Cotswolds: day 2

Today I visited the Rollright Stones, which sounds like a band or a command given by Red One to his (or her) fellow Arrows (but is neither).

The starting point was the village of Long Compton. Preceding village names with "long" isn't unusual, and I'd never given the practice much thought; however, the name - at least in this case - stems from the fact that the village is strung out for over a mile along the main road. The things you learn strolling around the Cotswolds.

My guide book told me to leave the main road next to a house called "Daddy's Bank". I loved that name when I read it yesterday evening. I was toying with how best to use it when writing about it. Was it homage to how the house was built in the first place? Or a welcome to adult children returning for free board and lodgings? Sadly such withered on the vine because when I got there I found that the name was Meadow Bank (although some quick online research suggests that there is a Daddy's Bank in Long Compton somewhere). As Toyah noted, It's a Mystery.

The weather today was still fine and warm, but cloudier than yesterday. Climbing out of Long Compton and looking back showed a typical Cotswold landscape, but bluer skies and more dramatic hills would have improved it. Slartibartfast wouldn't have won an award for this.

I was heading for the Rollright Stones - of which more anon - but en route I discovered a little gem of the English countryside. The kind of thing that The English don't talk about, and through which the countryside brings joy.

In the photo above you can see what almost looks like a doorway (well, gateway) into a Narnia-type world, sans wardrobe. Shall we go in, children?

Inside, a lovely wide walkway, soft grass under hoof, and completely hidden from the outside world. It even had larks singing.

To more practical matters: the route onwards to the mysterious not-a-tribute-band Rollright Stones took me past the 15th century Rollright church. Isn't it incredible that our countryside is scattered with these remnants of history? Here it is, 600 years later, still looking amazing:

As well as historical artefacts, we English also allegedly have a sense of humour. I happened across this sign which managed to combine that humour with a headmasterly waggly finger (quite rightly):

I think the exclamation mark sweetens the sarcasm so I would have left it out. We English can be indignant, too.

Here they are, then, at last: the Rollright Stones. They mark a burial ground for knights stemming from almost 6000 years ago (even older than Keith Richards). Here's the skinny:

Here they are from the front (L to R: Mick, Keith ...):

Enough of the poor humour. Here's some poppies among the bearded barley:

My guide book soon mentioned that I should soon "turn right at a bridleway sign" but then added, enticingly, "Turn left if you wish to visit Wyatts Farm Shop café". Well, what would you do? Hint: it's only 0.6 miles along the road.

I ordered coffee and a slice of Bakewell tart. "Do you want to wait while I make it?" she enquired. I may have looked a bit puzzled because she added, "The coffee, not the Bakewell". We - my coffee, Bakewell and I - sat down at the table. The coffee was excellent; the Bakewell likewise. Once consumed I wandered around. Wyatts Farm Shop had everything (except an annoyingly absent apostrophe). I was tempted by all kinds of delicacies but was resolute and left empty handed.

There was a house behind the farm shop although it wasn't clear whether it belonged to the farm shop owners. Either way, an impressive view from the back garden, one would imagine.

Homeward bound now on a longish trek back to Long Compton. I passed a field of cows and felt intimidated by the one who looked at me (she already had two black eyes, so clearly up for trouble).

Finally, just as I entered the village, I passed this memento from the 1960s:

Fortunately the operating lever was padlocked so no one will be stealing petrol from it.

Map and statistics

My phone hiccuped when I stopped for coffee and Bakewell, so map and stats in two halves.

Pre-coffee

Post-coffee