Bibury, Windrush and Cold Aston

On a beautiful sunny day we decided to head further afield to explore the rich pickings in the Cirencester area. North east of the town is a small Cotswolds village called Bibury. We (in our ignorance?) had never heard of it, it was in the middle of the countryside. So it was to our great surprise when we turned into the main street to see coachloads of Japanese tourists standing in the road, sporting pollution face-masks and taking photos with their selfie-sticks. A look to the right confirmed why - Bibury is home to a remarkable and ultra-quaint row of weavers' cottages, that are quintissential English cuteness. I recognised them instantly as the recent location of the yellow car parade that went through the village in support of one of said cottages' residents.  Even though there were ice cream shops along the main road, we drove on to the church and were lucky to find a parking space.

What an unusual place, there was even an interesting old building backing onto the churchyard where we had our boiled eggs (now a must-have) and weak lemon drink. Many tourists had drifted up as far as the church (we are not used to being disturbed) which had several things of interest, including a deceivingly simple circle design that proved impossible to draw. Even at home. The interior had several carved features and a copy of a Saxon carving which is now safely in a museum.

Back on the road, we were spoilt for choice and headed off to Windrush in Oxfordshire (we are slowly getting further and further afield and several counties from home). It was a quiet, idyllic spot (bar the Tory posters dotted throughout the well-to-do villages) - with lovely views. What's here...? Oh my god, a DOUBLE beakhead door! Double beakheads! Previously unheard of an unseen in our travels. Not one arch of beaky creatures gripping the door, but TWO, an inner and outer arch. They had been strangely cleaned but maybe this was a good thing - just weird given that we are used to worn and weathered carvings. The cleanness of them gave them a weird new feel. But more to the point they were quite unusual beakheads. Their blank, almond shaped eyes, and long beaks, gave them a decidedly menacing feel, which we both thought, and we were rather wary of them.  My sister tripped backwards up the step and ended up sitting down which was perhaps unsurprising, given their startling appearance.

Last stop, which we squeezed in, was Cold Aston, yet another small cute Cotswold village. Unfortunately the church was next to the school - I say unfortunately because while we were there the poor innocents were marched into the church for a short lesson on kindness or something.  We however were busy engaged in the carvings in the porch, and a rich and varied treasure trove they were. My sister diligently drew the extensive saltire cross pattern filling the tympanum and some of the carved woven pattern in one of several chunks of carving set into the wall. I was intrigued by a relative of the minute head at Maperton, one almost green-mannish head with (what I thought were) leaves for hair, and a hole in his head which formed part of a drain for water (or so it seemed). He seemed quite a cheerful chap (at least in my drawing) and I was pleased with my effort.