 CHAPTER XIX One of the greatest showplaces of England is Null House, the seat of the Sackville Wests near Sevenoaks. The owner at the time of our visit was the Lord Sackville West, who was British ambassador at Washington, where he achieved notoriety by answering a decoy letter advising a supposed British-American to vote for Grover Cleveland as being especially friendly to England. The letter created a tremendous furor in the United States, and the result was the abrupt recall of the distinguished writer from his post. No difficulty is experienced in obtaining admission to Null House, providing one pays the price. The thousands of tourists who come annually are handled in a most business-like manner, an admission fee of two shillings, or about fifty cents, is charged, and at numerous stands near the gateway photographs, postcards, souvenirs, and guidebooks galore are sold. Motorcars are allowed to drive right up to the great gateway, where they are assigned a position and supervised by an attendant, all for the sum of one shilling. However, the show is well worth the price, and the owner of the palace is entitled to no small credit for making it so readily accessible. The house is a fine example of the baronial residences erected just after the period of fortified castles, when artillery had rendered these fortress mansions useless as a means of defence. It surrounds three square courts, and covers about five acres. It contains three hundred and sixty-five rooms, and has seven great staircases, some of them very elaborate. The collection of paintings and medieval furniture is one of the best in England. The pictures are of untold value, one room being filled with originals by Gainsborough and Reynolds alone. Some idea of the value of these pictures may be gained from the fact that an offer of twenty thousand pounds for one of the Gainsborough's was refused, and there are other pictures quite as valuable, not only by English masters, but by great continental artists as well. King James I visited Null House, and preparations were made to receive him as befitted his rank. The immense state-room was especially furnished for the occasion at a cost, it is said, of about one hundred thousand pounds. This room has never been used since, and it stands today just as it did when it served its royal occupant, though the gorgeous hangings and tapestries are somewhat dingy and worn from the dust and decay of three hundred years. It took nearly two hours to go through the parts of the house that are shown, although the parties were accompanied by guides who kept them moving along. On the afternoon of our arrival there were quite a number of visitors, five motorcars and several carriages bringing them. Null House stands in a large park which has the finest beaches in England, and it is really more of a show place than a family residence. The Sackville Wests are among the richest of the nobility, and have other homes which are probably more comfortable than this impressive but unhome-like palace. Something similar to Null House is Penthurst Place, about ten miles away, but with an atmosphere and traditions quite different from the Sackville West mansion. This great palace, just adjacent to the village of Penthurst, was built in the thirteenth century, passing shortly after into the hands of the Sydney family, with whom it has remained ever since. Of the Sydney's, one only is known wherever the English language is spoken, the gallant young knight Sir Philip, who when still below the age of thirty, lost his life while fighting for a forlorn cause in the Netherlands. Of all the brilliant array of statesmen, soldiers and writers who graced the reign of Queen Elizabeth, none gave greater promise than did young Sydney. Nothing is more characteristic of him than the off-told story of how, when suffering from his death wound on the field of Zutphen, he gave to a wounded soldier by his side the Cup of Water, brought to him with the greatest difficulty. There are few who have received a higher or a more deserved tribute than that of the poet Watson, when he mused upon, The Perfect Knight, the soldier caught here barred in one, Sydney, that pensive, Hesper-light, or chivalry's departed son. Naturally we were interested in the ancestral home of such a man, and the many historical associations which have gathered round it. It was at the close of a busy day for us when we reached Penthurst, and learned that half an hour remained before the house would be closed for the day. Admission was easily gained, and ample time given to inspect such parts of the house as were shown. We entered the great park through a gateway near the church, where several members of the Sydney family are buried. The palace stands in a large open space with a level lawn in front, and the five hundred years which have passed over it have dealt kindly with it. Few of the ancient places which we had seen in England were in better state of preservation. Nor was this due so much to restoration as in many cases. It had never been intended as a fortified castle, and had escaped the ravages of war, which destroyed so many of the strongholds. Its most striking feature is the baronial hall, with its high open-rafted roof, maintained in general appearance and furnishing, much as it was five hundred years ago. It is of great size, and in early days the tables probably furnished cheer to hundreds of revelers at a time. At one end of the room is a gallery, which the musicians occupied, and at the other our attention was called to a small opening through which the Lord of the Establishment could secretly witness the doings in the hall. A remarkable feature is the fireplace, situated in the centre of the room, and without chimney of any kind, the smoke being left to find its way out through the windows or apertures in the roof, as the case might be, a striking example of the discomforts of the good old days when nighthood was in flower. Queen Elizabeth, who was one of the greatest royal travellers of her time, made a visit to the home of her favourite, Sydney, and the drawing-room which she honoured as a guest is still shown, with much of the handsome furniture which was especially made for the occasion of her Majesty's visit. On the walls are some examples of beautifully wrought needlework, and satin tapestry, which tradition says is the work of the Queen herself and her maidens. In the picture gallery the majority of the paintings are portraits of the Sydney family. From Penn's Hurst we return to Tumbridge Wells, having covered in all about one hundred miles since leaving that town, not a very long distance for a day's motoring, but we had seen more things of interest, perhaps, than on any other day of our tour. It was a fitting close to our tour, since we had determined that we would at once return to London and bid farewell to the English highways and byways. The next morning we spent a short time looking about Tumbridge Wells. This town has been known as a watering place since 1606, and has maintained great popularity ever since. Its unique feature is the promenade known as the Pantiles, with its row of stately lime trees in the centre, and its colonnade in front of the shops. It is referred to in Thackeray's Virginians, and readers of that story will recall his description of the scenes on the Pantiles in the time of the powdered wigs, silver buckles, and the fearful and wonderful hoop. Tumbridge Wells makes a splendid centre for several excursions, and one might well spend considerable time there. Our trip of the previous day had taken us at no time more than thirty miles from the town, and had covered only a few of the most interesting places within that distance. We were ready to leave Tumbridge Wells before noon, and it was with feelings of mingled satisfaction and regret that we turned toward London, about thirty miles away. Our long summer's pilgrimage through Britain was over. Despite our anxiety to return home, there was, after all, a sense of regret that we had left undone much that would have been well worthwhile. Our last day on the English country roads was a lovely one, a light rain had fallen the night before, just enough to beat down the dust and freshen the landscape. We passed through a country thickly interspersed with suburban towns. The fields had much the appearance of a well-kept park, and everything inspired to make the day a pleasant recollection. When we came into the immediate suburbs of London, I found that the knowledge I had gained on our frequent trips gave me a great advantage in getting into the city. I was able to avoid the crowded streets, and to select those where traffic was lighter, thus reducing the time of reaching our hotel fully an hour. There is much difference in the traffic on the eight bridges which cross the Thames. London Bridge, which crosses near the Bank of England, is the most congested of all. There is hardly an hour when it is not a compact mass of slowly moving vehicles. The bridge by Parliament House is less crowded, but I should say that Waterloo Bridge furnishes the best route for motorists in getting across the river. It leads directly into the new boulevard known as Kingsway, which has just been completed at an expense of many millions of pounds. This is the broadest street in London, and was opened by wholesale condemnation of private property. It is little used for heavy traffic, and has a fine asphalted surface. It extends from the Strand to Holborn, the two principal business arteries of London. The street now presents a rather ragged appearance on account of the buildings that were torn down to make way for it. However, new structures of fine architecture are rapidly being built, and Kingsway is destined to become one of the handsomest boulevards in the world. A little afternoon, we reached our London hotel, having spent ten weeks in touring England, Wales, and Scotland. We had not confined ourselves to the highways, but had journeyed a great part of the distance through less frequented country roads. In fact, many of the most charming places we had visited could be reached only from the byways, and were not immediately accessible from railway stations. With the exception of the first two weeks, when we had rain more or less every day, we had been favoured with exceptionally fine weather. During the last seven or eight weeks of our trip, only light showers had fallen, and we were assured that the season had been an unusual one for England. The matter of weather is not of great moment to the motorist in Great Britain. The roads are not affected in the least, so far as travelling is concerned, and dashing through the open air in a rain is not an unpleasant experience. A closed top for the car is rarely necessary. Plenty of waterproof coats and coverings answer the purpose very well, and the open air is much pleasanter than being cooped up in a closed vehicle. Rubber tires do not slip on good macadam roads, and during our tour it was necessary to use chains on the wheels only a few times. Altogether, the experience was worthwhile, nor was it so expensive as many have imagined it to be. A party of three or four people with their own car, if one of them drives, can tour Britain for less than it would cost to cover the same ground, travelling first class by railway train. As to the comparative satisfaction derived from the two methods of touring, no comment whatever is needed. Making the trip by motor affords so many advantages and so many opportunities of seeing the country, and of coming in touch with the people, that there is really no other method that can in any way compare with it. End of chapter 19 Chapter 20 of British Highways and Biways from a Motor Car by Thomas Stowler Murphy. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Christine Blashford. Chapter 20 Some Might Have Beans In closing this desultery record of a summer's motoring in Britain, I can easily see that a great deal was missed, much of which might have been included with little or no loss of time had we been well enough informed in advance. There were cases where we actually passed through places of real interest only to learn later that we had overlooked something that might well have engaged our attention. There were other points readily accessible from our route, which we omitted because previously visited by rail, and though many of these places we should have been glad to see again our limited time forbade. In order to get all that should be gotten out of a five thousand mile tour by motor car, one would have to be familiar indeed with England's history and traditions, as well as conversant with her literature. There is little opportunity for studying handbooks as one goes along. A few weeks of preparation of well selected reading and the study of roadbooks and maps would make such a tour doubly valuable in saving time and in an intelligent understanding of the country and the places worth seeing. What one should have done, he will know far better after the trip is over, and the main excuse for this modest record is that it may supply in popular form some data from the experience of one who has been over part of the ground, while the superb illustrations of the volume will give a far better idea of what awaits the tourist than the mere written words. Among the places in which our time was too short is Canterbury, another day would have given us a chance to see more of that ancient town, and a side-trip of thirty miles would have taken us to Sandwich, Margate, and Reculvers. We had expected to come a second time to Canterbury and to visit these three points then, but were unable to carry out our plan. Sandwich was at one time an important seaport, but lost its position from the same cause that affected so many of the South Coast towns, the receding of the sea. It contains many of the richest bits of medieval architecture in England, and a few hours in its quaint streets would have been well repaid. Reculvers, or ancient Rajulbium, was a Roman city that was destroyed by the encroachments of the sea. Here is one of the oldest and strangest of the ruined churches in England, now standing on the verge of the ocean, which still continues to advance with the prospect of ultimately wiping out the little village. On our trip to Manchester we passed within two or three miles of Knutsford, the delightful old town selected by Mrs. Gaskell as the scene of her story, Granford. Had we known of this at the time a short detour would have taken us through its quaint streets. The Isle of White is immediately across the straight from Southampton, and while a motor-car could be transported by steamer to traverse its 50 or 60 miles of main road, this is not very often done. It would require one or two days to visit the interesting points in the island, among which our Kerasbrook Castle, where King Charles I was confined as a prisoner, Osborne House, formerly a royal residence, but presented to the nation by King Edward, and Freshwater, the home where the poet Tennyson lived for many years. Sherbourne and Chukesbury were both only a few miles off our route, and had we planned rightly we could have visited with very little loss of time these two interesting towns with their great abbey churches, which rank in size and importance with many of the cathedrals. Ten miles from Penzance would have brought us to Land's End, the extreme southwestern point of England, a bounding in wild and beautiful ocean shore scenery, but the story of dangerous hills deterred us, though we afterwards regretted our decision. Nor could we pass again as we did at Camelford in Cornwall, within five miles of King Arthur's Tintagel, without seeing this solitary and wonderfully romantic ruin with the majestic, even awe-inspiring scenery around it. Perhaps the most interesting trip which we missed, but which would have required more time than we could give, was a two or three days run through the extreme south of Wales. It is only thirty miles from Monmouth to Cardiff, a coal mining metropolis, itself of little interest, but with many places worth visiting in its immediate vicinity. Cardiff Castle, too, is one of the best known of the Welsh ruins, and here Henry I confined his elder brother Robert for twenty years, while he himself, in reality a usurper, held the English throne. Ten miles north of Cardiff is the rude and inaccessible castle of Caerphilly, which has reckoned the most extensive ruin in the kingdom. Following the coast road for one hundred miles, one comes to the ancient town of St David's at the extreme southwestern point of Wales. Here in the Middle Ages was a city of considerable size, a great resort of pilgrims to St David's shrine, William the Conqueror being one of these. The modern St David's is a mere village, and its chief attraction is its grand cathedral, and the ruins of the once gorgeous Episcopal Palace. The cathedral built in the tenth century is curiously situated in a deep dell, and only the great tower is visible from the village. The return trip from St David's would best be made over the same road to Carmarthen, then taking the road northward to Land Overy, where is located one of the ruins of what was once the greatest abbey in southern Wales. From this point the road director Abergavenny is a good one, and passes through much of the picturesque hill country of Wales. From Bangor in north Wales it is about twenty miles to Holyhead, from which point the car could easily be transferred to Ireland in two or three hours. This would mean an additional two weeks to the tour, and no doubt more time could pleasantly be spent in the Emerald Isle. The roads in Ireland are far from equal to those of England or Scotland, but the scenery, especially on the coast, is even lovelier, and the points of interest quite as numerous. The Isle of Man in the Irish Channel is a famous resort of motorists, and many of the speed and reliability contests have been held there. It is about the only spot in the world where no speed limit is imposed, the inhabitants of the island recognizing the financial advantage which they reap from the numerous motorists. There are about fifty or sixty miles of road in the island said to be as fine as any in the world. The island is charming and interesting, with ruins and relics dating from the time it was an independent kingdom. The two days which would have to be given it would be well spent. No one who had not visited it before would miss the Lake District in the north of England. A former trip through this section by coach caused us to omit it from our tour, though we would gladly have seen this delightful country a second time. One could depart from the main highway from Lancaster to Carlyle at Kendall, and in a single day visit most of the haunts of Ruskin, Coleridge, Wordsworth and Southie, whose names are always associated with the English lakes. Many steep hills would be encountered, but none that would present great difficulty to a moderate powered motor. It would be much better, however, if two or three days could be given to the lakes, and this time might also include Furnace Abbey and Lanacost Priory. Volumes have been written of the English lakes, but with all the vivid pen pictures that have been drawn one will hardly be prepared for the beauty of the reality. The Peak District in Derbyshire we omitted for the same reason, a previous visit. At Nottingham we were within ten or fifteen miles of this section, and by following a splendid road could have reached Rowsley Station with its quaintin near Chatsworth House and Haddon Hall. No one who makes any pretence of seeing England will miss either of these places. Haddon Hall is said to be the most perfect of the baronial mansion houses now to be found in England. It is situated in a wonderfully picturesque position on a rocky bluff overlooking the river Y. The manor was originally given by the conqueror to Peverell of the Peak, the hero of Scott's novel. The mansion is chiefly famous for its connection with Dorothy Vernon, who married the son of the Earl of Rutland in the time of Queen Elizabeth, the property thus passing to the Rutland family who are still the owners. The mansion is approached by a small bridge crossing the river whence one enters under a lofty archway the main courtyard. In this beautiful quadrangle one of the most interesting features is the chapel at the southwest corner. This is one of the oldest portions of the structure. Almost opposite is the magnificent porch and bay window leading into the great hall. This is exactly as it was in the days of the Vernons, and its table at which the Lord of the Feasts sat, its huge fireplace, timber roof, and minstrel gallery are quite unaltered. It has recently been announced that the Duke of Rutland will make repairs to this old place and occupy it as one of his residences, closing Belvoir Castle, his present home, on account of the great expense of maintaining it. Four or five miles from Haddon Hall is Chatsworth House, the splendid country seat of the Duke of Devonshire. This was built over a hundred years ago and is as fine an example of the modern English mansion as Haddon Hall is of the more ancient. It is a great building in the Georgian style, rather plain from the outside, but the interior is furnished in great splendour. It is filled with objects of art presented to the family at various times, some of them representing gifts from nearly every crowned head in Europe during the last hundred years. Its galleries contain representative works of the greatest ancient and modern artists. Even more charming than the mansion itself are its gardens and grounds. Nowhere in England are these surpassed. The mansion with its grounds is open daily to the public without charge, and we were told that in some instances the number of visitors reaches one thousand in a single day. As I noted elsewhere, the Duke of Devonshire owns numerous other palaces and ruins, all of which are open to the public without charge—a fine example of the spirit of many of the English nobility who declined to make commercial enterprises of their historic possessions. In this immediate vicinity is Buxton, another of the English watering places famous for mineral springs. The neighbourhood is most romantic with towering cliffs, strange caverns, leaping cataracts, and wooded valleys. However, the section abounds in very steep hills, dangerous to the most powerful motor. In Yorkshire we missed much, chiefly on accounts of lack of time. A single day's journey would have taken us over a fine road to Scarborough, an ancient town which has become a modern sea coast resort, and to Whitby with one of the finest abbey ruins in the Shire, as well as to numerous other interesting places between. Barnard Castle, lying just across the western boundary of Yorkshire, was only a few miles off the road from Darlington, and would have been well worth a visit. These are only a few of the many places which might be seen to advantage if one could give at least a week to Yorkshire. From Norwich an hour or two would have taken us to Yarmouth through the series of beautiful lakes known as the Norfolk Boards. Yarmouth is an ancient town with many points of interest, and at present noted principally for its fisheries. On the road to Colchester we might easily have visited Berry St Edmunds, and coming out of Colchester only seven miles away is the imposing ruin of the unfinished mansion of the Marnys, which its builder hoped to make the most magnificent private residence in the kingdom. The death of Lord Marny and his son brought the project to an end, and for several hundred years this vast ruin has stood as a monument to their unfulfilled hopes. It may seem that as Americans we were rather unpatriotic to pass within a few miles of the ancestral country of the Washingtons without visiting it, but such was the case. It is not given much space in the guidebooks, and it came to us only as an afterthought. It was but five or six miles from Northampton through which we passed. In the old church at Brington is the tomb of George Washington's great great great grandfather, and also one of the houses which was occupied by his relatives. In the same section is Sulgrave Manor, the home of the Washingtons for several generations, which still has over its front doorway the Washington Coat of Arms. In the same vicinity, and near the farmhouse where George Elliot was born, is Naneaton, a place where she spent much of her life, and to which numerous references are made in her novels. In Scotland we also missed much, but very little that we could have reached without consuming considerably more time. A day's trip north of Edinburgh across the Firth of Forth into Fife would have enabled us to visit Loch Levin, and its castle where Queen Mary was held prisoner, and was rescued by young Douglas, whom she afterward unfortunately married. Had we started two or three hours earlier on our trip to Abbotsford and Melrose, we could easily have reached Jedba and Kelso, at each of which there are interesting abbey ruins. Of course it would have been a fine thing to go to the extreme northern point of Scotland, known as Jono Grotes, but this, at the rate we travelled, would have consumed two or three days. The country is not especially interesting and has few historical associations. Tourists make this trip chiefly to be able to say they have covered the kingdom from Land's End to Jono Grotes. I have said little of the larger cities. We did not stop long in any of these. The chief delight of motoring in Britain is seeing the country and the out-of-the-way places, in the cities where one may spend days, and where the train service and other methods of transportation in the place and its suburbs are practically unlimited, one can ill afford to linger with his car in the garage much of the time. Of London I have already spoken. Liverpool, Manchester, Leeds, Bristol, Birmingham, Edinburgh and Glasgow are examples to my point. We had visited nearly all of these by rail, but in again planning a tour by car I should not stop at such places for any length of time, and should avoid passing through them whenever practicable. Of course I do not pretend in the few suggestions I have made in this chapter to have named a fraction of the points of interest that we did not visit, only the ones which appealed to me most when I had become more familiar with Britain. I can only offer these few comments to show how much more might have been compassed in the space of a week or two, leaving out Ireland, John O'Groats and the oars of white and man. One week would have given ample time for us to include the places I have enumerated, and planning a tour, individual taste, must be a large element. What will please one may not appeal so strongly to another. Still, I am sure that the greater part of the route which we covered, and which I have tried to outline, will interest any one who cares enough to give the time and money necessary to tour Britain. End of Chapter 20. And End of British Highways and Biways from a Motor Car by Thomas Dowler Murphy.