A Walker in the Suburbs

I photographed it in the rain and in the sunshine, in the morning and in the evening. I photographed it up close and at a distance.

As British Prime Minister Keir Starmer faced down challenges to his leadership and lightning flashed near Buckingham Palace, we strolled and snapped, strolled and snapped.

What I photographed most — no contest — was Big Ben. I couldn’t get enough of London’s iconic clock tower framed by the Houses of Parliament. I tried to stop myself, then I’d see it in another light or from another angle — and snap another shot.

Before pushing “publish,” I counted the images of Big Ben I captured today: 31. Luckily for you, dear reader, I only posted one.

Speaking of Eleanor (as I did on Monday), yesterday I spotted an Eleanor Cross at (drumroll) Charing Cross Station. Charing Cross took its name from the Eleanor Cross installed in the late 13th century.

Shortly after that cross came down in 1647, a statue of Charles I on horseback was erected its place, a very special place, in fact — the exact center of London.

In 1865, a replica Eleanor Cross was set up a few yards away — and that’s the one we saw yesterday. After reading and writing about Eleanor crosses a few months ago, I was thrilled to see this recreation. There are only two originals left of the 12, and I’m not going anywhere near them.

The cross was elegant and ornate. When we spied it, the weather was just starting to change, spitting rain, and the gray skies made a perfect backdrop. Medieval splendor with a Victorian twist, snapped by a modern iPhone.

(Photo: Celia Capehart)

Dad would have been 103 years old today. If he’d been alive for the celebration, he would have gotten a kick out of knowing I spent the day in London. And what a day it was: no clouds in the morning and no rain until late afternoon.

Dad loved England, talked fondly of his time in Old Blighty during World War II. “Everyone said the American GI was overpaid, oversexed and over here,” he chuckled.

To hear Dad tell it, he had been sent here in part to defeat Hitler — and in part to enjoy himself. He jitterbugged at USO dances and made ice cream in the unheated cabin of a B-17 bomber. Of course, he also flew 35 missions as a tail-gunner.

As I walked across the Millennium Bridge and ogled the skyline of St. Paul’s, I felt that Dad was with me. I felt like I was living a double life for a day. My eyes were his eyes, my feet his feet. I was giving him a birthday present of sorts — only it was gift for me, too.

It’s nearly a thousand years old and most likely built by William the Conquerer. Guildford Castle is not your ordinary ruined fortress (if there is such a thing). It’s surprisingly intact and nobly presented, decked out with lush gardens, a statue, memorial and bowling green.

After the Norman Conquest in 1066, William the Conquerer needed a way to subdue the locals. Castles did the trick. Guildford Castle’s original keep was built of wood, but the structure was soon fortified with stone and the complex gradually enlarged.

It was a veritable palace by the time of Edward I and Queen Eleanor of Castille, whose young son, Henry, died at the castle in 1274. I reviewed a book about Eleanor a few months ago, and the Guildford Castle tour was reading it too. The guide pointed out some ancient graffiti and gave us a sense of the place as it once was.

At her advice we examined the ancient walls and marveled at their thickness. We also made our way up the spiral staircase to the top of the castle, which gave us commanding views of the town and hills beyond. Visiting Guildford Castle was a two-hour respite from the modern world.

I was looking for Newlands Corner, heading east from Guildford’s center city, searching for a trail that might lead to this local beauty spot and its fine views. I thought I might be on the right track when I began heading up a steep road … up and up and up some more.

Before long, the road ended in a well-pathed meadow. It was Pewley Downs. Downs are rolling chalk hills, gentle rises with green fields in the bottom lands, human-scale hills.

Walking along a downs path today I felt the pull of all the souls who’ve walked here through the ages. Isn’t every inch of British landscape imbued with story and history? It felt that way to me today.

Guildford is a small city, bustling and diverse. Less than 20 minutes away by train lies the town of Haslemere and, even smaller, the village of Grayswood, our destination for the day. There we explored All Saints Church, the village green, and the woods and meadows beyond.

There was an ancient, gnarled oak tree, a hedged path, a perfect pond, and a field of grazing polo ponies.

There was a family welcoming us with chili and apple crumble and two adorable dogs. There was a slice of life so very different from our own.

Heading “home” on the train, it felt as if we had stepped out of a fairy tale, back into real life. And in many ways, we had.

I’m a sucker for the half-timbered look, and we have it in spades here. The Angel Hotel was thriving in the 15th century and its vaulted stone undercroft dates from the 1300s. This is a beam and ceiling in our room. Sturdy, is it not?

Guildford’s sister city — Freiburg, Germany — also has its share of half-timbered buildings, or Fadhwerkhäuser. But the cities are linked by more than medieval construction methods. They came together in 1979 to promote friendship, cultural exchange and world peace.

They’re still working on that final point. But at least they’re trying.

From Dulles to Heathrow, from jet plane to motor coach, from a sleek modern airport to a 16th-century hostelry. That was today’s long journey, or I should say yesterday-into-today’s journey. The lines are starting to blur between days and continents.

I write this post from the Angel Hotel with its four-poster bed, half-timbered ceilings, and perfect view of Guildford’s High Street.

Our traveling companions just landed. We’ll wait for them in the pub.

The last time I was in England we just dipped our toes into the country. We’d been touring Scotland and took a day trip through the borderlands to explore Hadrian’s Wall.

Today, we leave for three weeks in Britain, almost 10 days of that time visiting Celia’s in-laws in Surrey, then some adventures on our own. We’ve been planning this trip for months.

Now that departure day has arrived I feel again that mixture of awe and anxiety that precedes a trip: Did I check all the boxes? Have I packed everything I need? Properly printed off the train ticket QR codes?

I’m hoping those answers are yes because I’m about out of time. Tomorrow morning we land on “this sceptered isle.”

(From Brampton near Hadrian’s Wall)