Life in a Roman city

Entrance into Verulamium Museum is free for St Albans residents and we are warmly welcomed. I haven’t been here since my daughter was at junior school and vaguely remember her rummaging around in the dressing up box and modelling a roman soldier costume.

We step through the doorway and into a circular reception area. After walking along a brightly lit corridor we enter the first couple of darkened rooms, and are presented with illuminated cabinets filled with artifacts on life in Verlamion, the pre-Roman Celtic settlement.

We’re then led into Verulamium and life in the Roman Empire. This central atrium is circular and surrounded by archways each leading to a small chamber covering particular themes of daily Roman life.

I enjoy learning about roman recreation such as board games, gambling, feasting and storytelling. The public baths were a place where they’d discuss current affairs. It’s hard to imagine that working nowadays; getting into heated arguments about Brexit while lounging about in the Westminster Lodge swimming pool!

We meander into the area on Merchants and Markets. I admire the neatly displayed hand-minted silver and gold coins depicting Gods, Goddesses and Emperors. My husband tells me that Augustus was the First Emperor and Creator of the Roman Empire, showing off his A Level in Ancient history!

In the diorama of a wealthy citizen’s home, there are cabinets filled with jewellery, cosmetics and unusual objects like ear scoops. Trompe l’oeil painted walls show how these homes were beautifully decorated. I’m drawn to a small bronze statuette of the so-called Verulamium Venus; her proportions are slender and gracious and her gowns are flowing. Some say it’s a figurine of Persephone holding a pomegranate from the underworld. Shrines of Gods and Goddesses were a common feature in most households, and daily offerings of food and wine would be placed before them on altars.

This leads us back to the centre where a group of school children are listening to a guide standing before some stunning mosaics (still intact, although discoloured with age) and explaining how 49 mosaics were discovered and the significance of their designs. My favourite, dating back to AD145 – 150, depicts Dolphins and Lions. It’s so beautiful. Dolphins were considered to be good luck and were apparently the only animals that knew how to find the “blessed isles of the afterlife”.

I have a wander around the attractive shop on my way out. I’ve enjoyed my visit and as I walk away I think about how amazing it is to be standing on the site of one of the largest roman settlements in Britain.

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Sipping history

It’s a quiet midweek afternoon, we pass by the River Ver, over a footbridge, and head to one of the oldest pubs in England. Outside, old wooden church pews furnish the front garden and beer kegs are piled high. A steel cockerel towers above the sign “Ye Olde Fighting Cocks”, with two hanging baskets filled with pansies on either side of it welcoming us in.

As I step through the miniature doorway, darkness prevails and it feels quite labyrinthine given its unique octagonal structure; it’s a challenge to find my bearings, even before I’ve had any ale! I look up, bowed Tudor beams are running across the low crooked ceiling and it feels as if the short wooden posts are the only things holding this place up.

We approach the curved bar with its old world charm that feels so much cosier than the contemporary clean lines of modern pubs. The friendly barman can see that I know very little about ale and shows me two separate rows of ale pumps labelled with curious names like: Heavenly blonde, Dark Star and Chief Jester. He offers me a taste of a few, and much to his delight, I go for the Dark Star, a velvety ale which, he reveals, is their very own and locally brewed.

We find a table and I sip my ale (… mmm it’s perfectly smooth) and take in the country pub atmosphere. Coach lamps hang at either side of the ample fireplace and I can imagine how cosy it must feel in the winter. A stand up piano sits beneath a small window and traditional Axminster carpets cover the creaking floorboards. Framed sketches of literary characters like Don Quixote and Job Trotter from The Pickwick Papers, along with illustrations from pheasants to Shire horses hang on the deep red walls; I sit there pondering how deeply steeped in history (and revelry) this pub is.

This site dates back to the 8th century and the building was erected in the 11th century; it was moved to its present site after the dissolution of the Abbey in 1539. Apparently there are tunnels stretching from the beer cellar to the Abbey once frequented by the monks. By the 17th Century, it had become a local centre for cock fighting, a popular pastime, later banned in 1849.

We walk home through the park, relieved to get some daylight, and to come to our senses. My husband decides that it would be fun to cross the running stream via the stepping stones, assuming that half a pint is not enough to make me lose my balance. How wrong he is!

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Hope for the future

It was late on a Sunday afternoon, we were all in need of a little fresh air and decide to go for a walk into Heartwood forest. I’d already read about the stunning sea of bluebells every Springtime, but had heard from a neighbour that there is even more to see than that. Heartwood forest is a large area of ancient woodland nestling beside newly planted trees and is made up of four woods – Langely Wood, Pismire Spring, Well & Pudler’s Wood and Round Wood.

Back in 2008, the Woodland Trust acquired over 800 acres of arable farm land, and over the last decade has not only protected the ancient woods, but has planted over half a million saplings, transforming it into beautiful woodland with wildflower meadows.

Once we had arrived we decided to be really adventurous and go on the Magical Meander, a mighty mile and a half walk! As we started along the pathway, I noticed huge oak and birch trees to our left, yet to our right were hundreds of saplings – still so small and young. It was fascinating to see a forest in the making; to see the unusual contrast of old and new.

Being city dwellers, we made a wrong turn once or twice, but saw countless bluebells, poppies and daisies along the way. Skylarks and goldfinches were darting high above us swooping their way in groups, and closer by, unusual butterflies danced in and out of the dappled sunlight. As we continued further along the grassy path, it gave way to a shaded ancient forest. The tree branches arched over to meet each other creating a canopy high above us, and as I treaded the cavernous cool darkness below, I felt as if I’d stepped into a Grimm’s fairy tale.

Eventually we found our way onto the main path, enjoying the vast spaces and distant views of the green patchwork hills and fields. Heartwood forest offers acres to explore by bike, horse or on foot. It’s amazing how you can immerse yourself in nature, and within ten minutes find yourself back in the centre of St Albans sipping a cappuccino. As we leave, I realize that I’ve been completely captivated over these last couple of hours, grateful that this woodland forms part of my daughter’s young memories and hopeful that, through these acts of reforestation around the world, our planet might be saved after all.

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Roman roaming

Since moving to St Albans, we have spent many afternoons in Nature as a family. This park stands on what was once Verulamium, the third largest city in Roman Britain; it’s ruined city walls, constructed in around 270 AD, dominate the landscape. It covers over one hundred acres, offers magnificent views of St Albans Cathedral and is surrounded by many ancient and picturesque houses.

Huge oak and willow trees are planted in rows along the length of the central lake within a wide-open tranquil setting. They are perfectly reflected in the water, the contrasting shades of their green leaves swish in the breeze. There’s a harmonious sense of proportion and plenty of open space to watch your dogs running around on the grass. We used to enjoy rolling down the hills or feeding the ducks and watching them diving for food when our daughter was little; these days we prefer a game of badminton or Frisbee.

As well as Roman ruins and an ornamental lake, there is a café, a crazy golf area, tennis, basketball and netball courts. The toddler splash park is a delight for children while the park is the perfect setting for a leisurely walk or a jog. The lake is a haven for wildlife and rich in biodiversity. There is talk of placing aquatic plants on the lake’s fringes to soak up the pollutants, clean the water and reduce the silt levels. It is home to a number of water birds such as herons, swans, and ducks. Then of course there are the Canada geese, step a little closer if you dare, they’ll steal your lunch and pin you to the ground!

In 1929, when the park was still agricultural land, the Earl of Verulam sold it to the council. In the thirties, the lake was dug out and extensive archaeological excavations by Sir Mortimer Wheeler, and his wife Tessa, were undertaken. Amazingly, the remains of a theatre along with a hypocaust were uncovered, along with many everyday roman artifacts.

On quieter colder days, the park becomes a peaceful sanctuary. I enjoy the tranquillity, taking in the beautiful views and breathing the crisp clean air. I feel as if I am eons away from the hustle and bustle of the marketplace and always leave the park feeling restored and refreshed.

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Historic waffle

It is a warm sunny afternoon in May and as soon as we step passed the gateway into the Kingsbury water mill and waffle house, I can smell a concoction of sweet and savoury flavours. The friendly staff welcome us in and we sit by an old fireplace. The low ceiling is lined with Tudor beams, we feel the warmth coming from the busy kitchen and can see out of the sash window along the length of Fishpool street. An antiquated pendulum clock hangs on the wall above us alongside framed black and white photos of the mill, faded newspaper clippings and old menus.

We take a look at the menu and there are many combinations to choose from. Within minutes my daughter looks up at me enthusiastically and we both agree, that it’s got to be Chili con carne on our waffles. Wow! It turns out to be the perfect choice; the meat and vegetables are generously topped with sour cream, grated cheese and tortilla chips and the flavours blend wonderfully together. As for dessert, it’s a no-brainer, and we share a banoffi waffle; the warm toffee sauce and banana slices merge perfectly and are topped with chocolate shavings and icing sugar.

Afterwards we go and look at the mill museum. We peer through a glass wall at the millwheel and machinery and imagine how noisy it must have been when the huge cogs were in motion. The building is Tudor with a later Georgian brick façade, and before the Dissolution of the Monasteries, the original building belonged to the Abbot in the parish of St Michael’s. We discover that milling for flour continued until the mid 20th century and that it was turned into a working museum and waffle house in 1978.

We decide to have our coffee outside; it’s such a tranquil setting, we take in the sun and spot an abundance of little fishes in the water. Amazing to think that this river has been flowing through its valley since the last Ice Age! It sustains a great variety of plants and flowers; kingfishers and butterflies can be spotted further along the river together with grebes and herons. Later we cross the road and head into Verulamium park, ready for a leisurely stroll around the lake; a perfect opportunity to take in the fresh air and work off those calories.

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Earthly delights

It’s almost eleven on a Sunday morning, the sun is shining and we’re off to the Farmer’s market. We haven’t been for a while and wonder what its like these days. There are many more people around than there used to be, and the stall traders are busy chatting with customers and telling the story of their products

The wonderful smells and colourful foods are a delight for the senses. The first thing that catches my eye is a guy stirring paella packed with prawns, mussels, chorizo and vegetables in a steaming pan over a metre in diameter; next door to him is a chap wearing a smart shirt, tie and stripy waistcoat selling huge slabs of flavoured fudge from a glass cabinet.

There are plenty of cheeses, meats and chocolates to taste, herbs to smell and cider to drink. The cratefuls of organic white cabbage, swede, bunched carrots and many types of potato are all neatly displayed and lined up on the pavement; such perfect ingredients for a homemade casserole. The herb stall is lush with greenery, each plant is carefully labelled: Tangerine Sage, Strawberry mint, Angelica and countless others that I haven’t even heard of.

I point out some unusual chutneys, such as pear with royal jelly, to my husband, only to discover that I am talking to myself. I turn around and can see that he’s engrossed in conversation with a stallholder carving Serrano ham off the bone for him to try. Typical! He’s gone straight for the meat and is all smiles!

Meanwhile, a stallholder has noticed me ogling the cinnamon swirls; he happens to be married to a Russian woman and tells me that their recipe involves triple the amount of cinnamon than we use! Well it would be impolite not to try one…mmmm…its delicious and so utterly saturated in cinnamon!

We delight in stopping at quite a few more stalls and tasting more earthly delights such as Shropshire Blue cheese, salted caramel chocolate and dark ale. The produce is all locally grown, made or reared, and brimming with so many fresh flavours. Eventually we head home, our bag filled with cheeses, meats, some veg and a big bottle of ale. We’re looking forward to trying out more next time like the pork pies and piroskis.

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Calm and chaos

It is the first day of the new season and visitors are beginning to pour into Hatfield House after the winter months. The rainbow portrait of Queen

Elizabeth I faces the entrance to the Marble hall, where lavish banquets were once held. It is panelled wall-to-wall in dark wood with a black and white chequered marble floor. This leads onto the Grand Staircase. As I climb the wooden stairs I admire the tapestries that line the walls, and the huge crystal chandelier suspended from the gilded ceiling, its antique crystals dimmed with age.

Jacobean carvings of cherubs playing musical instruments and lions holding heraldic shields are surmounted on posts along the bannister. On reaching the top of the stairs, all I can make out are their silhouettes as the daylight casts shadows across them. I turn around for a moment and feel an eerie sense of days gone by as I imagine all the guests that have treaded these stairs and feel like a speck in history.

I wander in and out of more rooms that lead to the long gallery and into the library. The walls are filled with antiquarian books and the chairs are crimson leather. I step a little closer and notice books by authors from Darwin to Shakespeare, but also a large collection of French literature. The guide tells me that there are over 10,000 books in this room. Amazing! There is a balcony decorated with Parisian cast-iron rails and I naturally want to climb the steps to look at the library from a different angle. I linger, absorbing the atmosphere, wishing I could have the place to myself for an evening or two and dip into any book I choose.

I descend another staircase and step into a small peaceful chapel, consecrated in 1611 and still in use. The stained glass window takes centre stage and an incandescent light diffuses the sacred space. It is rich in imagery and colour depicting scenes from the Old Testament and flanked by two angels, beautifully sculpted in marble.

My feelings of serenity are short-lived as I approach the basement and the end of the tour. There before me lies a series of spacious basement kitchen rooms with slate work tops, cast iron ovens and shelves filled with copperware, set up to prepare Elizabethan recipes. I imagine all the clattering about and chaos in preparation for a banquet. I stand still for a moment and there in my mind’s eye appears Mrs Bridges from Upstairs Downstairs, stressed out as always, up to her neck in flour and butter, preparing an apple pie fit for a Queen!

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The garden where Elizabeth I played

It is a warm Spring afternoon. The clouds slowly wander across the sky as I walk the narrow pathway between two topiary hedges, and take my first few steps into this lush royal garden. The Elizabethan patterns of hedges and floral architecture are a feast for my senses. The lawn is immaculate, under my feet. The tulips, robust and sturdy, are symmetrically grouped in colour schemes of scarlet red, yellow, mauve and sugar pink, while the ivory peonies exude a luminous vitality.

There are not many people around, and for several moments I have the scented garden all to myself and continue meandering between the geometric compartments. I look up and take in the magnificent views of Hatfield House,

perfectly proportioned and symmetrical. Many of its red bricks were taken from the Old Royal Palace of Hatfield dating back to 1497. Its classical architecture and renaissance influences exude order and harmony; features so loved during the Jacobean era.

I lower my gaze as the trickling sounds from the gently cascading fountain draw my attention; a gilded cherub balanced upon a central winged column is blowing a trumpet and glistening in the sunlight. The flowers are majestic in their height and glory. I take in their natural beauty and scent, totally unaware of the names of many of the species, yet absorbing their healing power.

I feel peacefully subdued by the aesthetics of this historic garden, so carefully crafted, as I breathe in the clean air and feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I step away into the woodland, but look back one last time and imagine what it must have been like for the little princess, Elizabeth I, playing in her private garden, under the sun, amidst the blossom, the weight of her ruffled gown brushing along the grass.

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A road to the past

I head down to George Street, an historic road built on a hill in the very heart of St Albans leading to the Cathedral and St Michaels. The sixteenth century Tudor buildings, crooked and overhanging, have survived the centuries and are well maintained, painted white with their original beams exposed.

 The small shops are perfectly proportioned and welcoming, and you feel as if you want to take your time and pop into every single one. There are several jewellers with sparkling shop windows displaying unique designs, and pretty fashion boutiques if you’re looking for something unique. I stop to look at the beautifully dressed mannequin in the bridal shop, modelling a striking ivory silk wedding gown, perfectly finished with beading and lace.

 Other small independent boutiques fill the street, from luxury home furnishings, to a gentleman’s grooming shop to a nail bar; but my favourite of all is L. A James, a little shop in the middle of the street that has been selling antiques for over 60 years, and still in its original state. The colourful window displays are jam-packed with fossils, unusually shaped crystals, framed Victorian mirrors, art deco table lamps and silver ornaments.

 The Victorian bell above the door chimes as soon as I cross the threshold. I feel as if I’ve stepped into a bygone era and am immediately drawn towards a glass cabinet filled with miniature figurines. The interior feels abundant with curiosities that make me want to explore. On the left wall are some unusual soft toys including a flamingo and a chihuahua, and along the right is a mahogany console table with an arrangement of curiosities like colourful glass vases, framed 19th century etchings and china tea sets.

 I leave the shop feeling satisfied, and as if I know all about antiques, then again, maybe not! As I head home back up the hill, the Cathedral bells are ringing. I need no further reminder that I am no longer living a big city life and smile to myself.  

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At the city’s spiritual heart

I turn the volume down on the stereo as I drive into the Deanery, and pull up to my usual car parking spot, sheltered by a huge cedar tree. The gardens are beginning to bloom with snowdrops and daffodils as its mid February. The Cathedral bells are ringing out from the Tower as the 9am Eucharist is about to begin. It’s a Saturday and nobody is around yet. I walk along the gravel path crunching beneath my feet as I approach the arched door. Inside, it is significantly darker. The silence fills the space. The tall vaulted ceilings arch high over my head. Candles are lit in memory of loved ones, their tiny flames flicker and offer hope amidst this Gothic austerity. Only my footsteps can be heard. I unlock the office door and look up at the tall arched window, the blue and white stained glass from Mother Mary’s gowns illuminates the dimness and I feel serene.

I love this Abbey and Cathedral, and it’s an honour to work here. It’s been standing tall for over a thousand years, and is rich with Norman arches, seccoes, misereres, ancient mosaic ceilings, a high altar, a Lady Chapel, vibrant stained glass windows and more. This place of worship is a comfort to Christians who come to seek redemption, and will still be standing tall long after their deaths.

I was welcomed into the parish and immediately felt like I was part of something special. There’s a wonderful network of relationships within our church community and feel removed from the consumerist and Capitalist world of “getting and spending.” when I come into work. It has been a new experience, and giving back to the community feels rewarding and gives personal meaning to my life.

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