It was far too hot to stay in London, so the Brompton and I cycled from Bedford to St Neots – part of my first Covid cycle tour. There was nothing memorable about the ride, but it was better than sweltering in London or living with air conditioning.
Cycling to Liverpool Street Station early this morning, I realised that the Brompton was in its natural habitat amongst its peers carrying their riders to work. But not me. I was leaving sweltering London behind to visit the Fry Gallery in Saffron Walden and its exhibition of Great Bardfield artists (Edward Bawden, Eric Ravilious et al).
Since the gallery didn’t open until 2 p.m. I looked for something to do before that and discovered Audley End House nearby. It’s basically a Jacobean house that was once much larger and grander, built on the site of a dissolved abbey. The Duke of Suffolk embezzled state funds for it, Charles II once owned it (handy for Newmarket), John Vanbrugh and Robert Adam worked on it at various stages, Capability Brown got fired . . . the usual sort of thing. Over the centuries it has been much reduced and altered, and its current incarnation is early 19th century. So, symmetry everywhere, the deception assisted by false doors and concealed doors. A great hall with an astonishing oak screen that rises to the second floor. Family portraits everywhere plus an art collection by “follower of X” and “school of Y”. An incredible collection of taxidermy, including more kinds of owl than I knew existed and an albatross. A library that basically stored all that an English aristocrat needed to know at that time: rows and rows of records of State Trials of the late seventeenth century; antiquities of Canterbury; Dugdale’s Baronage of Englands Vol I, II etc etc – and, nice touch, a row of Walter Scott novels on an easy-to-reach shelf. The room and bed decorated specially for George III . . . who never visited. A chapel with a separate staircase and wooden seats for the servants, and a fire and padded seats/kneelers for the family. I found it fascinating and bizarre.
The parterre was lovely, and I saw it at its best. Had I not already been converted to roses, this would have done it.
Then to Saffron Walden for lunch. I ate in the main square in what I guess was once a Victorian-era bank. The great thing was that it was like a small version of Audley End: neo-Elizabethan with decorated stonework and mullioned windows, and inside I sat beneath a white ceiling plastered in Tudor style.
I walked past the castle to the gallery. Saffron Walden is very quaint, but with the heat and the Brompton I wasn’t in a frame of mind to take photos. The gallery is small and filled to the brim with delightful images and objects but after the space of Audley End, it seemed very cramped and the exhibits seemed cosily domestic.
Practically all the way across the Netherlands today: train from Arnhem to Dordrecht, waterbus to Rotterdam and cycling to Vlaardingen, where we are right beside the river. (I’ve given up trying to distinguish between the Maas, the Lek and the Waal. Oh, and the Scheur.) Completely different backdrop to previous riverside stays: Emmerich has only green fields on the other side whereas Vlaardingen has oil refineries. But watching barges float by is the same restful occupation.
The end of the holiday. I suppose I ought to have seen enough to offer a few insights, but I’m not sure they’re worth anything.
There are staff shortages: every shop, every back of loo door, every van invites you to come and work for them. Hotel room cleaning during a multi-day stay is unusual. The hotel in Meppen used a robot vacuum cleaner, which politely stopped to let us pass in the corridor.
I may as well use machines to buy train tickets: I can’t make a worse job than trained staff. The tickets I bought in the ticket office for today’s train journey were the wrong kind. Fortunately the guard let us off: it was obviously an unwitting mistake. (He wasn’t so sympathetic to the young brown man who was attempting to travel on yesterday’s ticket and turfed him off at the next station. I wondered how to interpret this. Ageing white people are seen as making honest mistakes but young brown migrants are seen as trying to pull a fast one?)
I’m fitter now than a fortnight ago, but mounting and dismounting my bicycle is not as effortless as it once was (sigh).
Instead of ending a holiday as usual with Emmerich to Nijmegen into a headwind, today we did Emmerich to Arnhem into a headwind. With some rain. It was pleasant beside the river and, once the weather changed, an easy ride into the centre of Arnhem. Like Utrecht, Arnhem has direct cycle routes that are heavily used: the roundabout at Airborneplein was particularly hectic. Quite fun to watch, but less fun to be part of. My kind of pootling is really not suited to Dutch city cycling, and it was a bit of a shock to find myself part of it again.
Despite Arnhem’s importance during WWII, the centre looks largely undestroyed. I had time to wander around once we had checked in, but without a map or any idea of what to see. Still enjoyable though. And they have trolley busses.
The same journey as last week – even the storks we saw on the outward journey were there again – but this time into a headwind. We entered Emmerich via a different road – confirming my impression that, beyond its Rhine frontage, it’s a dreary town. (Sorry, Emmerich.)
Well, Schützenfesters certainly know how to party. They didn’t keep me awake, but when I opened the window at 1.30 a.m. the marquee down the road was still jiving. The church clock struck at 5.30 a.m. and I swear I could hear the brass band playing somewhere. As I dressed, somebody was singing alleluia several times over to the accompaniment of the band outside the church. Our breakfast was slightly delayed by the waitress having to serve a few beers . . . and the first parade of the day started just as we were leaving. I really don’t know what to make of it: history, community spirit, unsettling vibes under the cheerful booziness, the self-deprecating silliness of carrying wooden sticks (representing rifles?) topped with flowers so that they looked like a morris-dancing local militia. Had I lived in the town during the Thirty Years War, I might have been glad if a group of trained men were ready to defend it – and perhaps there were similar groups in Ukraine until three years ago.
The rest of the day was a return ride unto the Netherlands in hot sunshine and a gentle headwind. Piet Mondrian lived in Winterswijk for a time, but that is as much as I know.
Back to a boring maximum speed of about 22 kph, so to do this distance we needed the assistance of the train from Papenburg to Rheine. The usual anxiety about getting our bikes on the train, so I checked with the ticket office beforehand. (A ticket office: there’s luxury.) Question: where was the bike space? Answer: each carriage has bike spaces front and back. Total number of bikes conveyed: 24. (More in the summer holiday season.) This seemed like riches indeed – but the reality is that if a train has 24 bike spaces, there will be 23 bicycles on it – particularly if it’s the day after Himmelfahrt. We had no problem at Papenburg, but the train quickly filled up.
We cycled the same route out of Rheine as a week ago along the easy-peasy disused railway, but this time into a sunny headwind. Heek is en fête – nice for Heek but not for anyone hoping for an early night. It’s the town’s Schützenfest – a concept I have difficulty in getting my head around. Schützen means to protect, but this kind of thing is all about guns and shooting. I suppose I should think of it as a celebration of the historical tradition of local self-protection – an early kind of Home Guard perhaps? – and target-shooting is part of it. Also included is parading in green jackets and dark green ties behind a local band – and lots of drinking.
We arrived in Heek in good time so headed off in nostalgic mood along the 100 Schlösser Route to see Burg Nienborg. How many have we ticked off now?
Old Shoe Box 