Beyond the Hedgerows

We approached from the north late in the day, when the sun was already low in the sky. Gradually the checkerboard pattern of fields and hedgerows gave way to small cottages and roads. As we pulled into the quiet rural village of Lacock, England, it struck me that the bus was bigger than many of the buildings. The sky was overcast, with thin rays of yellow light forcing their way through the dense clouds to highlight the village. The only sound traveling through the air was the murmuring of eager tourists from the bus invading the solitude of the inhabitants, who kept to themselves in their homes and were not to be found anywhere in the streets. The old and weathered look of the buildings was in strange contrast to the smell of fresh flowers in the early evening breeze. Upon first view of this humble community, you feel as if you had traveled back in time, and the bus on which you arrived was like a time machine. There was not a single telephone pole, television, or any other sign of modern technology in sight. The roads were merely modestly paved lanes with no sidewalk, markings or driving signals, and all but the main road was too small to fit any cars of today’s standards. The first buildings visitors encounter are Inns and Pubs, probably a welcome sight for tired travelers of past centuries.

The George Inn was a particularly fascinating piece of architecture by itself. Unlike most of the buildings in the vicinity, this structure was composed of smoothed out stones and bricks and was covered in vegetation, mainly around the entrance area where you first enter. Almost every window on the building was outfitted with flower boxes that were clearly well taken care of and blooming brightly. The wobbly shingled roof looked like it might not hold up in a bad storm, but the inside proved otherwise. The old English theme continued as you progressed inside, with the exception of the bathrooms which have since been modernized with modern appliances and architecture. The interior of the George Inn was very warm and inviting. There was a beamed ceiling and a large stone medieval fireplace. The uneven floors and numerous pictures and old newspaper articles scattered along the wall in a rather unorganized, but decorative fashion, added to the hominess. All of the tables and stools in the inn were creaking and old, as if they had not been replaced for decades, but they were so sturdy and thick that it seemed likely that they would sustain a few more decades of wear and tear. The inn had kept many traditions from the days of its creation in the fourteenth century. There was still a dog-powered spit in the corner that was used to turn roasts as they were being cooked on the open fire, although it has probably not been used in some time. Besides some of the cooking tools used, the food itself consisted of very traditional English dishes such as fish and chips and meat pie. I ordered the fish and chips with sticky toffee pudding for dessert. Our bus driver sat at the table next to us, and if the town was something of a museum, then he was a walking museum piece. With his big floppy ears, rosy cheeks, dark crooked teeth, and thick country accent, he could have been equally comfortable driving us through town on a coach eight-hundred years ago. He would no doubt have ordered the steak pie then as well.

There is more to Lacock than just the George Inn. Many of the well-preserved buildings have been around for centuries, and some are even illustrious. The Abby at Lacock is perhaps the most famous structure for miles. Today it is probably most known as being a part of Hogwarts Castle in some of the Harry Potter movies, but it was also home to William Fox Talbot, who was the inventor of the photographic process. The Abby itself seemed almost aloof, for it was separated by a large steel gate with concrete walls. Inside the walls was a large field of fairly tall grass with several large buildings at the center. The rest of the buildings, although less important than the Abby or the George Inn, maintained a similar theme. There were traditional thatched roofs along with many shingled roofs. The weathered and warped shingled roofs blended into a nice even pattern from afar, but looked at closely they were each uniquely flawed, as many of the features in this town appeared. Each building was equipped with at least one or two red brick fireplaces and chimneys. The doors were painted in bright colors such as green and blue, which contrasted the grey and brown buildings. The doors were also very small, unlike the windows which were almost as big as the doors. Laced curtains could be seen hanging in almost every window, billowing like ghosts. There were also many barns and stables that were empty of any tools or animals. In the outskirts of the village, was a small graveyard with scattered tombstones that were placed in no particular order, half of which were upright and the others crooked or leaning over. The tombstones were not fancy in any way at all, but were really just slabs of smoothed out rock with the name and other relevant information about the person.

Though old and seemingly deserted, the village was neat and maintained, and while walking back to the bus I admired how the well-nourished plants and grass were allowed to spread here and there. Because of the abandoned streets, the village had all the signs of habitation except for the actual inhabitants, and as the bus waited patiently for us to load, its steady hum echoed throughout the area. Almost like a signal saying that it was okay to come out again.

- Stephen