In the Domesday
Book 1086 the village of Bugbrooke was known as Buchebroc
and by the Eleventh Century Buchebrock was used instead.
By 1595 it was Boogbrooke. Other names include; Buttebroc
in 1175, Butebroc in 1194, Buddebroc in 1195, Bockebrok
in 1247, Bukbroc by 1332, Buckbroke in 1428 and finally,
finally Bugbrooke in 1598. While this was fairly typical
for English villages, didn’t anyone think to
put up a sign, saying, "This is the way to spell
our village name!" and then stick to it?
It is thought
that these names are from the Old Saxon words Bucc
= Buck (Deer) and Broc = stream. Deer were widespread
in Dark Age England and it is thought that the deer
come to drink at the stream and river. Or it might
mean something completely different. 'Five Bells'
may also need some research.... why not six? The church
across the street has ten bells, so that is not the
connection. Why not the far more familiar single 'bell'?
Well, it does have a ring to it.
Anyway, Five Bells it is, and for
lunch too.
We hit the place
early, and were the first in, making sure that the
bar staff drew off the first pint or so to clear the
overnight pipes. Nothing worse than beer than has
sat in the pipes overnight. Maybe something one of
our dogs does with cat poop, but that's about it.
The extension
that had been added to the front of the building was
far from faithful and actually gained the pub only
marginal space. If you are going to ruin a pub at
least ruin it completely, like that ancient pub, The
Thatch in Shropshire, two years ago, with a 1990s
glass conservatory stuck onto it, rather than killing
it in stages like this pub. The people at the National
Inventory Of Historic Pub Interiors (no, really) would
not be pleased at all.
The food was certainly interesting.
It was prepared by a bunch of lads who turned up a
minute before they were scheduled to open the doors
at noon. It was okay, it was pub food, and it fitted
the bill, but is there some kind of national shortage
of peas? Are diners rationed to a particular number
of leguminous seeds? I had exactly twenty-two. If
I can count the number of peas on my plate, something
is definitely amiss, such as more peas. Doris had
about the same number too.
Shame really, because the beer was
fine, the cider was fine, the music was a bit loud,
the pub was fine, in yet the outstanding memory will
be of twenty-two peas.
The English have
an awful lot wrong. Service is on a par with somewhere
that has no service at all. Much of the food is about
as exciting as something that is not very exciting.
The English do not even have a Constitution in which
to frame laws, they drive badly on the wrong side
of the road, and stick doggedly to a ancient system
of government that involves not electing an entire
house of hereditary politicians, which in turn is
governed by an unelected, ill-defined, antiquated
body that passes itself off as legitimate by dubbing
itself 'Royal'. Even more miraculous than this system
being in place, is that this system has worked for
generations and shows no signs of going anywhere different,
other than being re-packaged a little.
But the English do have their footpaths.
Any country that has an actual law in place stating
quite categorically that, if enough people walk in
this spot for long enough, then it becomes public
domain, will probably weather the storm of time.
Criss-crossing
the county of Northamptonshire on a glorious summer's
afternoon, one can, with care and attention, not only
take in some of the most gentle and tranquil countryside
England has to offer, but three or four pubs besides.
There is without doubt more spectacular
countryside in England. The postcard quality if the
Lake District, the bleak windswept Yorkshire Dales,
the quaint Cotswolds, the imposing Peak District are
but a few that come easily to mind. But of all the
places we have visited, Northamptonshire offers the
simplest, most straightforward example of gently rolling
quintessential English Countryside.
As we walked
through this day we were greeted with few if any dramatic
vistas, but each hedgerow held a trickling brook,
each field some dancing lambs, each hillside a swaying
crop, each woodland an eclectic mix of old and new
growth, each climb the most moderate of challenges.
So it was that we ambled (rambled is too strong a
word) from one village to the next, looking at churches
and pubs, and the occasional Big House.
Northamptonshire is known as the county
of Squires & Spires. Small villages may at one
time have had as many as three or four manor houses
often frequented by London gentry and British royalty
(intimately or remotely related), and while those
halcyon days may have passed, vestiges remain. Large
and ostentatious houses emerge in the unlikeliest
of spots, often back-to-back with another. Avenues
of trees sprout up, leading the eye to yet another
mansion of epic proportions.
This is classic English Countryside,
unassuming and not affected by regional influences
of rock or slope. For the outsider looking in, this
countryside could be anywhere in England, it is almost
generic, but for the seasoned visitor, you may find
yourself drawn back to the quietly modest Northamptonshire.
Why we did not
also hit the Bakers Arms and The Wharf in Bugbrooke
will remain forever a mystery. Obviously, we have
plenty more exploring to do!
