A Shropshire sojourn

To our left, a pair of perfect parabolas arched across the broad green fields, iridescent croquet hoops complete end to end with six bands of color from violet to red.

We were traveling along a clear line of climatic demarcation, with the bright sun low in the clear sky to the west, while dark clouds boiled to the east, and even though we were moving at 50 mph, the two arches lingered for as many minutes, paralleling our progress.

We interpreted those leaps of light as an auspicious omen -- we had just been exonerated from paying a $100 parking ticket.

My wife, Sari, and I flew to England in mid-March to visit two Pittsburgh friends, Rise and Daniel Nagin, who were spending a month at Cambridge. After three days in that ancient college town, the four of us drove off to explore Shropshire, the county in the western midlands, between Birmingham and Manchester along the Welsh borderlands. Although none of us were familiar with that part of England, it held a number of things about which I had long been curious.

The "Shropshire Lad" series of 63 poems published by A.E. Housman in 1896 notwithstanding, chief among these attractions was the town of Shrewsbury, with its long and colorful reputation as a medieval gem. The bucolic Shropshire countryside is also dotted with even older historic sites, as well as several grand baronial estates from the 18th and 19th centuries. It seemed a fertile destination to explore for a few days, especially when we discovered excellent and affordable accommodation with a history all its own.

 

 

Situated in the northern Shropshire countryside halfway between Shrewsbury to the south and Chester to the north, Combermere Abbey dates back to 1133, when it was established by Cistercian monks under the support of Hugh de Malbanc, the Norman lord of the nearby market town of Nantwich.

The abbey flourished until 1536, when along with countless other ecclesiastic properties in England, it was dissolved by Henry the VIII. The 22,000-acre estate centered around a 14-acre glacially carved lake, or mere, was deeded to Sir George Cotton, whose family owned the expanse for another 400 years.

Since 1919, the estate has been owned by the Crossley family, and when the current heir, Sara Callandar Beckett, assumed ownership in the early 1990s, she and her husband undertook the project of restoring Combermere, both as a residence and self-supporting operation.

Although Combermere's acreage has diminished dramatically over the past century, its central 1,100 acres remain, including the sprawling manor house by the mere, the Victorian-era stable complex and a five-acre walled formal garden. Its fields are operated as an organic dairy farm, and the stable block, constructed in 1837, has been converted into 11 charming but modernized, two- and three-bedroom, self-catering holiday apartments, which are available to rent by the week.

A bargain in the off-season, our cottage gave us a superb base from which to explore the area. We saved money by preparing meals in the kitchen, and the fireplace in the living room kept us cozy the first evening when gale force winds howled outside.

Our first day's excursion was to Chester, 20 miles to the north in Cheshire.

Situated on the broad estuary of the Dee River, the city has been prominent since the late first century, when Roman legions sailed up from the Irish Sea and established a settlement. Chester's center is still ringed by medieval walls. Remains of the Roman town are also evident, especially just outside the South gate in the wall, where the bathhouse and a huge amphitheater were once located.

We arrived about 1 p.m. and parked in a public lot outside the West gate and spent three hours circumnavigating the city walls and checking out its medieval heart. Although picturesque, many of Chester's black and white facades are faux, dating not from the Middle Ages but a Victorian building boom three centuries later.

But our sunny moods faded when we returned to the car and discovered the $100 parking ticket on the front window. One of us (whose name will not be mentioned) had paid the 5-pound ($10) fee for parking but had mistakenly laid the receipt upside down on the dashboard. Even though we still had time on the receipt, we'd been given a ticket that amounted to $100.

We immediately resolved to appeal our case before leaving town. It took fancy footwork to figure out where the parking administration was located, but I'm pleased to report that after listening to our pleas of touristic ignorance, the clerk promptly canceled the fine.

It was for overcoming that challenge we felt rewarded by the subsequent superb rainbow display.

We saved Shrewsbury (pronounced "Shroos bury") for our final day.

As in so many places on this island, history is layered around this venerable seat of country Shropshire like the skins of an onion.

Sited on a bluff over a sweeping loop in the upper Severn River near its origin in the mountains of Wales, it was settled as a Saxon outpost in campaigns against the Welsh tribes. Yet ruins five miles downriver date to Roman times. Stones cut by the Romans were re-used in the construction of Shrewsbury's Norman fortresses and medieval churches.

Most noted among these venerable Shrewsbury structures is the Benedictine abbey founded in 1083. Although most of the abbey's buildings were pulled down during Henry VIII's dissolution of the Catholic Church, the hulking church still stands with its Norman tower and superb 14th century stained glass west window. Shrewsbury Abbey was the main milieu of Brother Cadfael, Ellis Peter's fictional medieval detective who was featured in a popular public broadcast series.