite old architecture sitting cheek by jowl with some very ordinary examples of post war reconstruction and modern day commercial reality. Down on the town quays on the River Exe, there is a sympathetic development of the old solid stone warehouses, where we repaired for our habitual afternoon aperitivo.

The cathedral, dating back to the 1400’s is notable for its astronomical clock, the longest uninterrupted vaulted ceiling in England and its misericords. For us, it was notable for two things – one, it was open and two, it was simply magnificent. I was disappointed to realise, that had we been there on a Tuesday afternoon, there was a guided tour through rooves of the cathedral.

That evening, we had a pleasant dinner at our hotel which was only slightly marred by the presence in the dining room of a youth wearing a cap, backwards and playing with his smartphone. This elicited an audible response from one of our number. Ingrid could not leave Devon without trying one of their eponymous cream teas. So next morning we ventured into the centre of Exeter and came upon a café on the cathedral square. It was extremely pleasant sitting in the glorious early Spring sunshine, where we struck up an amusing conversation with some locals as we devoured our cream teas.

  

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