Misty mornings from London to California, the Country Life Fair and a neglected tomb

John Keats’ immortal words describing autumn as the ‘season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’ may be sadly over-quoted, but they remain some of the most evocative and perfectly chosen in the English lexicon. I thought of them when passing the stubble fields of Oxfordshire in September and again when looking across the ribbon of fog lying in San Francisco’s Golden Gate in October. Soft billows of white filling the hollows of a wooded Gloucestershire valley or flowing over a shoulder of the Marin headlands, spangling the ground with droplets that glitter in the early morning sun or bringing to life the boom of the foghorn that echoes around the Bay, these are the sights and sounds of autumn and fall. In Britain, a long hot summer is giving way to dampness and chilly winds, the time when wellies and scarves make an appearance once more and blackberries turn sour with the Devil’s breath. In California, the wine and walnut harvest has begun, pickers sometimes working through the night to escape the energy-sapping heat. October really is the most beautiful month of the year: autumn colours and ‘maturing sun’ turning the British countryside into a tapestry of red and gold as the foggy days of July and August give way to deep blue skies and crystal-clear air in San Francisco.

Morning mists in a Somerset valley

Clear skies above, fog below in San Francisco

'Maturing sun' swathes the city of Bath in a gauzy veil

The intense gold of autumn's 'maturing sun'

Not to be outdone, fall's evening light bathes Alcatraz in a rosy glow

September in England saw the inaugural staging of the Country Life Fair, which regular readers might have heard me mention once or twice. The sun shone and people came, in numbers that were definitely respectable, and even though there is scope for improvement, it was a fantastic first incarnation in what will hopefully become a regular part of the social calendar. There were stands galore, from gunmakers to painters, clothing outfitters to luxury travel agents, laid out in the grounds of Fulham Palace. Morris dancers and falconers entertained at the far end of the walled garden and costumed guides gave tours of the ancient seat of the Bishops of London. If you missed the fair this year, keep an eye on the pages of Country Life magazine for whispers of its return!

The archway of Fulham Palace welcomes visitors to the Country Life Fair

Sculptures by Hamish Mackie in the courtyard of the palace

Scene of a few good-humoured traffic jams: the entrance

to the walled garden and yet more stands

Morris dancers cavort in the sunny showring

Rus in urbe indeed: the gardens of Fulham Palace could 

be in a rural English village

Symbol of Britain's finest magazine: a noble 

peacock presides over the Country Life stand

Me trying on Lady Mary's tiara, as worn in her Downton Abbey

wedding and owned by jewellers Bentley & Skinner.

Sadly, I had to give it back

When I was living in London and cycling to work at Country Life magazine, many people exclaimed in horror at the thought of braving London traffic on a bike. In fact, cars didn’t worry me nearly as much as headphone-wearing pedestrians stepping off pavements without looking, but, after San Francisco, I did find the pace and aggression of London drivers somewhat perturbing. In the Californian city, four-way stops are the norm, people are far more patient and pedestrians have right of way, if not in law, by tradition. (Incidentally, and this applies to both cities, since when has an indicator been renamed a confirmator?) Of course, northern San Francisco is smaller and less crowded than west London, but even taking this into account, the driving atmosphere is far more relaxed and there are no traffic jams to speak of. I have battled with Parisian traffic in an English car, driven at speed around the Arc de Triomphe and raced along French motorways to catch a ferry, so I am not easily scared on the roads, but plugging along on a Boris bike and dodging grumpy London drivers was much less comfortable than I expected.

Me with my trusty old green Dutch-style bike

Yet London is such a beautiful city that it was a joy to spend a few days there. Walking along the river through Battersea Park at sunset afforded views to rival the best California has to offer, and nowhere can beat its galleries, theatres, restaurants and parks. When one is living somewhere, one never sees everything one should, so my time spent away from my London home has made me appreciate it like never before. I admit that I tend to stick to the less gritty parts, but there are beautiful corners in every part of the great capital. One such, to my surprise, is in Brixton, but is sadly neglected. If you come out of Brixton tube and turn left, the traffic flows unceasingly around the Church of St Matthew, one of the four ‘Waterloo’ churches built to Matthew, Mark (Kennington), Luke (Norwood) and John (Waterloo) in the aftermath of Wellington’s victory. The columned portico looks over iron gates and what should be a noble tomb to a 19th-century philanthropist whose donations to the City of London Corporation led to the founding of the City of London School for Girls and the acquisition of Queen's Park in north London. Set back only feet from the entrance, William Ward’s tomb has been damaged by badly reversed lorries and is surrounded by rubbish spilling from wheelie bins. Crude sheets of MDF cover its carved stone sides, the inscriptions hidden away. Yet only 20 years ago, Ward’s tomb was the recipient of funds from both the City of London Corporation and English Heritage for its restoration on the centenary of the girls' school foundation. Ward’s great-great-great nephew Nicholas Ward is doing all he can to raise awareness and support for the tomb, and I can only hope that the powers-that-be listen and act to restore it and move it to a safer place further inside the churchyard where it can be appreciated and admired as it deserves.

Nicholas Ward beside the damaged and boarded-up tomb of his ancestor

St Matthew's, Brixton, where William Ward was laid to rest in 1881

 Despite such episodes of neglect, London is looking wonderful, truly the greatest capital of the greatest kingdom, United kingdom, in the world. Together with everyone I know, Scottish and English, I am enormously relieved that the power-crazed Alex Salmond and his cronies did not get the result they wanted. Jet-lag meant that I followed the unveiling of the votes live, a somewhat tense experience that ended in relief with a far bigger proportion of Scots voting No than was expected. Salmond was also revealed to be not only a sore loser but a cad, failing to show up in his Aberdeenshire constituency and leaving his second-in-command Nicola Sturgeon to face the music alone while he apparently flew around on his private jet for a few hours before appearing before a picked group of journalists. Whatever the political arguments, he has been revealed as an arrogant bully, proving the tenet of The Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy that no one who wants to rule should be allowed to. I am proud to call Great Britain my home, from the Cornish beaches where I spent my childhood to the windswept city of St Andrews in Scotland where I obtained my degree, and I am so glad that the Scottish people voted to stay together. If nothing else, it would have been embarrassing to have had to explain a ‘Yes’ vote to my American friends! I am extremely happy to be a Brit abroad, not just an English girl abroad.

A tale of two bridges: sunset over Chelsea Bridge (above)

and the Golden Gate Bridge (below)