Chipping Campden

We had been driving on the B4081 road through one of the most beautiful parts of England with rolling hills and charming villages: The Cotswolds. Here in the west central area of England we were searching for the town of Chipping Campden. Chipping is from an Old English word meaning market.

During the Middle Ages this was a wool producing center. It is not unusual in the rural areas of the British Isles to be waylaid by sheep. I think sheep look kind of neat, the small ones are cute, and rack of lamb is one of my favorite meats. But, hey, I wish they would stay out of the road. Unlike cows, which will move over to let you get through, sheep just mosey along at their own sweet time. However, in the Cotswolds sheep provided the livelihood of the residents.

We drove down the B4081, which becomes High Street in Chipping Campden, searching for our inn. We stopped to ask a couple where Lower High Street or the Volunteer Inn was, and they said they didn’t know. About a hundred yards further down the street we found the inn. Maybe they were tourists from Manchester or somewhere else. We dragged our bags into the Volunteer Inn pub and the barkeep directed us to our room. Our upstairs room was overlooking the street and, as usual, appeared comfortable.

We were starved and went downstairs to the pub, but it was dinnertime, and we wanted a bit more than pub food. There was a restaurant behind the pub: The Maharaja. I have a special dislike for Indian food, but it is all the rage in England now. Down the street a bit we found the Ligon Inn whose kitchen was serving up traditional English food. I had bangers and mash with mushy peas. Bangers are sausages and mash is mashed potatoes. And mushy peas, well…they’re green peas mashed up.

When we got back to the Volunteer Inn we went in the pub for a pint of the local ale. We always check out the local ales. The Volunteer received its name because it was the pub at which the local men volunteered to fight for king and country. The interior had a bar, of course, a piano, dartboard, and two flat screen televisions. The ceiling was low with exposed beams and a stone fireplace took up one end. The crowd that was there earlier was gone, since the football game was over. Only the bartender and an aging barfly were there. We enjoyed our pints at a table in the corner before going to bed. I suspect that many a lad had had his first pint here and many a scarred returning soldier had enjoyed a pint here as well and, no doubt, seduced by the same lusty barmaid.

We got a great night’s sleep, and the bed was comfortable and cozy. In all the Bed and Breakfasts and Inns we stayed at, we noticed that the heat was always turned off at 10 o’clock. Thick covers on the beds are a must.

From our fogged up window the next morning we could see Saint Catherine’s Roman Catholic Church, a charming yellow limestone structure with locally crafted stained glass windows, across the street. We had a cup of tea before going on an expeditionary look at Chipping Campden. You can always depend on a tea service in every room in Britain.

My travelmate and I thought we’d take a walk before breakfast and began across the street in front of Saint Catherine’s and proceeded up Hoo Lane to the church cemetery. It’s always interesting to read the epitaphs and look at the sculptural elements of the tombstones. The spring-loaded wooden gate closed behind us as we came back onto the lane directly across from a cottage with a thatched roof. They always remind me of Hansel and Gretel or someone else from the fairy tales of my youth. Thatched roofs are making a comeback as a show of wealth and that’s quite interesting because only the less affluent had this kind of roof for over five centuries. And here it was; a typical thatched roofed cottage in an English village on a cool misty morning, just like in National Geographic magazine.

Behind the gated garden in front of the cottage was a large fifteen foot tall shrub trimmed in the likeness of a bird. Topiaries are common in English gardens and my wife says to me, “I think there’s a bird in that bird!” “Indeed there is a bird nest in the bush,” said the thin balding man with the necktie and cardigan sweater as he came through the gate. He told us that the bird nest was an annual occurrence, as he hurried off down the lane.

We reversed our direction, turned left, and walked down High Street past the Town Hall, which is a 14th century building originally used as a Wool Exchange . We passed the impressive Cotswald House built in 1815. Everything looks so prim and proper with many blooming flowers around the shop and residence doors. Canopies of blooming wisteria framed many of the entry doors. It was kind of like stepping back in time; you could almost hear the horse and wagon of the milkman in the early morning. As my imagination drifted back in time I noticed a bottle of milk on the stoop of the next house, and a fat tabby cat quickly disappeared into a narrow walkway beside a house. We continue walking past the Old Market Place built in 1627. It is a stone structure with open sides and a roof with many gables. The market had been once used in the wool trade, and buyers from other regions and countries would come to Chipping Campden to buy wool for their mills. The sounds of draft animals, vendors hawking their wares, and the rattle of armor would have echoed through these streets. Indeed, market day would have had a carnival atmosphere. The war memorial and market lie in the middle of the street with the street on either side. We continued on our walk and came to bigger houses that stood alone before turning onto Church Street to the right leading to Saint James Church. We passed the Alms Houses, originally built for the poor, and the Eight Bells Inn on the way to the church.

Saint James Church, like many other churches, is built on the site of an older church, in this case a Norman church prior to 1180. Since that time the building has been changed many times. The bell tower had eight bells to call parishioners to worship. The oldest dated to 1637, but they were recast in 1987, The originals were stored, like the clock mechanism, which was installed in 1695 and replaced in 1962. Saint James is referred to as a “wool church”, because it was built from the wealth of the wool business. While we were looking around the church and cemetery we heard the bleat of sheep and, sure enough, beside and behind the church were a flock of sheep.

We continued our walk until the street intersected High Street, and with a left turn it led us back to the Volunteer Inn. Shopkeepers were getting ready for another business day by sweeping in front of their shops and hanging out the “Open” signs. But everything in the village looked clean and fresh as washed by the heavy morning mist.

Since we would soon be on the road again we opted for a full English breakfast. The size of the meal reminded me of the “lumberjack” breakfast of the Adirondacks or my mother’s “sawmill” breakfast. There were sausages in big links, eggs, bacon, white beans, grilled tomatoes, hash brown potatoes, and fried bread. English bacon tends to be back bacon which is very lean, much like ham, and not the American variety which comes from pork bellies. A variety of jellies, marmalades, and fruit preserves are served to spread the fried bread. Needless to say a large pot of tea is served as the beverage of choice.

We packed up, checked out, tossed our bags in the car and continued on highway B4081. Chipping Campden definitely became one of those places on “the most likely to revisit” list.

Additiona Information My Photographs  Our British Isles Adventure Map of our walk as described above Cotswolds Tourist information