From there we ventured inside and up onto the roof of Coughton Court which afforded us lovely views and photographic opportunities of the Warwickshire countryside in all directions.

We finished our fleeting visit to the pleasant country house by coming back down through the main house then taking a short walk into some of the nearby woodland and garden areas surrounding it.

We started with a walk of the grounds of the place in order to take advantage of the good weather which we suspected might change. The landscape gardens of Upton Court were wonderful, sloping down from the main house and including a swimming pool, a lake, and a walled garden area below the line of sight of the long lawn. The pool in particular looked very nice with its steps descending into the water at one end.

The decor inside Upton House was in keeping with a 1920s aesthetic which meant there were lots of art deco period pieces here and there. Outside brutalism it’s my favourite type of design so this was lovely to see and made a nice change from the older periods that make up the bulk of trust properties of this size. The bathroom was a true marvel to see with its reflective, metallic surfaces. I’d probably have to say that Upton House is one of the most memorable buildings I’ve explored in the United Kingdom and it’s one I should make the effort to pop up to Warwickshire and visit again one day.

There were four good reasons to choose Fountains Abbey as a destination, those being its proximity to where we were staying, the fact it’s a National Trust property and we’re members, it’s an ancient ruin and we’re fond of them, and it – along with Studley Royal Park in the vicinity – is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and we love ticking them off the list.

The abbey and gardens are about ten minutes from the centre of Ripon by car, well sign-posted and easy to get to. As National Trust members we didn’t have to pay anything (the same is true for English Heritage members) but general admission adult prices are about £15 with children half that and family tickets available too. On the walk to the abbey itself we first came upon Fountains Hall, an early 17th century country house built from the stone of the abbey ruins. Its 20th century history is quite interesting with it undergoing some modernisation in the late 1920s and it housing guests such as the future King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother, friends of the owners at that time, the Vyners. During World War II the building was co-opted to serve as housing for evacuees and was used as a sanitorium.

As you exit Fountains Hall there is a distinctive memorial window above a stone staircase leading down. Elizabeth and Charles were children of Commander Clare George Vyner and Lady Doris Hilda Vyner. The lower inscription reads:

Elizabeth Vyner WRNS [Women’s Royal Naval Service] Died on Active Service June 3rd 1942 Aged 18 years. Also her brother Charles De Grey Vyner Sub Lieut (A) RNVR [Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve] Reported missing from Air Operations Off Rangoon May 2nd 1945 Aged 19 Years.

From the hall we made our way the short distance towards the abbey ruins but decided to take a look around the small area of land to the west of it first which contained some streams with attractive, stone bridges crossing them and assorted buildings. Of odd interest was the Chinese-like dragon bas-relief we found at one of the buildings; the reason for its presence eludes me.

To Fountains Abbey itself now which was founded in 1132 on the back of a falling out in the Benedictine abbey located in York which led to 13 monks seeking to form a new abbey for themselves. After initially being granted land by the archbishop the monks sought to join the Cistercian order whereby they received instructions how to perform the various rituals specific to that Christian group as well as how to build religious buildings in accordance with Cistercian architectural practice, that being a more simple layout with no distracting features and very limited religious adornments. Originally built from wood, Fountains Abbey was soon replaced with stone from the region, some of it mandated following an attack on the building in 1146 by a group unhappy at the religious and political decisions of the abbot at the time.

After a few years of struggling Fountains Abbey attracted generous donations from wealthy benefactors partly on account of its good work for the poor in the area and it was able to buy additional land, set up granges, and employ labourers to work the more outlying areas that the brothers could not easily reach. The River Skell through the land made an ideal spot to set up a mill which could be used to mill the grain brought in from the granges. By the late 13th century Fountains Abbey had an efficient connection of estates under its ownership and was turning a handsome profit.

In the early 14th century a reduction in the number of labourers that could be employed, perhaps attributed to worsening relations with Scotland and Scottish raids as far south as York, led to a change in the way that Fountains Abbey was run as it could no longer adequately control farming. Laws that had prevented the leasing of religious property had been relaxed in the centuries before so the abbey started doing so with its more distant land and consolidating its nearer assets. By 1535 Fountains Abbey was the richest Cistercian monastery in England. Sadly for the monks, within four years they would surrender the abbey as part of Henry VIII‘s Dissolution Of The Monasteries. Some of the materials of the site – stone, timber, and lead – were sold by the new owner to offset his purchase of the land and Fountains Abbey began its decline into ruin.

The UNESCO World Heritage Site doesn’t just consist of the ruins, though. To the east and north of Fountains Abbey is Studley Royal Park which provides for a pleasant walk along the route of the River Skell. This area mainly consists of green lawns running alongside the river with paths that lead to it and also out to the deer park. Trees in the park include limes, oaks, and sweet chestnuts.

Studley Royal Water Garden was created by John Aislabie in 1718 who had inherited Studley Royal through his mother’s family. Aislabie had a passion for garden landscaping and set about introducing a natural look to the grounds of the estate as well as incorporating the water garden: an elegant series of canals, ponds, cascades, statues, and follies.

Aislabie was an interesting character who had been a notable MP, achieving such positions as Lord of the Admiralty, Treasurer of the Navy, and Chancellor of the Exchequer. It was in that lattermost role that he was partly responsible for the famous South Sea Bubble that eventually saw him resign, get expelled from the House, and spend some time imprisoned in the Tower of London for accepting money from the South Sea Company to push the bill through parliament. MPs getting imprisoned for taking money from private enterprises that screw over the country? Whoever thought such a thing was even possible? Good times, people, good times.

On the west side of the river through the park is a tearoom, ideally located for a break after exploring the abbey and wandering the park paths, where we enjoyed a drink and a cake which I’m sure was delicious but which I neglected to take a photo of. We then followed the riverside path back for some last views at Fountains Abbey before leaving.

Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal Park is just our sort of British historical site to explore; some old architecture, some lovely history, and beautiful views. You can easily spend several hours there and there were parts of the estate that we didn’t even touch on such as the church and the deer park. It’s definitely worth a visit and we’re probably overdue a return trip to the lovely location.

Lacock Abbey is in Wiltshire but close to the furthest point in Wiltshire from our home in Hampshire so a not unsubstantial drive to get there. The village of Lacock is quintessentially old English in appearance with much of it being owned by the National Trust (we’re members; very much worth it if you like exploring the history of the country). Stone buildings and Tudor-style exteriors are very much the things you’ll see as you drive in and once you approach Lacock Abbey itself you’ll see a similar mix of architectural styles as the building was built and improved upon over the centuries.

Lacock Abbey was founded in the 13th century as an Augustinian nunnery. As with most religious buildings during Henry VIII ‘s Dissolution of the Monasteries it passed into private ownership in the mid-16th century and stayed that way until 1944 when the National Trust took over. Some of its last private owners were the Talbot family and a notable member of that family, William Henry Fox Talbot, was an early proponent of photography. A museum dedicated to Fox Talbot is outside the entrance of Lacock Abbey.

The interior spaces of Lacock Abbey were mostly empty but there were some occasional objects as points of interest, including a large, black cauldron (known as the Nun’s Boiler) with a latin inscription that reads in English: I was moulten or made by Peter Waghuens, of Mechlin, in the year 1500. Praise be to God and glory to Christ.

However, one of the main reasons we wanted to visit Lacock Abbey was because we’d heard it was the filming location for some scenes in both Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone and Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets several years earlier. This filming was mostly taken in the cloisters and they were instantly recognisable as soon as we wandered through them. A few years after our visit there would be further scenes shot in Lacock Abbey for Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. More recently, scenes for the related movie Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald have been shot in the area. I’m not a huge Harry Potter fanatic, in case you’re wondering, but my wife has all the books and I find the films very enjoyable.

Leaving Lacock Abbey we had a short wander around the village and decided to take some lunch in the Red Lion, a Georgian pub. It is a strange thing but to this day I can still remember what I ate there and why; scampi and chips was the what and the why was because it was the best scampi I’ve ever had. It’s a running joke with us that despite eating scampi in plenty of seaside places around the country it’s still this pub, 40 kilometres from the sea, 12 years ago now, that had the best.

After lunch and before leaving Lacock Abbey and village we popped into the Tithe Barn, a medieval building constructed from limestone. Not a huge amount to say about it but as it’s free to enter and only takes a minute of your time then if you’re in the area it’s worth a quick nose.

As I said at the start it’s fascinating to see these old photos I took when I knew considerably less than I do now about photography and architecture and when I had less of a traveller’s eye for interest and information. Lacock Abbey and village are places we’ve mentioned in recent years that we need to go back to and take another look at and seeing these pictures again has strengthened my resolve to do so sooner rather than later.

The photos in this post are from two visits to Mottisfont that took place in March 2009 and July 2010, with the latter visit having the better weather and more of a concentration on the estate’s wildlife, and also including pictures taken by my wife using an older camera and lens. There are no photos from inside as interior pictures were not permitted but Mottisfont does include a drawing room decorated with trompe-l’oeil murals by the artist Whistler that is worth a look as they form the last pieces of art he worked on – completing some during a break from active duty – as he died in fighting in the war in Normandy in 1944. This photographic tour of the abbey estate and gardens at Mottisfont will take place as if you were walking around in a roughly clockwise direction.

Upon arrival at Mottisfont the first thing that will happen is you’ll cross over where two streams join at a small cascade, these being the Abbey stream and the Font stream. The first of those is a run-off from the River Test while the second emerges from the font from which the location derives its name.

This brings you to a view over the lawn towards the south face of Mottisfont Abbey (the name it picked up in the mid-eighteenth century, despite it not being an abbey at all). The design of the building incorporates Tudor and Georgian elements which you can see in the red brick and white stone styles respectively.

Following the smaller of the two streams, the Font stream, takes you to the Font itself. This dates from at least as far back as the Saxon period in English history and was used as a source of water for the house at Mottisfont into the 1940s.

Continuing clockwise around the grounds at Mottisfont grants you some views back to the main building but eventually leads to the Rose Garden. I’m not a particularly keen fan of roses when it comes to flowers but if you like roses then Mottisfont boasts an apparently impressive collection of old varieties from around the world. You can tell we’re not big rose fans simply because we ended up taking photos of pretty much every flower other than them across our visits to the property.

The Rose Garden marks the westernmost boundary of the estate at Mottisfont so circling around to the northern side and rear of the house leads through the Magnolia Lawn and Pleached Lime Walk to the Croquet Lawn.

Ignoring the house for the moment and continuing past the lawn takes you to part of the grounds east of the main building which hosts the Summer House (including some medieval floor tiles) as well as a pet cemetery and a range of statues and sculptures, some more modern and ever-so-slightly more terrifying than others.

Walking in the same direction leads to the eastern and northern boundaries of Mottisfont with a Riverside Walk along the Abbey stream up to the Fisherman’s Hut.

It was along this stretch of water on the abbey estate grounds that I started chasing after damselflies to photograph on the second of our visits to Mottisfont, a period of much swearing from me when the little buggers would often fly away just as I got the focus set right and much laughter from my wife as a result.

From the stream and looking back to the house the view is partially blocked by the Great Plane tree which if you like trees is probably quite impressive. I don’t mind trees and I probably prefer them to roses but they are much of a muchness to my eyes. It’s a pretty large specimen of tree, though, and at least a couple of centuries old.

So, back to Mottisfont Abbey. In front of its southern facade is the Parterre, the small formal garden area. Under the Whistler Room and the terrace in the south is the Cellarium, the most complete section of the medieval priory on the estate with a lovely vaulted ceiling to admire.

That mostly completes a walking circuit of the grounds of Mottisfont, although, of course, there’s plenty to see inside the abbey if you visit too. Like many National Trust properties the open spaces are worth the visit on their own and on a nice day when the flowers are out in bloom and there’s plenty of wildlife to spot along the streams there’s loads to while away an afternoon. To finish off this photo walk of the site some more shots of the water spaces as you exit Mottisfont Abbey and pictures of ducks and ducklings and swans because everyone likes pictures of ducks and ducklings and swans.

Calke Abbey is self-styled as “the un-stately home and country estate.” Despite its name the site never housed an abbey. Originally a twelfth century Augustinian priory, its fate followed that of many religious buildings in the wake of the mid-sixteenth century Dissolution of the Monasteries in that it passed through various hands as leaseholds until it was bought by the Harpur family in 1622.

The present day main building at Calke Abbey is a mansion in the Baroque style, built between 1701 and 1704. Death duties of heads of the Harpur family in the twentieth century saw the sale of much of the natural history specimens that had been collected by the tenth baronet, the fabulously-named and interesting character of Sir Vauncey Harper-Crewe (side-note: let’s bring Vauncey back as a popular boy’s name), and in 1985 the estate was transferred over to the National Trust. Calke Abbey’s decay has been halted by remedial work but no restoration has taken place in order to present the estate as one in decline with much of the interiors of the buildings as they were in 1985 and with some not having had any changes since the late nineteenth century. This makes Calke Abbey a very interesting place to visit and sharp contrast to other stately homes managed by the National Trust.

Our arrival at Calke Abbey initially brought us to the stables, a quadrangle of buildings housing old carriages and estate equipment.

The stables had some lovely arched designs to them but they appeared to be quite small to my inexpert eyes. In addition there was what we first took to be a painting of the stables in the stables (which I had to take a photo of so that I could take a photo of a painting of a place in that place for all the meta wonder that would bestow). This turned out to be a lenticular image which caused a well-dressed person – one of the Harpur family, no doubt – and some workers to appear depending on the angle at which it was viewed. With the age of everything else in Calke Abbey there was something a little anachronistic about this object but it was interesting to see the people appear as if ghosts.

The northeast corner of the estate is given over to a deer park where herds of red and fallow deer roam free. Just before entering the main building we spotted some of the animals in the fields and seeking shade near trees.

And so to Calke Abbey itself. Many, many years ago it used to be almost impossible to take photos inside stately homes under the pretence of preservation when it was really just to give Big Postcard a monopoly on sales of imagery. Fortunately, these days it’s a lot more relaxed (so long as you don’t use flash photography) and when it comes to Calke Abbey in particular any claim that a shot might damage the heritage of the place wouldn’t stand up to a side-eye of scrutiny so you’re free to photograph whatever you like. From a personal perspective, I find decay is always an interesting subject, and there is far more an appealing sense of the passage of time in something abandoned than something still lived-in. All of which is my way of saying that I took a lot of pictures of this particular National Trust location.

Not all of Vauncey’s collection of taxidermy and specimens of natural history that he’d acquired were sold to settle tax bills, and those that remained could be found in numerous rooms around the un-stately home. His love of birds is obvious to see and it was this love that led to a lot of neglect around the estate as he wanted a more wild environment and more natural habitat for them to live in. And then to be shot and stuffed in. We can understand the first part of that sentiment as that’s the excuse we’ve given for not sorting out our garden for the last two decades too.

I particularly liked the look of a bamboo-framed shower unit in a bathroom in the abbey. There’s a fabulous amount of inventiveness into how you think it must work, although there does appear to be a width limit on anyone who needs washing.

The bedroom was one of the most distressed-looking rooms and yet it still contained a fairly impressive four-poster bed. The shelves with neatly-folded clothing seemed particularly jarring in this room and almost gave the impression of a hurried abandonment of the property as opposed to a slow decline and general lack of attention.

With its bare stone walls and floors, and with the empty wooden plate racks resembling bars, there was a feel of a prison to Calke Abbey’s kitchen.

We finished our time in and around the main structure with a short wander down some tunnels. The estate has several of these serving different purposes and has opened more since the time we visited in 2014.

Our visit to Calke Abbey was rounded off with a brief exploration of the nearby estate grounds. We started with a grotto with artificial stalactites and an oddly out-of-place conch shell.

On our way to the garden on the estate we encountered some more deer and some kind of storage location.

The walled garden had the usual array of flowers that we’ve come to expect from these places but also plenty of vegetables, both familiar-looking and decidedly less so, all protected by scarecrows. This area along with the land surrounding the head gardener’s house was well looked-after, in complete contrast to the interior of the other buildings we’d seen.

Some parting shots of Calke Abbey concluded our stop at this Derbyshire house and grounds. While this visit took place during a period when I was less diligent about taking notes regarding what we’d seen and we were under some time constraints on account of needing to continue our drive up north, there was clearly a lot that caught my interest in the main building in particular and it’s certainly a property worthy of a visit. There was more to see in the nearby area, including a church, and it’s entirely possible we’ll make another stop here one day to see what else we can find in the since-opened underground locations, as well as get some more details about some of those rooms and buildings we passed through first time around.

Ightham Mote is a moated manor house with origins dating back to the middle of the fourteenth century. What makes it interesting from an architectural perspective is that it remains mostly unchanged from its original design and so more accurately reflects buildings of medieval age, many of which had additions or removals to alter aspects as they passed through successive owners down the centuries. Ightham Mote is a courtyard manor house with most of its features looking inwards to the interior space and very little viewing out or indicating functionality from outside. Surrounding the square building is a square moat over which three bridges cross. The majority of the house’s seventy-or-so rooms are on its eastern side. A garden and lawn area lie to the building’s west.

After a quick look around outside the walls of Ightham Mote we ventured over the bridge into the quadrangle. This was a lovely area; a sun trap still offering opportunities for shade, well-kept bushes and trees to bring a little bit of nature inside, protected from the wind, and shielded from the distractions – and probably dangers, given its age – of the outside world. It would have been a lovely place in which to live.

There was an opportunity to climb the steps to the tower over the arched entrance in one of the house’s walls and we’re not ones to pass up the opportunity to take a chance on a heart attack ending our travelling days. Our tour of Ightham Mote commenced with us heading up for some spectacular views over the grounds and some of the nearby Kent countryside from the battlements.

We then took a wander through the open rooms on the two floors of the property.

Houses like Ightham Mote tend to be inherited within generations of a family and that’s the case with this one too. After a number of owners in its first century and a half it was bought by Sir William Selby (see: Selby Family) in 1591 and there it remained until the late nineteenth century. From then it became a bit of a haunt for Americans.

In the 1880s it was rented out to the family of William Jackson Palmer, a distinguished and thoroughly interesting veteran of the American Civil War, and prominent civil engineer. His daughter was painted in the manor house by the artist John Singer Sargent and the writer Henry James was a visitor. In 1951, following years of neglect in the wake of mounting costs for its upkeep, the decision was made to sell the property and its contents at auction with a view to demolishing the building or transforming it into apartments. Three local men purchased Ightham Mote in order to secure its future and eventually sold it to an American who had been stationed near it during the Second World War. It was he who was able to effect repairs to the historic building and who began to decorate and furnish it with pieces from the seventeenth century and beyond, and in 1965 he announced that on his death it would all pass into the stewardship of the National Trust which it duly did in 1985.

After being completely charmed with the interior of Ightham Mote we left to continue our voyage home but not before making one complete circuit around the house’s moat to enjoy its medieval architecture and idyllic setting one more time.

Dover Castle is managed by English Heritage, which we’re not members of, and which the staff quickly went out of their way to attempt to remedy once we reached the ticket office.

Two adults, please.

Are you English Heritage members?

No.

Would you like to join? You’ll be able to save on the price of today’s admission.

No, thank you.

It’s really worth you joining.

We don’t visit enough of your properties to make it worthwhile, but thanks.

Where are you from?

Portsmouth.

We have plenty of properties near there that you could visit for free if you were a member.

Yes, we know, and we’ve likely seen them all at some point. We’ll just pay for the admission tickets today.

Have you seen how much you can save by becoming a member?

Yes, we’ve had some of the top mathematical brains from continental Europe fly over just ahead of this trip and boffins from research labs across the country crunching the numbers throughout the night and we’ve determined it’s more cost-effective for us to just pay on the door today which is what we’re trying to do.

Okay. Well, if you change your mind then come and see me later and I can sign you up. Here are your tickets. Please show them when you get through the door over there.

They really, really wanted us to become members. As forewarned, we had to show our tickets to another person.

Thank you. Oh, aren’t you members?

No.

Did my colleague ask if you wanted to sign up for membership?

Yes, thank you. We decided it wasn’t financially sensible for us to do so today. Is it just down here that we go?

Wait a second. Let me see if I can find details of membership benefits.

Please don’t do that.

It won’t take a moment. If you sign up today you’ll be able to save the cost of entry.

We know that. I’m begging you to just let us through.

I’m really surprised you didn’t sign up for membership. I can take you through the process now if you like. What are you doing!?

We rendered the castle staff member unconscious and hid the body where we hoped it would lay undisturbed for a few hours then proceeded to take a look around. We quickly discovered that some areas weren’t open and others required booking a tour that we didn’t want to hang around for so we prioritised anything that involved getting out of the rain. We were soon wandering through the medieval tunnels that had been dug out during the First Barons’ War (1215-1217) when the castle had come under siege; the tunnels allowed the defending English soldiers to counter-attack the besieging French from behind.

Although there had been some form of defensive fortifications on the site since at least the second century during the Roman occupation of Britain – with archaeological evidence that some other kind of building occupied the spot going back as far as the Iron Age too – it wasn’t until the reign of King Henry II that Dover Castle started to grow into the structure that survives to this day. The inner and outer baileys built from around 1179 onwards as concentric defensive rings around the central keep were likely the first to have that design in Europe. Additional defensive improvements were made during Henry VIII‘s reign and significant changes to add bastions for gun emplacements took place on the cusp of the nineteenth century during the Napoleonic Wars.

Dover Castle is home to the Princess of Wales’ Royal Regiment and The Queen’s Regiment museum which might well be the museum with the longest name in the world. Not exactly the sort of thing that trips off the tongue.

While we’re fond of museums in general we’re not terribly military-minded, and histories of regiments aren’t the sort of draw for us that they may be for others. You might like it a lot but we found this to be little more than of passing interest, but it was inside where the wind and rain couldn’t get us so that was a bonus.

Of more interest to us was Henry II’s Great Tower, or the Keep. The rectangular design of the keep belongs to the fabulously-named Maurice the Engineer (or Mason), and Dover Castle’s keep would be one of the last to inherit this shape. Maurice had previously worked on the castle at Newcastle. The Great Tower is one of the largest castle keeps in the country and was built from Kent ragstone covered by Ashlar stone from Caen.

The main point of visiting the Great Tower was to climb to the top and brave the elements for views over the countryside and nearby town but there were a number of rooms to duck into on the way up – a handy excuse to take a rest if for some reason you’re not particularly fit but still find yourself compelled to take on physical activity practically beyond your capability at every chance like a certain couple of people I could mention – and we got to see glimpses of how the keep would have functioned during the medieval period.

To the roof of the keep then, and a chance to get a good feel for the challenge that would be faced by any attacking army in getting up the land and breaching the perimeter walls.

The views over parts of the Kent coastline and landscape and down into Dover were very good, and on a warm, bright day it would have been lovely to spend more time out there, but the wind was fierce and even though the rain was only drizzling now it was all still enough to encourage us to keep the visit brief. Brief for me is a relative term and my wife is fully aware that it means “Just one more shot from here, and then I haven’t taken a photo looking in that direction from on those steps, and then I might just need one more circuit in case I’ve missed something.”

Despite the high pressure sales tactics of the English Heritage staff on the day we’d like to return to Dover Castle at some point because there was a lot we didn’t get to see, especially everything connected with the first and second world wars. As mentioned before, this was due to a combination of some areas not being open on the day of our visit and some requiring timed entry that we didn’t feel was worth the wait then.

We finished our look around by heading across to St Mary in Castro, a church in the grounds of Dover Castle comprising of a main building dating back to the Saxon period (albeit significantly restored at various later periods in history) and a tower that was formerly a Roman lighthouse likely constructed in the second century C.E. This is one of only three lighthouses from the Roman era still surviving in the world, is the tallest still-standing Roman structure in the country, and has a claim to being the oldest standing building in the country too. That last one sounds a bit like those “oldest pub in England” claims that you can find somewhere in nearly every city, but it might actually be true.

We next drove the short distance down into Dover, not because we had any illusions that there would be much to see there – it’s a mainly commercial port town so if diesel fumes and the sight and sound of trucks is your thing, ya weirdo, then you might be thrilled by it all – but because we fancied a bite to eat and something to drink.

Dover was not a particularly attractive place, although the strong winds that had been with us had by now blown away most of the cloud cover and brightened it all up substantially. My love of brutalism means I do like to see lots of concrete and modern, sometimes highly utilitarian styles of architecture from the post-war period, but even here there wasn’t much to excite me. We naturally made our way down to the beach because we do like to be beside the seaside, and the views from the town up to the castle on the hill helped to give those fortifications a grander sense of imposing scale, but ultimately we stayed only long enough to eat, drink, and use the toilets before heading off.

The image that springs into the mind of most people who think about Dover is that of its famous White Cliffs, the chalk faces that stretch for thirteen kilometres and face towards France as historical symbols of defence and modern symbols of xenophobic insularism.

A short drive from the town set us down at the car park at the start of the walk we wanted to take just really to have said that we’ve done it. The initial view down to the commercial port really highlighted just what a blight it all was when compared to the historical monument we’d explored earlier in the day and the natural wonder we were about to stretch our legs along. Dover as a whole felt like a horrible mash of unconnected parts, possibly a result of constant threat and actual attacks due to its proximity to the continent, and possibly partly due to its exploitation for commercial means due to its proximity to the continent too. I’m not sure if I’m truly conveying how mostly unimpressed I was by it.

The walk along the White Cliffs of Dover was lovely. It was possible to get very close to the edge at times and the dipping, snaking route along the coastline of the English Channel provided some lovely views of the chalk cliffs and long drops in places. I’m not sure we would have enjoyed it quite as much if the rain from earlier in the day had still been present, but it wouldn’t have stopped us experiencing it and you really can’t visit this part of the country without doing this.

If you’re wondering whether it’s possible for you to see France from the cliffs at Dover then I can confirm that this is indeed the case. I can also confirm that if the weather conditions are right, as they were when we took this walk, it’s also possible for your phone to connect to a French provider because it has a stronger signal. We were quite surprised to get a message telling us we were on Vodafone France at one point and while this was fine for us because of there being no roaming charges to worry about it might be something you need to be aware of depending on how your phone contract works and whether things change in the future in the wake of Britain’s moronic face-plant out of the EU.

We had no intention of walking the entire length of the white cliffs – what the hell do you take us for? – but we did have a destination in mind; that being the South Foreland Lighthouse.

You can only reach the lighthouse on foot by walking from Dover or via a bicycle route, and the building, owned and managed by the National Trust (of which we are members) is well worth the visit. South Foreland was the first lighthouse to use electricity and it was where Marconi conducted a number of radio transmission experiments.

There are actually two lighthouses but the reasons for both being built is not truly understood since the answer typically given – that sailors would line both lights up in order to know when it was safe to turn past the Goodwin Sands – doesn’t ring true due to the shifting nature of the sandbanks which was known about long before the beacons’ construction in the nineteenth century. But never rule out it being the result of that most popular of Victorian pastimes, though:

Percy, listen to this idea! Not one, but two lighthouses at Dover!

Two!? Come now, James. We’re contracted for just the one.

But what if one falls off the cliff?

That’s… Well… I suppose it would be safer with two. Do they often fall off cliffs?

It’s very windy. I almost fell off a cliff once.

That’s settled, then. Two it is.

You know, three is better than two.

I think you’ve had enough opium for one day, James.

Exploring the relatively remote South Foreland Lighthouse during a reasonably quiet period of the year meant that there was hardly anyone else around which had the benefit of meaning that when we got to see the clockwork mechanism which turns the optics of the building my wife was told by the guide that she was allowed to turn the crank and set it all in motion. She is fond of pressing buttons and pulling levers if allowed to and she didn’t hesitate to play with the machinery.

Another good reason for visiting the lighthouse along the cliff walk was for the tea room that was attached to the property. Even though we’d not long eaten and had a drink in Dover we do try to spend a little extra whenever we’re visiting historic properties and this gave us a good excuse to have another sit down. The tea and cake we had were fantastic.

After we’d rested we made our way back along the cliffs to the car. This early in the year the sun was dipping towards the horizon already and we were walking directly towards it so there were fewer photographs on this return trek, with a rotating radar dish being the only thing that caught my attention.

So, my conclusion for our day trip to Dover is that I’d like to return one day to see more of the castle and ideally with better weather conditions. I’d also like not to have to incapacitate staff members for persistent upselling attempts. No means no.

If we were to return then I’d definitely head for another walk along the cliffs because that was nice, the views were lovely, and we need every opportunity to get out into the fresh air and move our legs since we probably don’t do anywhere near enough of that. As for the town of Dover, though, we’d likely give that a miss. It wasn’t unpleasant and oppressive in the same way that Barnsley and Blackpool are, but there was also nothing that suggested it was worthy of a return trip, and in a post-Brexit world it feels like it’s a place that will become more congested, noisier, more industrialised, and less welcoming over time.

The house at Hinton Ampner isn’t always open, and it wasn’t on the day we visited, but the ground and gardens are generally considered the main attraction of the site anyway, and so this post simply illustrates what you can see there if you pay it a visit.

The reason that the garden, designed by the last Baron Sherborne, Ralph Dutton, is considered the main draw for Hinton Ampner visitors has to do with the relatively young history of the house. The original estate and building of Dutton’s ancestors date back to the late sixteenth century. That allegedly (though clearly not) haunted building was demolished in the late eighteenth century and a plainer, more functional Georgian-style house was erected. In the middle of the nineteenth century Ralph Dutton’s grandfather remodelled the building in neo-Tudor style but when Dutton inherited Hinton Ampner in 1935 he sought to remove the previous century’s additions and return it more to the core Georgian style that he preferred. He did a similar thing to a lesser extent with the gardens. In 1960, however, the house caught fire and was almost completely destroyed. Dutton simply started over and rebuilt once more in a neo-Georgian architectural style.

The gardens generally reflect Dutton’s preference for the tightness of a formal structure surrounding a more natural environment. You can see this in the first photos from Hinton Ampner below where topiary forms precise borders to the wilder-looking plants and flowers within. These are from the Orchard, and the church in the photos is All Saints Church, originally Saxon but partly-rebuilt and added-to in the nineteenth century. The bell-tower, for instance, borrows heavily from French design influences.

A straight path almost two hundred metres long runs east-to-west across the gardens at Hinton Ampner; this is known as the Long Walk. It links off to all the other sections of the gardens such as the Sunken Garden with its raised beds, the Bastion‘s views across the Hampshire countryside, the lime tree-lined Avenue, the Yew Garden, the Magnolia Garden, and the Temple, a folly and gazebo with sheltered views back towards the house.

The design of the gardens is certainly interesting, even if overall there wasn’t a huge amount to see when we visited Hinton Ampner. That’s mostly our own fault for exploring during March, but the grounds do provide some challenges for growing plants anyway, with a lot of heavy, wet soil and a location that has to cope with exposed heat in the summer and little protection from the cold of winter. We’ll have to make a return trip when there’s more likely to be flowers on show and when we can take a look inside the house to see how good a job Dutton did with his Georgian design tendencies.