I started the day at Swindon which has been no more than a base to explore the surrounding parts of Oxfordshire. Before I begin describing the events of the day it would not be out of place to mention a couple of aspects of England that become clearer the more I travel.
The first is the often heard criticism of public transport. It is an exaggerated response that comes from habit. Perhaps it has been different in the past but public transport as it is today suits me very well. I have found both buses and trains to be of great convenience and even perhaps the best way to discover the country. In many cases, journeys are just as exciting as the destinations. Hills and valleys, farms and villages, woods and pastures, buildings and bridges are all to be admired in their own right from the comfort of a bus. No matter what the weather, there is always something in the air to excite the soul, be it a spectacular sunset colouring the plains a russet hue, a clear cloud wreathed in a silver lining or dark clouds blanketing the landscape to harmonious shades. None of these can be appreciated from the driver’s seat. Exploring a countryside is not just limited to the land but also her people and their culture. Driving a car puts you in isolation in a world of your own. Taking public transport puts you in their world, giving an incomparable first hand opportunity to observe, interact, reflect and learn.
This leads me to the second point – the affable and unassuming nature of the English. Despite the occasional lapse, the overall impression has been favourable – a friendly bus driver, a courteous ticket checker, a friendly hiker… so much so that even pets seem to imbibe much of such good natured behaviour. If at times I have been unable to appreciate them it can only be attributed to a cultural difference that creates inhibitions and prejudices on my part.
Of the day’s events, much can be said but I have little words to describe the beauty of the landscape. Surprisingly this is a landscape much altered by man, clothed in stubble corn fields, short green grass, hedgerows and little villages. How much more breathtaking will be landscapes untouched by man?
For miles across, one can see the Uffington White Horse sketched out elegantly on the slopes in one sweeping dynamic stride. The ancient art of our prehistoric ancestors is free and lively. It does not conform to artistic movements or to the tastes of discerning audiences. It is of the essence of man’s inherent free spirit keenly expressed through the inspiration of nature.
The neighbouring Uffington Castle (dated 500 BC) is as old as the White Horse but little remains of it save the circular bank of earth and ditch that once formed the castle’s outer defence. The late Stone Age tomb of what is now called Wayland’s Smithy predates the horse. It is remarked that if someone left his horse here along with a silver coin, and came back a little later, he would find his horse shod and the coin claimed as payment; thus the tomb has acquired its strange name, Wayland being the Saxon god of metalworking. The tomb is estimated to have been built in 2800 BC. It is a pleasant secluded spot under the shade of tall trees, pleasant indeed for an eternal rest.
