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Jim and Robbie at dinner in Bath
After a day of chasing Arthur, today was to be an easier jaunt. Being Friday the 13th, we figured a day without adventure might be prudent.
Due to our late arrival, we were unable to see the famous Roman baths in this eponymously named city, so that was our first stop. Thermal springs are not common in Great Britain, with only 5 spring groups. The water here at Bath comes out of the ground at 45 degrees centigrade, at a rate of 15 liters per second. Geological and hydrological studies show that rainfall on the nearby Mendip Hills percolates through the porous and partially karstified limestone to great depths, where the water is heated geothermal and then begins to percolate up through the channels in the underlying rock until it finally reaches the surface.
The use of the hot springs as healing waters here dates back to at least 863 BCE, when a Celtic prince was reputedly cured of leprosy by bathing in the spring water. The Romans constructed formal baths here beginning shortly after their initial occupation of Britain, then over the next 300 or so years developed a large complex dedicated to Minerva Sulis. Sulis was the
Celtic goddess of the waters. As they commonly did, the Romans simply incorporated the local deity into their own religion. Since the time of the Romans the baths have repeatedly fallen into ruin and then been restored. At present the actual bathing pool is several meters below ground level, and at that level they have established a museum with exhibits of various artifacts found in the area of the complex, including votive offerings thrown into the pools. At ground level are several Roman era statues. Acid rain has taken a bit of a toll, but now the entire building is treated with a wash of a sacrificial shelter coats every few years. In 1978 a girl died from Naegleriasis ("brain eating ameba") after bathing the bath pool. The organism was found there, and since then a new bathing pool using a separate channel of water has been established. Although the baths are interesting, as Roman sites go it is not spectacular.
Leaving Bath, we headed to our one excursion beyond the borders of England, to Tintern Abbey in Wales. Taking the M48, we crossed into Wales over the suspension bridge that first crosses the wide Severn River, establish a
brief pied-à-terre on a peninsula, then jumps across the Wye River. We then drove to Tintern, through rolling hills and small mountains. It was very much like driving through less trafficked areas of the Smokies here in the USA. The abbey itself stands in mournful ruins on the Wye River near the small village of Tintern. It was founded by the Cistercians, a breakaway group from the Benedictines, that wanted simpler edifices and more strict observance of the Rule of Benedict. They became known for professing faith through work, particularly in the agricultural fields, and they supported themselves through production from those fields as well as ale-making. Over time, they developed a hierarchy in which there were lay brothers who did most of the labor in the fields and monks who concerned themselves more with liturgical and theological concerns. A later branch of the Cistercians was the Trappists. I can personally vouch for the fact that they raised ale-making to an art form.
Tintern Abbey construction started in 1131 with additions and amendments made over the next 400 years. Most of what can be seen today is from the later period of that construction. But in 1536, during the
Dissolution of the Abbeys, the abbey was handed over to the crown, and all its valuables shipped to the royal treasury. Its lead roof was stripped, and that started the inevitable decay of the building. The remains that can be seen today have been partially stabilized, and are undergoing a significant effort aimed at preserving what is left.
Since the 17th century Tintern Abbey has been commemorated in verse and prose, as well as in beautiful drawings. But perhaps the best known poem that is mentioned is actually not about the abbey at all, Wordsworth's famous
Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey. The poem is considered one of Wordsworth's finest, and celebrates the nature in the wild landscape. It is addressed to his sister who has accompanied him to the spot. Like Pooh, he asks here to remember the moment and the scene, and it will always be with her even when he is gone.
As we left the Abbey, we left behind any pretense of historical or scientific interest for the rest of the day, and headed toward the Cotswolds for a drive of almost hedonistic comfort in the beauty of a special place. The
Cotswolds is the largest Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty in England, comprising some 800 square miles of rolling hills underlaid by oolitic limestone. This limestone is often yellowish in color and is then called Cotswold stone, and is used throughout the area for buildings. Across the hills is a large grassland, somewhat unusual in England. This produced a region with outstanding resources for producing sheep. A variety known as the. Cotswold Lion was particularly valued, and much wool was sold to the continent. Much of the money thus earned was used in building churches, and many of the churches in the area are therefore known as wool churches.
The Cotswolds is not a region to be sped through; it is a region to be lapped up slowly with constant viewing of large and small beauties. Although some of the towns and villages have become overly commercialized because of the brisk tourism trade here, many have retained their traditional look and feel. In nearby fields, sheep graze placidly. Towns and villages are permeated with small lanes, lined with Cotswold stone houses and other buildings, with flowers in the yards and roses and the climbing bloomers meandering up the sides of
the buildings. In places there are dwellings with thick thatched roofs.The most wonderful village we visited was unplanned. Stanton was more or less on our way, so we drove. It is completely unspoiled. As we stood outside a row of houses to. take photos, a woman came down the hill on her horse, in complete English riding dress.
When we reached Great Tew we were seized by a need for drink, and stopped at the Falkland Arms, a 16th century pub with attached small hotel. We did not avail ourselves of the food, but a pint of ale went down very well. We then proceeded on to Stratford-Upon-Avon for our overnight stay.
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