Romden Castle: Kentish B&B let's you in on the "Tottering" life

As a cash-strapped, history-obsessed 20-something tourist to England, I relied heavily on a book by Elizabeth Gundry called Staying off the Beaten Track.  This was before both the internet, and the arrival of budget hotel chains in the UK.  Most accommodation options were posh hotels or grand country houses I couldn't afford, American chains I avoided, or traditional style B&Bs that let a room in fairly humble homes.  The last was cheap, but I was American enough to find the lack of privacy disturbing, and ambitious enough to want something with historic charm.

The places in Gundry's book hit the spot.  They were usually slightly dilapidated, rambling old manor houses deep in the countryside.  Inevitably, their owners were high on pedigree and education but low on cash; putting some Americans in the spare wing would help put on a new roof or restore the 14th century half-timbering.

Though the internet makes them easier to find, such treasures are fewer and further between these days.  Most of the houses I once spotted in Gundry's guide no longer do B&B.  I've seen several advertised for sale in Country Life magazine -- presumably the family gave up and the places have been restored and interiors brought up to modern perfection by bankers, TV celebrities or foreign investors.  A few have sold out to luxury hotel chains.  And a few still remain, hidden deep in the countryside, their families still letting out the spare rooms and giving visitors a glimpse of what real life is like in the crumbling old manor houses of England.

I don't know if Romden Castle ever appeared in Staying off the Beaten Track, but it's exactly the kind of place Gundry loved.  And the kind of place sure to steal a spot in my heart.

Roughly half way between the bustling towns of Maidstone and Ashford, Romden may be just 20 minutes from "civilisation", but it feels like you're in the middle of nowhere.  There are no signs; it's likely you'll need to have the owners talk you in.  Their mostly-18th century pile sits in splendid isolation apart from a few farmhouses; a 20-minute walk over fields will get you to the nearest village of Smarden.  (Handy for dining at the local pubs but you won't want to try the walk back in the dark.  Luckily, your hosts will probably volunteer to pick you up.)

The Grade II listed house has all the wonky charm of a place that's been properly used, and handed down, for generations.  An oversize front door leads to a high-ceilinged hall, venerable paving stones cracked with use.  Logs for the fire and sports equipment jockey with antiques, family photos, portraits and old prints for pride of place.  You eat breakfast here, indulging in the family's home made marmalade while contemplating the juxtaposition of rare decorative items with the fireside chair chintz held together with duck tape.  This ... not Downton Abbey ... is the way most modern families live in their historic piles.

Your hosts, the Kelly family, are a merry bunch who bend over backwards to make sure you're comfortable.  Dominic picked us up at the pub, Miranda brought plates and silverware to the garden table the night we decided to picnic and encouraged us to help ourselves to her ripening figs.  Other family members took breakfast duty and generally made sure we were OK.  If it weren't for the small matter of the bill at the end of the weekend, you'd think you were some distant cousin invited to crash in a spare room for a while.

Our room benefitted from towering ceilings, a big sash window looking out over the front lawns and
... most importantly ... great mattresses.  My delight at wonky charm goes rapidly downhill with a bad night's sleep.  That's not a problem here, and the fresh air and rural quiet just added to the somnolent night.  We were particularly delighted with the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with a wild assortment of topics, as only happens when people have been loading them for generations.  The only sacrifice was a cramped bathroom with a tiny shower (if you're a generously-sized person), but the water pressure was admirable.

If you insist on all the mod cons, expect fluffy dressing gowns and recoil at signs of wear and tear, Romden isn't for you.  If, however, you're charmed by the world depicted by Annie Tempest (who happens to be Dominic's cousin) in her Tottering By Gently series, put this on your weekend away list.

Chapel Down lets English wine hold its head high

Global warming may bring drought, species extinctions and flood, but there'll be at least one upside: Excellent English wine.

There's no denying that our climate has become more like the continent's over the past decade.  Our South Downs have the same geography as some of France's great wine regions.  So why not?  The only thing missing is vines with some venerable age.  And it turns out we have that, too, as many of the vines in Chapel Down's 100 Kentish acres are older than the winery itself.  Founded in 2001, they're now the leaders in English wine production, fighting an impressive battle on both quality and PR fronts.

On the first, Chapel Down produces a variety of wines that would compare favourably with their French cousins.  Their Bacchus, a native English grape, would be indistinguishable by even most experts from a continental Sauvignon Blanc.  Their sparkling wines are directly comparable to Champagne, and their Pinot Noir reminded me of a Beaujolais.  I would be happy to serve any of these at a dinner party to wine-afficianado friends.  But Chapel Down knows that reputation may be English wine's biggest problem, so they're on the offensive.  Most impressively, they've embedded their wines in prestigious locations like The Royal Opera House, The Donmar Warehouse and Gordon Ramsay restaurants.  And their operation at headquarters sends a clear message that they're as good at this wine thing as any foreign brand.

At their main site just outside of Tenterden, they do a vineyard tour that's perhaps the most informative I've ever been on, followed by a guided tasting matching wines to local cheeses.  Our guide managed to seamlessly mix the history of wine in England (right back to the Romans) with specifics about Chapel Down, horticultural lore, insight into which grape varieties do best in England and, of course, a thorough tour of the production facilities. We learned to be wary of labels:  British wine means wine made in this country from imported fruit or juice; English wine means it's local from vine through to bottle.

Regular vineyard visitors will be intrigued by the way the vines are pruned.  The vines are allowed to grow much higher than I've seen elsewhere before their flowering stems are spread horizontally.  This creates more air flow, discouraging mildew.  (Roses are planted throughout as early warning detectors of that pernicious danger.) Blooms are only allowed to develop on the lowest line and the leaves above are pruned judiciously to allow as much sun as possible to pour onto the fruit.  Crazy English weather is still quite a variable.  Our record heat burst in July saw the quickest flowering to fruit setting in production history, but abnormally cold weather has followed since and late August brought a month's worth of rain in one day.  Who knows?  Assuming we get a long and clement autumn, all the fruit we saw will ripen and be harvested by hand; one vine roughly equates to one bottle.

Chapel Down is the giant of English production, responsible for 1/6 of the roughly six million bottles we produce each year.  Which sounds like a lot ... until you realise that the French match us with six to seven billion.  Which points to Chapel Down's biggest challenge, in my opinion.  Their wines are comparable to French offerings, but they can't match the French economies of scale.  Which means that, as impressive as our award-winning local wines are becoming, what we tasted was roughly 30% more expensive than a comparable foreign wine, and at a price point where you could get something more special for the same money.  But you're not going to be buying Chapel Down if you're making a cost-based decision.  This choice plays to novelty, patriotism and local sourcing.

The vineyard has a restaurant and an upscale farm shop to make a day of it.  The Swan serves traditional British favourites (of course) and seasonal produce; their signature dish is Yorkshire Pudding the size of a deflated football.  My crab salad starter was excellent and the roast pork solid if unremarkable.  Deserts were, sadly, disappointing, but a three-course Sunday lunch for £24.50 makes it tough to complain.  Especially when you have the novelty of local wine matching, and views over picturesque vineyards.  Modern and purpose-built, the restaurant is above the shop, with big windows taking in expansive views.  I wouldn't go out of my way for the restaurant alone, but it's an excellent conclusion to a tour and tasting.  Make sure you make reservations, however, with only 80 covers the tables here go quickly.

What we thought worth buying
Blanc de Blancs 2010 - Sparkling wine with aromas of fresh and baked apples on the nose; intense fruit characteristic of chardonnay grown on chalk soil. A special occasion bubbly on par with anything from Champagne.  £26.99

Pinot Noir 2013 - A warm and sunny growing season yielded a wine light in colour and low in tannin.  Delicate red fruit and violet on the nose; strawberry, cranberry, subtle oak and liquorice edge in on the palate.  £13.99

Nectar 2013 - We found their dessert wine to be the stand out of the day, and the one thing we tasted that was better than continental or Australian competitors.  Jasmine, rose and honeysuckle aromas with lychee and gooseberry coming in on the palate.  Pleasantly sweet but not sickly, will work as well as an aperitif as with dessert and should be stunning with foie gras.  This is going to see a lot of action at Christmas time.  £13.99 (for 50 cl)

Honorable mention must go to the English Rose 2014.  Probably the best rosé we've tasted this season but, sadly, it's for drinking now.  The Bencard cellar has enough rosé to get us to the first frost, so we had to pass on this one.

Pack plenty into a weekend in culture-rich Kent and East Sussex

Chartwell, Sissinghurst Castle Garden, Battle of Hastings Abbey and Battlefield, Bodiam Castle

A typical Englishman might be surprised by the density of tourist sights in North Hampshire (written about here), but he'll take it for granted in Kent.  It's hard to drive more than three miles in the so-called "garden of England" without stumbling on another brown sign pointing to something significant.

It was precisely that quality that saw me using Kent as a base when a young, eager, yet cash-strapped tourist.  I'd done my research.  Nowhere else outside of London allowed me to use more of my "Great British Heritage Pass" in such a short radius.  (The passes are, sadly, no longer sold.  They offered access to National Trust, English Heritage and privately owned sites for a single price.)  I spent an entire fortnight's holiday staying there and sometimes slipping over the border into neighbouring East Sussex in the early '90s.  I returned many times after, meaning that though I haven't spent much time there recently, I actually know the county and its sights well.  Not so for my husband.  We had an event in Tenterden on Sunday, so though ... why not make a long weekend of it?

With the exception of a quick garden visit, I let him pick the locations.  Which, unsurprisingly, leads us on a trail linked by military history.  Being Kent and East Sussex, of course, that also means good architecture, lush landscape and inspiring gardens.  Here's what we got up to.

Chartwell
Winston Churchill's home is in the northwest corner of the county and if, like us, you're coming from the west, this is the perfect gateway sight to welcome you to Kent.  Leave plenty of time, however.  This is one of the National Trust's most popular properties, and they only let a certain number of people into the house each half hour.  When all the tickets are distributed, you're out of luck.  Arriving around noon on a Friday snagged us tickets for 2:30; I certainly wouldn't have wanted to risk getting there after 1.  I'd go earlier on a weekend.

Spending your time before getting into the house is no problem.  There's a restaurant here where we stopped for lunch.  The views are better than the food, but the basic lunch fare won't let you down.  The bigger-than-usual National Trust shop has, as you would expect, lots of Churchill memorabilia and books, plus a fine range of plants you'll find in the gardens.  In fact, I found the gardens as much of a highlight as the house.  There's a beautiful walk to the house looking over a grassy valley to the wooded ridge beyond, ending at the lily pond where the great man used to sit to think and paint. A formal, walled area billowing with roses greets you near the house; beyond that is a lawn cornered by
a pavilion commemorating Churchill's ancestor's victory at the Battle of Blenheim.  Follow the slope down through the orchard to Churchill's studio, still packed with his paintings.  Whether you regard them as art, or an insight into his coping strategies, they're fascinating.  Work your way back up to the house through the walled vegetable and flower garden, unusually built into quite a steep slope.  That makes the view from the top all the more dramatic.

Of course, the house is the main event.  The Churchills left it to the nation and his family's close personal involvement before they handed it over means you're seeing something put together with thoughtful care.  The decor has been carefully arranged to show Chartwell as it was between the wars.  These were Churchill's wilderness years when he was out of government, waiting, worrying, thinking and writing.  What a wonderful setting to do those things in.  In most rooms, it looks as though someone has just stepped away, and will be back at any moment.  You can even spot those famous cigars perched in ashtrays.  Several upstairs rooms are given over to a wonderful museum where you can learn more about Churchill's life while seeing his uniforms and gifts accumulated from respectful fans ... common people to world leaders ... around the world.  Don't miss the slightly hideous cut class and silver bowls from Stalin; exactly the kind of art you'd expect a brutal dictator to favour.

Sissinghurst Castle Gardens
This was my non-negotiable stop.  I can't be within 20 miles of what's probably the world's most famous garden without popping in for a look at what's in bloom.  I've been here many times, going back to my first visit when we stayed in the farmhouse on property, and there's always something new to see.  This was my first visit in August, seeing the white garden at its peak.  Areas that stand out in
spring and early summer (the orchard, the the lime walk) fade to obscurity, while the cottage garden is exploding with oranges, reds and yellows and the rose garden ... its main occupants past their prime ... gives over to asters, dahlias and chrysanthemums.  The herb garden is also at its best at this time of year.

One thing that never changes here is the crowds.  Get here before the place opens.  Have a coffee, walk around the perimeter, check out the vegetable garden (not part of the ticketed area).  Go in when the main garden opens, and you'll be leaving just as the crowds start outnumbering the flowers.

Battle Abbey
Even Brits who are terrible at history can usually drag "Hastings 1066" out of their brains.  Fact is, William of Normandy may have landed at Hastings, but he beat the Anglo-Saxons at a place called Senlac about six miles inland.  The fight there was such a horrific bloodbath the pope ordered conqueror William to establish an abbey there in atonement, which is how the abbey and town of Battle came to be.

The abbey passed into private hands at the dissolution of the monasteries and followed the usual path of such things:  church torn down for building materials, domestic buildings turned into an aristocratic home, a few ruins left standing for picturesque value.  By the middle of last century, the buildings were put to their current use as a school.  But the battlefield, remarkably, was never built on.  Now under the care of English Heritage, your entry fee gets you an audio guide that will take you through the late-medieval gatehouse, to an exhibition centre explaining the story of the battle, around the battlefield, ending at the ruins of some abbey buildings.  (You can't go in the school.)

The exhibition and the guide combine to give good insight into the dynastic struggles that led up to the conflict and the drama of the day.  I've never heard the claims of William and Harold stated in such a balanced way, explaining why about 7,000 people on EACH side were willing to give their lives for the cause.  (The Bayeux Tapestry, which I wrote about here, unsurprisingly makes Harold's
case pretty weak.)  Even people who don't care much for battlefields should enjoy the stroll, which includes fine views and quiet forest paths.  If you're a bit of a battle geek, however, you may find the guide simplistic.  We were hungry for more details: what kept William from trying a flanking manoeuvre?  How has the topography changed?  The visitors' centre could use a diorama that shows the landscape of 1066, before 1000 years of farming and trees altered things.  The ruins do their picturesque job, but aren't much to see.  If the theatrical troupe is doing their battle play for the kids, however, stay around to watch.  They are hysterically funny.

If you're looking for food while in the area, try the Pilgrims' Rest just across the street, where you'll find generous ploughman's platters and other lunch classics in an historic half-timbered hall.

Bodiam Castle
Jump forward 300 years from Battle's battle, and Kent was fearing French invasion again; this time in the 100 Years' War.    That might have been Sir Edward Dalyngrigge's excuse for building his castle at Bodiam, but it's obvious that, right from the start, he was as interested in luxury as defence.  The castle was carefully placed within landscaped gardens, in the middle of a larger-than-usual moat.  The exterior architecture is particularly graceful and the wealth of large fireplaces inside hints at the comfort its residents enjoyed.  The place was never used for military purposes in the Middle Ages, but met its doom in the English Civil Wars, when it was destroyed by parliamentarians as a preventative measure.  It became one of the Romantic Era's most popular picturesque ruins, painted by JMW Turner amongst many others.  Lord Curzon, a giant of historic preservation, bought the place in 1916, stabilised its fabric and gave it to the nation a decade later.  (Read about my visit to his magnificent family home here.)

Since then, it's become one of England's best known castles.  Even though there's almost nothing inside, the exterior is perfectly preserved and its setting in its placid lake is worthy of a fairy tale.  It's used extensively as a film set.  The problem with visiting is that, once you take in the view, there's little to captivate.  There's not much left to explore inside, and the museum is pretty basic.  If you're not a National Trust member, I don't think it's worth the admission fee (£7.80 for adults, £3.90 for kids) unless there's an event on.  You can catch a free view from the car park that's not bad.  Turner and the other Romantic artists had the right idea, though.  The best way to do Bodiam is to bring a picnic lunch, sit on the hill above it and try to paint the place.

These were all add-ons, however, to the main attraction of the weekend: a winery tour.  In England?  Yes, indeed.  I'll cover that in the next entry.

England's oldest wine vendor reveals: we're not taking our rum seriously enough

Like most girls of my generation, my introduction to spirits came with rum.  Rum and coke was sweet and easy to drink, had little taste of alcohol and was trending high in my teenage years along with Miami Vice and big hair.  My propensity for beach holidays, decades of family Christmases in Florida and a continuing sweet tooth have combined to keep rum a constant friend.  But it's usually a subtle one, hidden behind fruit juices, coconut milk, handfuls of greenery and festive barware.  And that's where it's remained for most drinkers.  Whether they love it or hate it, people on both sides tend to dismiss rum as a hard-working back player in the bar, providing an often muted alcoholic kick to fuel your cocktails.

Rob Whitehead wants to change that.  He's a spirits buyer at Berry Brothers and Rudd, one of the oldest and most prestigious wine shops in the world.  He believes rum can be sipped like, and taken just as seriously as, single malt whiskys.  And why not?  The distillation and ageing process is almost the same, differing only in the starting materials.  (Rum from the by-products of sugar production, whisky from barley.)

This isn't, of course, a completely novel idea.  Almost eight years ago, the sommelier at the much-missed Roussillon rounded out our evening with a blind tasting of a magnificent post-prandial selection that turned out to be a boutique rum.  (For a recap of that wonderful meal, click here.)  But he was unusual.  And though we're currently seeing a swarm of boutique distilled gin and vodka, "rum" and "connoisseur" are words that don't often go together.

While Berry's is best known for its fine wines, the company has an equally prestigious history supplying spirits.  If you search "rum" on their web site you'll come up with three pages packed with options.  Though heavy on Caribbean suppliers, options come from all over the world and many bear Berry's own label.  Last night, Rob took us through an informative tasting of five at the Warehouse Shop in Basingstoke.  One was the Mauritian "Penny Blue", the other four Berry's own labels from Panama, Haiti, Jamaica and the Caribbean.  These were all fine sipping rums, free of the added sugars and colours in their commercial cousins and meant to be slowly savoured neat, or with a little water.

My first important lesson was in what Berry's "own label" actually means.  In supermarkets, where we're most familiar with the concept, companies are contracting out to food producers who often make the same stuff for many others.  One Christmas Pudding manufacturer, for example, might churn out own-label treats for Sainsbury's, Aldi and Waitrose.  The stores' involvement is as simple as picking the flavourings and ingredients to give their version an individual twist, and designing labels. They don't actually make anything.  Berry's process (for both rum and whisky) is completely different.  They identify small distilleries they like, keep an eye on their production and buy casks of young, freshly-distilled spirit from years they think are worth betting on.  They then take over the aging, often deciding what kind of barrels to use, where to age (most of their stock is laid down in a warehouse outside of Glasgow), what to blend (should any blending take place) and when to bottle.  In this way, Berry's is at least as responsible as the distiller for the final product, if not more so.

Secondly, I discovered that the choice of barrels, the length and condition of ageing the rum is exactly the same as in whisky production.  The Caribbean rum (in this case, from Trinidad and Tobago) was aged in situ in wooden barrels in warm, humid conditions.  It had lots of tannins and an almost smoky flavour.  Glasgow's more temperate conditions led to a softer end product with other examples.

Rob explained that there are traditionally three styles of rum, tracing back to the countries that originally colonised the territories now producing.  Spanish style is light.  British is heavy, suiting the bulk procurement for the Navy that fuelled most of its production.  And French, said Rob, "is just weird."

That weirdness splits opinion.  The Haitian we tried was my favourite (I found it the sweetest, thickest on the tongue and most floral of the offerings), while my husband hated it.  The biggest difference in production comes right at the start.  French style rums are distilled from the cane juice normally boiled down to make sugar, while the rest of the world's production comes from the molasses by-products of the sugar-making process.  This "agricole" rum makes no sense commercially, as it gives the cane farmer just one product rather than two.  It's certainly worth a try for the curious, though its limited production and costly start in life mean it will always be on the pricier side.

A world away from the Haitian was the Jamaican, so strong on tar and smoke notes you'd swear you were drinking an Islay whisky.  This, said Rob, was as close as you could get to the authentic taste of the stuff drunk in Nelson's Navy.  You can add this to weevil-infested biscuits, sadistic captains and risk of death tumbling from the rigging as reasons I wouldn't have chosen a career at sea in 1810.  To my taste, the Jamaican was vile.  But plenty of people like Laphroig. If you do, this is your rum.

My husband and I agreed on the Mauritian and the Panamanian.  They both shared a light, honeyed smoothness, with the Panamanian having just a bit more alcoholic burn on the finish.  We decided to buy some of the first.  Not only did we both love it, but it comes from the island where we spent our honeymoon.  Ironically, they don't sell it there.  The distillery sends its less sophisticated products to the local resorts, where they get mixed in fanciful concoctions and served to honeymooners with fruit and parasol garnishes.  More mature drinkers back in cold, rainy England can use the premium distillation to carry their souls back to that paradise island.

Or that, at least, is where my mind will be going when I sip my Penny Blue in front of the fire this winter.

Quiet North Hampshire is a sight-seeing treasure trove

The Vyne, Silchester Roman Ruins, Stratfield Saye, Chawton Cottage, Winchester Cathedral and the Bombay Sapphire Distillery

As a consideration while house hunting, density of nearby sight-seeing spots is probably not high on the lists of most English people.  It's a different story for the American expat.

Twelfth Night at The Vyne

For Americans who can find the time and money to push beyond the local choices of Canada, Mexico, or the Caribbean, Great Britain is the No. 1 choice for foreign travel.  If they're visiting, the effort of trans-Atlantic flying means they'll be staying a while.  (Rocketing good guest accommodation up that house-hunting list as well.)  As their host, you'll probably want to spend time showing them around, so you want a range of sights that won't bore you, and aren't a hassle to reach.  If you can't take time off work, you want locations close enough for public transport, taxis, or easy drop off and pick up.  If you live in London, of course, this is no problem.  Once you move out of the capital, things can get challenging.

Not, however, in North Hampshire.  My Aunt Marian has just finished a long weekend here, reminding me of just how culturally rich our little part of this green and pleasant land is.  We spent three of her four days within 22 miles of home, packing in a delightful range of activities.  Don't let the charmless modernity of Basingstoke fool you into dismissing the whole area; there's gold in those surrounding fields.  Here's an overview.

The Vyne
The more I go to our local National Trust property, the more I love it.  (With the exception, earlier this summer, of a run-in with a particularly nasty volunteer who was channelling every sour, old, fun-hating librarian stereotype known to man.  I'll grant she might have been having a bad day, and forget it.)  The house is a gem.  Grand enough to impress, small enough to digest.  Distinct layers of history telling a story about how such places come together by slow amalgamation.  (Tudor, Carolingian, Georgian, Victorian)  And there's a good handful of blockbusters for history and architecture geeks: A

contemporary portrait of Catherine of Aragon in the chapel stained glass; a neo-classical staircase to make Wedgwood fans pant with desire;  one of the best Regency print rooms still in existence ... it's the supposed inspiration for the Duke of Wellington's rooms at Stratfield Saye;  Fascinating links to Horace Walpole and Jane Austen.  If you can play the piano, which is what my aunt actually does for a living, you can sit down and have a go at their Victorian ivories.

Outside, the gardens are pretty though unexceptional.  The real stars are the riverside and woodland walks.  In front of the house, lawns are thoughtfully dotted with deck chairs for your use, sloping down to a "lake" (created by holding up the flow of the river) graced by ducks, geese and swans.  Walk along its banks, swaying reeds towering above you, and you'll come to a remarkable marsh given over to wildfowl.  There's a wooden hide where you can sit and watch.  Or continue on for miles of meandering through the forest, silent but for the occasional hoot of a child's glee.

Every summer The Vyne hosts The Lord Chamberlain's Men, a traditional Shakespearean troop that performs, in a style the Bard would have recognised, on the lawns.  We were impressed by their Macbeth a few years ago (review here), and were equally delighted ... though considerably more cheered ... by this year's Twelfth Night.

Silchester
The Vyne has a fine collection of Roman artefacts unearthed locally, and one legend concerning its unusual name has the Roman Emperor Probus ordering the first vineyard in England on this spot.  Nobody can prove the wine lore, but there's no doubt about Romans being here.  Just six miles beyond the National Trust house, you'll find the remains of Calleva Atrebatum in the sleepy village of Silchester.  At the height of the Roman empire this was a bustling, walled town of more than 20 square blocks, complete with its own forum, government buildings, baths and a small amphitheatre outside the walls.  It was a major crossroads (much as Basingstoke is today), from where the road from London split into branches heading for Bath, Gloucester and Old Sarum.

While universities tend to excavate here every summer, and have unearthed some lovely stuff, you need to moderate your expectations.  No ruined buildings, mosaics or stacks of columns here.  Silchester's claim to fame is the only unaltered ring of Roman urban walls in England.  (You can see some fine circumferential walls in York and Chester, but they're mostly Medieval built on Roman foundations.)  Calves was completely abandoned by the 7th century, usurped by the Saxon settlements of Basing and Reading, and has spent more than a thousand years since as farmland.  At points, it takes some imaginative thinking to see that the tree covered ridge with the gentle slope down to a shade-dappled stream is, indeed, the remains of the old wall and the defensive ditch in front of it.  That's actually part of Silchester's magic.  You'll feel like you're an explorer stumbling on a lost city for the first time.  Other than the occasional local walking his dog, you'll probably be alone.  The most impressive bit is the West Gate, where a good-sized chunk of the wall looms out of the fields on either side, and the gap in its run makes clear where a stately gatehouse would have been.  The pastoral views from here are soul-soothing.  The silence is broken only by birds and wind-rustled leaves, putting you in just the right mood for a slightly melancholy contemplation of how easily the mighty can fall.

Stratfield Saye
Another local estate to benefit from Roman goodies unearthed in these fields is Stratfield Saye, though it's far more famous as the family home of the Dukes of Wellington.  Aunt Marian and I were both captivated by a quadruple-biography called Sisters of Fortune, which explored the fascinating lives of the four grand-daughters of the last surviving signer of the American Declaration of Independence.  Three moved to England and the eldest, Marianne, is reputed to have been the love of the first Duke of Wellington's life ... though she married his brother.  And, in her previous marriage, she was briefly sister-in-law to Jerome Bonaparte, brother of Wellington's arch rival.  A great case of truth being better than fiction.  Marianne is the only person not of the family "blood" whose portrait

hangs in the dining room here, and a miniature of that dining room portrait was found inside the Duke's pocket watch when he died.  Aunt Marian, who, like her historic name-sake, is also from Baltimore, had to make a pilgrimage to see where part of the story took place.

Most people will be more familiar with Wellington's public exploits: building the foundations of the empire in India, the Peninsular Wars, Waterloo, Prime Minister, mentor to Queen Victoria and godfather to her youngest son.  The estate here was supposed to hold a palace equivalent to the one John Churchill received from the crown to commemorate Blenheim, but things never worked out.  The Duke, always a man of simple tastes, made some basic alterations to the existing house.  His descendants followed suit.  Thus these days you have a fairly modest estate, crammed with treasures from the Great Duke's life that are often amusingly wedged into spaces too small to do them justice.  It's still very much a family home, only opened for a few weeks a year.  The tour guides know their stuff and all have more than a bit of hero worship for the man who established the line.

While in the area, check out The Iron Duke, an excellent gastropub in the estate village.

Chawton Cottage

At a big 17 miles from home, this is starting to push the sightseeing envelope ... but the drive alone is a thing of joy if you appreciate the beauty of rolling farmland and twisting lanes overhung by ancient trees.  At the end of the drive you'll find the charming village of Chawton, where a modest house (roughly the equivalent of a modern 4-bedroom suburban home today) saw Jane Austen write her greatest works.  Today, it's a museum to her life, family and novels.

Your enjoyment of Chawton will be in direct proportion to how much you know and love Austen's work.  Real fanatics can spend hours here, delving into possible influences for different characters and plotlines across her classics.  The casual reader may be more interested in how four genteel but cash-strapped women managed to co-exist in this relatively small space, or spend time wandering in the lovely gardens ... at their peak this time of year.  People who haven't read Austen should probably give this a pass; I know better than to ever drag my husband here!

Winchester Cathedral
Our most distant point, at a whopping 22 miles, is our county town of Winchester.  It never seems to be near the top of the English cathedral lists, perhaps because Medieval engineering and subsidence conspired to leave it without a cathedral's trademark spire.  It's a special place, however, and deserves more renown.  Like all English cathedrals, you'll need to pay to get in; the Church of England doesn't have the revenues to let tourists crawl all over its best assets for free.  Your admission (besides helping to maintain this glorious place) gets you a guided tour, and the volunteers are excellent.

I believe the greatest glory of Winchester is its chantry chapels, some of the best and most abundant in the land.  The rarest treasure, however, might be its Anglo-Saxon baptismal font, probably the best of its type to be seen.  Don't miss the Winchester Bible, the chapel with pre-Raphaelite windows by Bourne-Jones, and the caskets containing the bones of the Anglo-Saxon kings.  In their time, after all, this was the capital of the kingdom rather than London.

Beyond the cathedral close you'll find a provincial market town well worth exploring, with plenty of Georgian architecture enlivened by Medieval and Victorian neighbours.  Other than a ruthlessly ugly, but welcome, multi-story car park, there's not much evidence of the modern world.  Winchester also manages to have a decent proportion of independent restaurants and shops, making it a great place for a wander.

Bombay Sapphire Distillery Tour
Roughly half way between us and Winchester, The Bombay Sapphire Distillery straddles the crystal clear river Test in a wooded valley right out of a fairy tale.  We were early adopters last year, not too long after the company consolidated its distilling here at Laverstoke Mill and made their play for the tourist market.  (Initial report here)  All the essentials remain the same, but the eight months of development have helped them knock the rough edges off.  The plants in the greenhouses ... magnificent structures rising from the river and showing off the botanicals that go into the gin in their growing state ... have matured a bit so the display no longer looks so raw.  The tour guides have polished their patter; delivery was smoother, more amusing and had a few more jokes.  While this is a good option for a mid-winter visit (something not true of many other places in this entry), it's at its

best in the summer.  Pink lythrum and tall reeds swayed along the river bank, trout hung suspended in the water waiting on fat flies and visitors enjoyed the cocktail included with their tour on a broad sun-trap of a patio.  (Despite the clouds in my photo, we got intermittent sunshine while there.)  They've managed to capture the essence of English summer.  Which, depending on your perspective, is either ironic or perfectly logical coming from a brand developed specifically for the American market, relying on British style to generate sales.

I didn't buy any Bombay.  I confess, we're a Tanqueray house, though we've been sampling a lot of boutique, small batch distillery offerings lately.  And this is probably the least repeatable of the activities on my list simply based on price.  At £15 per person, it's the most expensive of the local attractions.  (The Roman walls at Silchester are the cheapest, being free.)  But this visit was worth it not just to give Aunt Marian a special experience ... Bombay is her brand ... but to discover a stunning cocktail called the Laverstoke.  I'll wrap this entry with the recipe.

The LaverstokeGlass – Balloon or large wine
Ingredients – 50 ml Bombay Sapphire
15 ml Martini Extra Dry (autumn season), Rosso (winter), Bianco (spring), Rosato (summer)
15 ml Bottlegreen elderflower cordial
100 ml Fever Tree ginger ale
Method – Pour the Bombay Sapphire, vermouth and elderflower cordial into a balloon glass. Stir with a bar spoon, then squeeze and drop a fresh lime wedge in. Add cubed ice and stir. Pour ginger ale in and gently stir. Garnish with second squeezed lime, two slithers of fresh ginger slices and a sprig of mint, grouped together on one side of the glass.

With a bit of planning, kids and culture CAN mix

Locals with children helpfully suggested activities for my 7-year-old niece when she visited.  The word "museum" never popped up.  Adventure playgrounds, local pools, craft workshops, petting zoos and play groups dominated conversation.  Which is all very nice ... but would have all been pretty much exactly what she might be doing back in St. Louis, Missouri.

If we were going to the trouble of introducing the kid to trans-Atlantic travel, we all wanted to make sure she experienced the cultural highlights of her destination.  Thus our sightseeing wasn't that far off of a grown-up itinerary.  Though I quickly picked up these differentiators:

1. 7-year-old attention spans are short - keep things moving and know when to quit
2. Games are the oil that slides the culture down
3. Kids eat little and often - build lots of snack breaks into the day
4. Physical play on something is often better than looking at something - architecture is your friend
5. It's helpful to know where all the toilets are

I'm not sure our sights would work for every 7-year-old, or every local host.  Throwing humility aside, I'll state that neither my niece, nor I, are typical.  A curious kid with a voracious mind, she's already dropping grown up vocabulary words and twisting logic in arguments like the line of lawyers who've contributed to her genes.  Her parents are making sure she's widely-read and exposed to diversity.  (Each day included an "adventure bite", where she had to try something new to earn the right to eat the usual kids' fare for the rest of the day.)   And despite my existence in a mostly child-free world, I am the daughter of an art historian and museum educator who made a career out of making fine art fun for the under 10s.  If you want to get a 7-year-old excited about the V&A, frankly, I'm the woman to have at your side.

Here's a look at some of the things we did, with a focus on youthful enjoyment.

The British Museum

I experienced my proudest moment as an Aunt when this made the kid's Top 3 highlights of her trip.  We have a lot to thank the latest Night at the Museum instalment for; now the place has the glamour of a film set.  You can play a game figuring out what's really here and what's not, since the film version acquired some dubious collections (dinosaurs, Medieval armour) to make the plot go.  Award a point for each thing they realise was made up.  But, really, you don't need tricks here to get kids excited.  Just follow where they wonder and give some context.  Mummies are cool.  How did the Romans make those mosaics out of all those tiny pieces of stone?  There's a lot of gold to gawp at.  The automated German galleon that used to "sail" to the middle of the dining table and fire miniature cannons to start the meal is sure to delight.  And the 7-year-old lost her tooth surrounded by a Celtic treasure hoard, which was a memorable touch.  The museum has organised kids activities and an iPad explorer which we didn't use because I know the collection so well.  But those would be worth checking out.

The Natural History Museum

I groaned to find myself in the snaking queue.  What idiot goes to the Natural History Museum during the school holidays?  Idiots with kids, of course.  With its audio-animatronic dinosaurs, this is the No. 1 museum stop for most little people in London.  While I could have done without the crowds and the cacophony (are they genetically programmed to be that loud?), it does my heart good whenever I see crowds at museums.  Maybe culture and learning will survive another generation.  The NHM understands their audience and have configured the galleries perfectly.  Once you wind, amusement park-style, around the brontosaurus cast in the main hall, you're into the dino gallery and quickly up onto a catwalk that runs its length.  In peak season you'll be in a slowly shuffling queue all the way along, but they've designed it so that lots of dino robots are moving below you as you go.  If you get bored, you can play a game where you award points for spotting different animals in the architecture.  (I've always thought the building itself is the real reason to visit here.)  At the end, you arrive at the full sized robotic T-Rex, lashing his tail, moving his head and growling menacingly.  It's worth the wait.  Then you wind back through the galleries, but most kids will probably be bored by this point and ready to move on.  We'd reached our attention span limit at this point, meaning we didn't get to check out the Earth Sciences galleries complete with some sort of tornado model.  Might need to check that out on my own.  The 7-year-old Missourian can probably just wait 'til October and look outside.

The Victoria and Albert Museum

Here's the secret to the V&A with a child: Hunt for something.  It might be dogs, the colour turquoise, pearls ... just pick something and make it a game, with one point per discovery.  You can use your phones to photograph your finds and relive the memories at home.  Once they're on the hunt, they have to actually look at what's in the galleries, and a bit of culture will rub off.  We chose dragons, which is an easy entry point in the land of St. George.  We weren't even through the medieval galleries before the 7-year-old was beating the adults by a score of 9 to our communal 6.  When the attention wanes, there's a cafe in the courtyard where the adults can settle down with a drink while the kids play around the water features.  Sadly, we ran out of time before I could show her the biggest bed in the world.  Next visit.

The Golden Hinde

I've strolled by this full-sized model of the 16th century ship in which Francis Drake circled the globe scores of times on my way along Southbank, but have never gone on board.  Neither have most people, I'd guess, because despite it being the height of summer hols, we had the place almost to ourselves.  Given Drake's propensity for a bit of Spanish plunder the Hinde can technically be called a pirate ship, much to the delight of the little people scrambling around it.  Because it's a modern replica, there's none of that "no touching" regime the kids hate.  They can sit in the captain's chair, manhandle the cannon balls and spin the ships wheel.  Though, in a nod to health and safety, running, climbing on rigging and going down ladders front-ways are all prohibited.  It's worth paying a bit extra for the tour, where a costumed ship's mate will let the children turn the capstan and instruct them in swabbing and loading a cannon.  Our guide led a particularly colourful re-enactment of the amputation of a leg after a pirate raid gone wrong, three kids holding down the "patient" while she got into the act by writhing and screaming lustily.  Pure childhood gold.

Warwick Castle

I admit, I was distressed when an amusement park company took this place over.  I was afraid they'd trivialise a building of monumental historic value.  But when you have a child in tow, perspective changes.  There are plenty of worthy houses and castles in England, but very few that are arranged specifically to appeal to the little people.  Hats off to Merlin Entertainments, who've managed to make this a child magnet while still retaining architectural and historical integrity.  I'd anticipated the 7-year-old thinking the waxworks were the coolest thing about the place, but all she needed was the prospect of climbing towers and scrambling around the ramparts to find glee.  (Her parents, consigned to follow her around what their FitBits told them was the equivalent of 20+ stories of stairs, were less enthusiastic.)  She was also delighted by a fairy tale show about saving a princess they currently have running in one of the towers.  My husband and I, meanwhile, were enthralled by the best birds of prey show we've ever seen, complete with American bald eagles and Andean condors swooping perilously close to your head.  The condor is the world's largest bird of prey, and seeing it in flight ... especially when coming straight at you ... gives you a sense of majesty and controlled terror that's hard to beat.  From an adult perspective, we thought this was worth the price of admission.

Trafalgar Square

Another thing I didn't notice until I had a pint-sized companion:  Landseer's lions are kid magnets.  The four noble, gigantic beasts sit at the foot of Nelson's column and I usually just point them out to people as the three dimensional proof that their Victorian artist was the best ever at representing animals.  (Only Van Dyck did dogs better.)  But it turns out that climbing onto the back of one is every child's fantasy, and the civic authorities don't seem to mind.  Children swarmed around the base of that column like ants on a dropped ice cream.  We, meanwhile, were able to procure drinks from the Tesco Metro across the street and sit on the benches at the square's edge, enjoying an alternative happy hour. 

We didn't subject the kid to a pure stream of culture.  Our local maize maze and petting zoo at Manydown turns out to be a fabulous day out.  She loved my neighbourhood's various playgrounds, and went on a play date to a local indoor play area with a friend's children.  But I like to think that, as she grows up, it's the cultural stuff that will sink in.  Only time will tell.

A childless person's guide to Legoland

Until my 7-year-old niece visited for a fortnight, I'd never considered how we consign children to a ghetto in the UK.  There's no doubt, it can be a lovely, action-packed, entertaining ghetto ... but the fact is, unless you have one yourself, British children are out of sight and out of mind.

Sure, I see them walking by our windows in the neighbourhood, and those belonging to friends are regularly paraded out before dinner parties (then sent to bed before the fun starts).  But, generally, they don't eat in the restaurants we do to, attend the events we frequent, or even ride the trains we're on.  They even live on a different time schedule: the ones I know eat their "tea" early and get sent to bed before grownups sit down to a "proper" dinner.

Once I had one of these little people beside me for a fortnight, however, it made me think. I realised that you don't see this total separation in America, or on the Continent.  In both those places, children seem much more included in normal life. I noticed how adults on British trains glare at children ... even well-behaved ones ... like they're carrying plague fleas, and most restaurants I'd consider worth dining in make it pretty clear they'd rather not serve them.  The 7-year-old's parents found it decidedly odd, and we had a lot of interesting conversations about child rearing strategies on both sides of the Atlantic.

One of the grandest and most glorious of the English kiddie ghettos lies just a few miles from where I lived for almost a decade.  Yet I never made it to Legoland Windsor, because that ghetto concept goes both ways.  An adult without a child here would be as bizarre as the 7-year-old strolling into The Fat Duck and ordering some lunch.

This was, actually, a bit of a surprise for me.  My amusement park credentials are almost 100% Disney: indoctrinated in Anaheim at 18 months, topped up regularly in Orlando, last booster shot administered at Disneyland in 2009 (story here).  Disney works hard to create a park for all ages, and it's no surprise to see adults here on their own.  Don't try that at Legoland.  I think you'd be pushing it with even an 11-year-old.  This place is resolutely for the little ones; probably years 5 to 10.  The 7-year-old was right in the sweet spot.

The differences from my Disney baseline don't stop there.  Channelling the founding ethos of the company, Legoland offers much more variety in what the kids can do.  (Lego derives from the Danish phrase leg godt, which means "play well", and has always been about kids combining their hands and their imaginations to create new things.)  The park is dotted with fantastic playgrounds with climbing walls, slides and impressive spiderwebs of climbing ropes.  Our kid found these as good as the rides.  There are places to stop and build stuff with massive caches of Lego bricks; inspired, of course, by Lego creations throughout the park.  A boat ride and an auto track both offer a bit of instruction and a chance to get a driver's or captain's license when you complete your experience.  In this way, much as it pains me to say it, Legoland beats Disney hands down for the smaller kids.  Disney is a classic amusement park model, where kids watch things or have things done to them.  Legoland is an interactive play park where they shape their own experience.  In a world where we're all becoming increasingly enslaved to passive consumption of media on screens, Lego's interactive vision of play seems not just fun, but socially important.

If you are another childless person taking a godchild, niece or nephew to this bastion of kiddie entertainment for the first time, here are some things worth knowing.

• Bring something to read.  All that interactive play means that, rather than spending all your time taking the little people on rides, you'll be sitting around for big chunks of time watching them.  If you don't bring something to keep yourself amused, you may be very bored.

• Bring a camera.  Of course, you'll want to get all those snaps of the kiddie having a good time (to prove your auntie/uncle creds to the parents).  But you'll also be surprised, upon entry, with one of the most fantastic views of London imaginable.  Legoland cascades down what must be one of the highest hills in Berkshire, giving you an eagle's nest view of Windsor Castle, Heathrow, West London, the Eye, St. Pauls and all the way to Canary Wharf.  On a clear day, it spreads out much like a world built of Lego.  Intentional?  I'd bet.  Throughout the park, anyone with an eye for design or architecture will be delighted at the buildings, things and creatures constructed of those familiar blocks.  

• Miniland, where all of London's major landmarks join representative buildings from Europe and the USA, is jaw-droppingly amazing.  You will, undoubtably, want to linger here much longer than your little person will.  Do a deal and buy yourself some time with an ice cream or a souvenir.  In my opinion, the great tragedy of Legoland is that this part isn't somehow separate, so adults without children could pay a separate price to see it without bothering with the rest.  It's that good.  You'll get a great view of both Miniland and the London skyline if you go on a ride called the Sky Rider.  The best view is on the port side; but you might as well give it to the kid.  You're taller.

Tuscany and Amsterdam, Miniland style

• They sell refillable drinks bottles all over the park for about £8.  Buy one of these for your little person as soon as you get there.  We didn't see a water fountain all day.  Without the refill, you'll end up constantly forking out on drinks they take two swigs from, then don't want anymore.  You'll either end up carrying them all around (they won't want them once they're hot, of course), or throwing them away and getting irritated at the wasted money. Save yourself the drama.

• Parental types who were Lego regulars advised me that the food was really expensive and suggested bringing a pack lunch.  Wonderfully, you can actually bring your own stuff in, and there are picnic tables throughout.  (Another beautifully Danish touch.  Can you imagine any American institution missing a chance to force you to buy at their inflated prices?)  But, honestly, don't bother.  If (a) your frame of reference is Disney and (b) you're a childless person working in London, it's not that pricey.  There's a pizza buffet in a section called Heartlake where food and drink for three adults and one child cost me less than I'd spend on myself for an average dinner in London. (Just under £50.)  It includes a decent salad bar, so you can have a meal that's somewhat better than the children's menu fare throughout the park.  Sadly, there is no wine list.

• The water-based attractions are generally considered to be the best.  This, I have to admit, made no sense to me whatsoever.  It's England.  You're probably already damp and cold.  Why would you want to get wetter?  Our Legoland outing took place on a sunny summer's day, but for a 7-year-old from St. Louis, where it is generally at least 10 degrees C warmer at this time of year, it felt like mid-October.  There was no way in hell she was getting wet.  British children are no doubt used to the lower temperatures and they were thronging the water park, included in the price of admission.  There are changing rooms and places for guardians to wait as the kiddies knock themselves out.  So don't forget a bathing costume and towel if the weather is decent.  Or, if you're feeling particularly profligate, they sell both at the shop next to the water park entry.  Those Danes might be more generous that the Americans on the food front, but they're still on top of every opportunity to sell you extras.

• In a slightly bizarre contradiction to Denmark's famous gender equality, Lego has created a pastel-coloured line called Lego Friends, fronted by a girl power style singing group and slotting in somewhere between My Little Pony and Disney Princesses.  The fictional girls live in the cosy village of Heartlake, brought to pink, light blue and pistachio life around water crossed by performance stages.  The girl band appears several times a day to rock their little fans.  While I found the idea of gender-streamed Lego slightly disturbing, and I thought the Viking and Medieval sections were much cooler, Heartlake had our 7-year-old squirming with joy.  And she liked the pirates, too.

• The rides are, generally, not worth the wait.  This is, sadly, the one place where Legoland doesn't compare well to Disney.  If you're 7, of course, the mini coaster, the spinning Viking barrels or the little Ferris wheel are pretty good.  Problem is, at least in high season, you'll be waiting more than half an hour to get on something that lasts maybe two minutes.  The wait-to-ride-time ratio wasn't working well for our kid.  Even the driving lesson, which was our ride highlight, was pitifully short.  This makes the balance of all those interactive play areas all the more important.  If you were only doing rides, everyone would probably get quite cross.

• As with any big amusement park, you have no chance of seeing everything in one day.  Don't sweat it.  Just follow the kid around and have fun.  Once you've seen Miniland.

So, that was my introduction to Legoland, and to life in the UK with a kid.  Come to think of it, it might be me who's living in the ghetto, as the we "double income no kids" ... while an advertiser's dream ... are a minority.  For the sake of the future of our tax base, we should all be thankful for that.  

I'm thankful, honestly, that I got to see my world through the eyes of a child.  Next entry, I'll talk about making the most of England's stunning cultural heritage without boring a 7-year-old rigid.