I could tell stories about the whole year I packed into two weeks on my 1995 trip to England. I thought, though, that this would be the best story:
First I have to take you back to the first time I went to England in 1988. I was a newbie (word wasn't coined as yet) to England. What if I couldn't understand the words through thick foreign accents? What if I ran out of money? What if my penpal, Jeanne Montague, renowned English author, who I admire deeply, didn't like me? What if? What if?
After a few days in London, I took the train to the West Country - Wiltshire. Being with Jeanne was like coming home.
To welcome me, Jeanne and her husband, Hank, took me out to lunch at The George Inn in Norton St. Philip, Somerset County. As soon as we rounded the corner into this nestled and ancient village, I felt transported into the past. Entering The George Inn drew me in deeper.
In the stone courtyard, I could almost hear the clack of horses hooves, could feel the secrets in the stone walls. I knew in my deepest heart I had been there before.
Did Jeanne feel it too? She said she did but we were too engrossed in the sensation to say out loud what we felt. After all, to voice the thoughts might make everything go away.
The George's ghosts are benevolent to me. The Inn has a long past of adventure, lost love, rebellion and secret hidden rooms. The Inn took center stage in the Monmouth Rebellion of 1685 when it housed the illegimate son of Charles II. Jemmy thought he had a right to the crown against his Catholic uncle, James II. Jemmy's fate and why I insist on calling him Jemmy, is another story.
The George Inn has become a pilgrimage. Now, every time I visit England, I have to return to Norton St. Philip. I feel there are secrets the Inn and the village want to reveal to me. I feel a link to the sadness there.
Let's go back to my last visit.
This time the visit unearthed some clues to why I am drawn to the place. Dorothy and her two children, Jeanne's daughter-in-law and grandchildren, and I, went to lunch at The George on one cold and windy day in March. Fortunately, we were the last to be served and when the manager heard of my love for this site, he offered to have someone show me around all the rooms. I told him of the presence I felt, although I was sad I did not see one apparation. (By the way, I never have and don't know if I believe in such things).
The manager agreed there was a feeling even he could acknowledge. He occasionally heard things in the night since he slept on the premises. Sometimes glasses flew off the bar. Yes, he felt whatever it was, that it was benevolent. He went on to say that they were trying to get the Inn approved as a bed & breakfast, as it used to be. Yes, he said, he would notify me if the Inn ever became available for a sleepover.
I took numerous pictures. Jeanne joked that when they are developed, especially in the dark Duke of Monmouth room, might turn up some
ghostly pictures on my film. Not a chance. There is a 17th century table in the room where the Duke and his ill-fated comrades planned their next moves and eventually, their escapes.
When we had our fill of looking into every nook and room, (even the storeroom), we went back to thank the manager. We asked him outright if he had ever sen a ghost. He said no. However, he went on to say that a bus driver stopped at the Inn last week with a group of tourists traveling from Bath to London. As dusk fell, the tour driver gathered his people for the return trip and stopped to thank the manager and tell him how much they enjoyed the food and the characters he and the tourists had seen, dressed in 17th century costume. The tour driver said in an excited voice, how he and his group really felt a sense of time and place, especially the Cavalier character leaning from the balcony overlooking the courtyard.
The manager said he had no people dressed in costume.
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