To Bath (and back again one day)
I had previously visited Bath only five times in my life – three of them day expeditions to watch the Harlequins play “away” Premiership matches against Bath Rugby – and so my wife and I, delighted to take up the suggestion of the Rust’s esteemed sports editor that we join him at The Rec last Friday for another in the series, decided to make a weekend of it.
Relieved of any responsibility to report upon the game – and here I heartily encourage Rusters to read Mr Hollingworth’s own account of proceedings which appears elsewhere upon this organ – we were therefore able to relax and enjoy what the city has to offer in a general sense.
Our drive from Chichester was relatively uneventful, albeit that the A27 going west towards Southampton boasts one of the largest road occupational hazards in which the United Kingdom uniquely seems to specialise, viz. in this particular case a fifteen-plus mile section of cordoned-off roadworks on both sides of the dual carriageway upon which a 50mph speed limit is imposed in both directions … and yet also, strangely, upon which – for at least four years now – not a single workman or indeed any area of actual roadworks taking place has ever been seen.
The other phenomenon slowing our progress was the amount of traffic – even before lunchtime on a Friday – that was attempting to use the A36 north-westwards from Southampton through Salisbury. With the significant number of traffic lights and/or roundabouts along the way we endured umpteen instances of having to crawl – one or two car-lengths at a time – towards junctions etc.
After a two and a half hour journey we checked into our hotel – the Francis on Queen Square, an agreeably comfortable establishment right in the heart of the city – and wandered up the hill to join the sports editor for a cream tea at the Royal Crescent where he had recently taken up residence in the royal suite, courtesy of his legendary Rust board-level executive expense account.
The Royal Crescent is rightly one of the signature images of Bath but – for me – in order to fully appreciate its magnificence, one needs to see it on foot from the bottom of the hill which we dd not have the time to do on our relatively-crowded schedule.
Of the other “must see” Bath venues, we took in the Holburne Museum – originally established by a 19th Century private collector – specifically because of the temporary exhibition of The Tudors: Passion, Power and Politics currently being housed there which had been recommended to us.
This proved fascinating, impressive and also educational.
Even though Elizabeth I apparently did not enjoy sitting for portraits, several of her at different stages of her life were on show. This onlooker’s impression that her eyes were following him around the room was enhanced by the knowledge that she had physically sat for two of them.
Portraits of Henry VIII, and the Thomases – Cromwell, Moore and Cramner – had the same eerie effect.
I happen to love odd trivial facts about past historical figures. Until last weekend I had no idea that Mary, Queen of Scots was five feet eleven inches tall.
Next we visited the Jane Austen Centre just off Queen Square – another worthwhile stop-off.
The staff, mostly in Austen costume, were friendly and enthusiastic.
Every half hour a male actor in costume offered a well-rehearsed and informative background history of Jane Austen’s family and life in an engaging but slightly “over the top” style. During this we learned that at one stage she, her mother and sister were reduced to living in what might be described as Bath’s most debauched street and that Jane was once engaged, but only for 12 hours. Having slept on her acceptance of the proposal she had second thoughts and ended it the next morning.
Meeting up with said thespian again later on our way to the shop and exit, we had a fun conversation with him and he then took photographs of us standing beside an excellent mannequin of Jane – here I must reference again my fetish about people’s heights because we were informed that she was five feet seven. Before moving on we spent over £80 on souvenirs from the shop – acquiring inter alia a copy of an item of Jane Austen juvenilia – a tongue-in-cheek history of English kings and queens written when she was 16.
At the end of all this, the impression I came away with was that Bath is a wonderful city to visit on a weekend break.
Ironically, it was less her range of historic (tourist) venues that “lit my fire” (on this stay we visited relatively few) than the general atmosphere, the throng of people going about their business and leisure pursuits, the buildings in that typical dirty-pale yellow stone – in short, the whole “buzz” of the place – giving off an air of relaxation and calm which this visitor found not only welcoming but sufficiently positive that before leaving I made a vow to return to wallow in it again ere long.
Bath is that type of place.
