A Magical Mystery Tour!

The English county of Devon has to be one of the most beautiful places on earth. Tucked away in the Southwest corner of England between Cornwall, Somerset and Dorset, it is the only county with two coastlines - the Bristol Channel to the North and the English Channel to the South. On both you'll find numerous fishing villages and seaside towns, popular with tourists. In between are rolling green hills and valleys, dotted with tiny, narrow lanes, lots of sheep and cows, organic farms, interesting, historic towns and villages.

 

In the middle, stretches the brooding expanse of Dartmoor, 954 square kilometers, populated by wild ponies, a forbidding, early 19th century granite prison for men, deep-sucking bogs and creeks. Myths and legends abound of the howling Hounds of the Baskerville, of fierce winds and dense fogs, of ghosts and smugglers.

My recent visit to Devon was of a much more placid nature, I'm glad to say. Visiting a dear friend of very long standing, who lives in a converted barn on one of those narrow, winding roads, we passed our few days together appreciating the late blooming bluebells and primroses that splashed their bright colors in the woods and along the hedgerows.

Along with all of that, Jill also introduced me to a couple of places that are steeped in history, magic and mystery.

The medieval manor house at Cotehele, just on the very edge of Devon and Cornwall, offers a rare window into the past. One of the least altered medieval houses in England, it came into the Edgecumbe family through marriage in 1353. Apart from improvements made in the late 15th/early 16th centuries, it has remained largely unchanged. Generations of the Edgecumbe family continued to own the estate, all the way until 1947, when, to pay the onerous death duties, the property was given to the Treasury, and became part of the National Trust.

Thanks to the Trust's great devotion to preservation, today, you can visit Cotehele, and entering into the Great Hall -- with its fine displays of arms and armory beneath the high, arched timber roof -- you feel yourself stepping back eight centuries.

Leaving the chilly, stone-floored great hall, we climbed upstairs, where I finally "got" the whole idea of tapestries! Every room, and every door in every room, was hung with original Flemish tapestries, depicting Greek and Roman myths, hunting scenes, etc., all still remarkably vibrantly colored.

What I "got" was the fact that the temperature was many many degrees warmer in all these rooms. With good-sized stone fireplaces everywhere, it wasn't hard to imagine it being quite cozy back there in the 14th/15th centuries!

In a tower that was added in the early 1600s, we found this bedroom where, rumor has it, King Charles I once slept!

If you look carefully toward the back corner of the small chapel, through an archway, you can just make out some cogs and wheels. Installed in 1489, this is a pre-pendulum clock, powered by two 90-lb weights.

At the time the house was built, England was awash with unrest. Manor houses were quite small, compact, fortified with granite walls so they could be defended. Within the house itself, there were clever ways to check on any unwanted intruders getting into the Great Hall, such as this peephole from the second floor!

 Today, those fears are long gone. The grounds of Cotehele stretch all the way down to the banks of the River Tamar.

Making our way down there, we were stopped, breathless, at the beautiful formal gardens...

...and further on, the azaleas and rhodies, just blazing with color...

...till at the bottom we walked past this bank of bluebells, ferns, primroses, wild campion, and other wild flowers, where I would have happily sat for hours, if the bench had not already been occupied!

Our "mystery" outing came a couple of days later, when we drove over to Greenway, another National Trust property, this one the former home of Dame Agatha Christie!

Bought by Christie and her husband, the archeologist, Max Mallowan, in 1938, the Georgian house, set on a promontory overlooking the River Dart, was probably built in the late 18th century. It remained their holiday home and retreat until their deaths in the mid-1970s.  Her daughter and husband continued to live there until 2004.

Restored by the National Trust in 2008, the interior of the house gives off the comfortable feel of a "country home". Hats are left lying on tables, umbrella stands are packed with walking sticks, clocks tick away the hours.

In the morning room, a portrait of Agatha Christie as a child shows a remarkable facial likeness to photos of her as an adult.

The family were avid collectors: china, postage stamp boxes, cigarette cases, silver, Tunbridgeware, chairs and other items made from papier-mâché, etc. This table shows just a few of Christie's collection of pocket watches and snuffboxes.

The library shelves are jammed with Christie's books. The frieze around the ceiling was painted by a US Navy Officer during WWII, when he and others were billeted at Greenway. It follows their voyages around Britain, through the Straits of Gibraltar and on to Salerno and Sicily. After the War, the Navy offered to paint it out, but Christie insisted on keeping it in place, as a memorial to the war and as part of the house's history.

In the spacious drawing room, Agatha Christie played the piano, wrote letters to friends and gave dinner parties. After dinner, she would read excerpts from her latest manuscript and challenge her guests to guess "whodunnit". Christie wrote 80 murder mysteries, and, according to the Guinness Book of Records, she ties Shakespeare as being the best-selling writer of all time! Three of her books are set in or around Greenway: Five Little Pigs, Towards Zero, and Dead Man's Folly.

Outside, this glorious greenhouse forms one side of a walled garden. Again, because everything is so late this year, the wisteria was still in full and splendid bloom. The greenhouse forms part of the Dead Man's Folly mystery, as well as the tennis court, where real clues and red herrings were placed for the murder hunt!




Above and below the house, some 30 acres of gardens wind up from the River Dart through swathes of camellias, rhododendrons and magnolias.

Climbing to the top of the Estate, we looked down onto the river with, way in the distance, the small town of Kingsbridge, from where people take the ferry over to the naval town of Dartmouth. Or they can take the ferry from there to Greenway itself, meandering up the Dart estuary, catching a glimpse of the Georgian house peeking above them through the trees. Getting ready to step into the magical mystery world of Miss Marple and M. Poirot.

With its generally gentle climate, its glorious scenery and stirring history, its dialect that sounds like a pirate's accent, and not forgetting its Devonshire Teas with Clotted Cream, it's no surprise that people fall in love with Devon. Henry Newbolt sums it up pretty well:

Deep-wooded combes, clear-mounded hills of morn,
  

Red sunset tides against a red sea-wall,
  

High lonely barrows where the curlews call,


Far moors that echo to the ringing horn, --

Devon! thou spirit of all these beauties born,
  

All these are thine, but thou art more than all.

À bientôt!

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Where Eagles Dare...

...and also falcons, hawks, owls, vultures, and one Secretary Bird...

The medieval town of Provins lies just 80 kilometers southeast of Paris, an easy train ride from the Gare de l'Est. The old capital of the Counts of Champagne, Provins today is a city frozen in time.

Its fortified ramparts stretch as far as the eye can see, offering the feudal lords in the 12th and 13th centuries a perfect defence against the Kings of France.

Inside the gates, winding streets lead the visitor past stone houses, covered at this time of the year with wisteria and other climbing vines...

...and timbered houses that show the beauty of lilacs as well!

In the very heart of the town, La Place du Châtel is still home to an ancient well and the "Exchange Cross", dating from the 13th century. Here, financial transactions took place, and public notices were posted with edicts from the Counts of Champagne.

Just visible in the background, and a short walk away, the Saint-Quiriace Collegiate Church dominates the lower part of town. Begun in the 12th century under Count Henri le Liberal, it was never completed, due to financial difficulties in the reign of Philippe le Bel. After a fire in the 17th century, the striking dome was erected. Every evening at dusk, it is lit, spilling its soft glow for miles around.

Inside, under the soaring vaulted roof, a celebration of Sunday Mass honored VE Day (May 8), when all of France pauses in memory of the end of WWII in Europe. On the right, two French Tricolors can just barely be seen, marking the occasion.

Just above Saint-Quiriace, on the edge of a rocky spur, stands the redoubtable 12th century Tour César. As a symbol of the Counts of Champagne's power, it was used as a watch tower, a prison and a bell-tower.

Matthew and I slowly made our way up the winding stairways to the top of the tower...

...where the views were stunning.

The bell tower itself was added in the 17th century to house the bells of the church below, after it burned.

Mercifully, it did not ring during our visit!

Just off the main square, this 12th century tithe barn (grange au dîmes) became a centre of the commercial fairs that moved around this part of France. Strategically situated, La Champagne stood at the commercial crossroads for merchants from the North, South and East.

Inside, merchants came from Venice, Florence, Genoa and Flanders, as well as from local areas to set up their wares.

The money-changer had an important role to play. He sat on un banc, a bench, and the word banc soon became "banker". His table and bench might be ceded as a fief, or sold out. Here, he weighs the coins to be sure they are honest!

Then there was the scribe, the letter-writer. On a wax board, he wrote down every deed between the merchants and the changers, drew up the rules of the fairs, as well as the bills of exchange. By the way, if he wrote with his right hand, he chose a feather from the left wing of a bird, and vice-versa if he wrote with his left hand!

Today, Provins cherishes its unique historical heritage, along with some modern additions for the thousands of families who come here every year. In December, 2001, the city became part of UNESCO's World Heritage Lists. 

As well as carousel rides, horse buggy rides, live music, shops selling specialties of the region, and a good choice of cafés and restaurants, visitors can also dress up in medieval costumes, like this knight, and then take home a photograph as a souvenir.

For most visitors, though, the climax of their visit takes place with this man, Philippe Hertel, and his colleagues, who present a show twice a day: Les Aigles des Remparts (Eagles of the Ramparts). As a mad lover of birds, I was curious to see the show, but never could have imagined what was about to unfold before our very eyes!

Set against the inside corner of one section of the ramparts, the Vol Libre team, with costumes, music, props and narration, transported us back to medieval times and the world of falconry and raptors. 

Up on the ramparts, a man walked along, a large raptor on his hand. When he reached the corner, he released the bird, who soared way up and then swooped low, low, low over the audience, before climbing back up into the sky again...

...and then down into the arena, where the same man's arm was waiting. That was just the beginning.

For the next 50 minutes, we sat spellbound as more and more birds appeared, circled, swooped, rushed toward us, then veered away, only to return, on a signal, and land on the trainer's glove, like this small falcon.

 After the falcons, it was time for owls! First to fly in was this big grey species from Russia...

...then from out of nowhere, barn owls appeared, maybe a dozen of them, flying this way and that, almost touching our heads as they skimmed by us.

Here's one, perched on the railing, as a second one comes flying in on the right...

...a second later, and they are both on her arm!

One of the big delights for me was the appearance of a Secretary Bird (Sagittarius serpentarius), a large, mostly ground-dwelling bird that's endemic to sub-Saharan Africa. I used to see them in the South African game parks when I lived there. Wonderful birds, tall, long legs with this quill of feathers on the back of the head. Striding through the bush with their distinctive grey and black plumage, they look like Dickensian clerks scurrying to don an eyeshade and pick up their pen - thus the name, Secretary Bird!

In Sunday's show, the setting was more like Sudan, with the trainers in desert garb, the one dangling a wriggling rope to mimic a snake, the bird's favorite food. See if you can get this video to play on your computer.

By this time, we were breathless! Then, a movement behind us:  a bald eagle taking off from a platform...

...landing just a few feet in front of us, before taking off again...

...coming to rest even closer, folding its massive wingspan neatly in!

Throughout the show, one or other of the crew wove the wonderful history of falconry into an excellent narration, which also told us so much about these raptors, these birds of prey, how each is adapted to its particular environment, how their incredible eyesight and hearing is key to their success, etc. etc. Vol Libre's birds are born in captivity, some of them in their own bird enclosures behind the arena. They also take ownership of birds from zoos, bird parks, as well as from private breeders in England, Belgium and Germany.  I have mixed feelings about birds in cages, but watching these magnificent creatures in action, soaring through the sky, and then returning to their keepers, you really sensed a strong relationship between them, one of mutual respect and admiration.

As a final image, they released half a dozen vultures, who hovered above us and perched on the ramparts, their flexible necks twisted, their heads peering down at us. Silhouetted against the sky, their malevolent aspect was palpable. Perhaps this was our cue to leave this magical medieval world, and head back home to rue Réaumur, where our avian neighbors are mostly pigeons, and the occasional blackbird, whose song always brings a smile to my face!

À bientôt!