The McLaren of Jane Austen or The Pie, The Bull and other things…
Think of Jane Austen country and what comes to mind, a landed gentry,
leisurely strolls through verdant pastures, sheep, cattle and, of course, the
horses? But just how many breeds of horses are hiding out in those peaceful,
green, gentle hills? And better yet are they all of the four legged variety?
Sense tells us it is prime horse, cattle, and sheep country, what if
sensibilities were interrupted by the roar of something that travels on four
"legs" of a different form?
I cut my teeth on National Velvet. One of my favorite daydreams was of me
riding The Pie across a pasture, wind whipping my short hair and Mi
coaching from along the fence line. When the opportunity arose for me to
actually spend some time in the English countryside, I jumped. When I
found out that the village of Bentley, where I would be staying, was in Jane
Austen territory, the only minor adjustment was to trade in Mi and The Pie for
Colonel Brandon, Mr. Willoughby and romance. Ok, I’m not 12 anymore; I
was up for the challenge! I wanted the opportunity to meld into the
community, meet the locals, to feel as if I belonged. My reason for traveling
to this area was to observe the shakedown of an MP4/3 McLaren at the
famous Donington Park racetrack, along with a photo shoot of a Jaguar XJ
and a bright yellow Porsche 997 Carrera.
Jane Austen country, so steeped in history, was soon to provide some
modern surprises, and the contrast between historical and modern would
prove pretty striking. As mentioned, there were several reasons to be in
Jane’s neck of the woods. First was the MP4/3 McLaren. A Formula One
racecar with historical significance and modern interest. The second was to
spend time with the Jaguar and the Porsche; these fine carriages were
provided by the manufacturers. Both were delivered to Heathrow airport after
a redeye flight on Virgin Atlantic. Our destination was the Bentley Mill. It
was dark as we rolled into the outskirts of Bentley and after a few false
starts, along with an unplanned tour of the small village, we arrived. Ann and
David Hallett, proprietors of the converted mill were exactly what we
Americans of the Modern English era envision. A paper mill, originally built in
1640, the Bentley Mill is exactly as the name purports, and eventually
became a corn/flour mill. The Mill sits virtually atop The River Wey. Ann and
David are a cross between English country gentlemen/women farmers and
yet extremely well traveled, to the point that one would not consider them
tourists, well, travelers. In spite of the comfort and quaintness of their
establishment, there was also an air of quiet sophistication...breakfast was
on par with most five star temporary abodes. A short walk from the Mill sits
the Bull Inn. It is the quintessential English Pub, right down to the fireplace,
the locals and the ambience. The Bull Inn serves breakfast, bar snacks,
drinks and dinner. Oh, heaven! Or as Jane would say, “one half of the world
cannot understand the pleasures of the other”. I wanted to experience
another world firsthand, one that is only read of by most!
Sandy, who is an occasional bartender at the Bull, is the perfect character to
stand behind said bar, a lot of fun and Sex In the City has nothing on her.
Grant Edmead, the owner of the Bull Inn, should be an old curmudgeon, but
no, he is an ultra modern sophisticate; drives a Porsche and vacations in
Vail, Colorado. The regulars have the personalities one would expect in a
PBS Masterpiece Theatre production but have modern
professions….marketing specialist, to name one. One evening at the Bull
Inn was topped off by a dinner with that renowned race cartoonist and artist,
Jim Bamber and his wife Sally…a perfect evening. In order to access the
town of Bentley from it’s Mill Inn, one has two choices; get in a car and travel
the A 31….or, the best to any traveler……walk out the front door of the Mill,
turn right on the narrowest country road ever and hit the footpaths through the
pastures. Bentley was meant for strollers and the juxtaposition of historical
cottages and new mansions was marked as I ambled along through different
farms. The destination was the same, the imagination, however, was well
exercised with the journey.
Like Jane Austen, I preferred “taking a turn in the shrubbery”. It was easy to
feel as if I might encounter one of Ms. Austen’s characters at any time as I
traveled the footpaths to the little village of Bentley.
Even though Hampshire’s countryside is historical, there is a definite mixture
of the old with the new. A day trip included a visit to Jane Austen’s house in
Chawton, where she lived the last eight years of her life and wrote some of
her best works. The house is now a museum. A trip to the town of
Winchester also provided some contrasts that really showed that I was
certainly not in Kansas anymore. It was quite cold in December, but there
was a Christmas Market going on at Winchester Cathedral. Parking was an
issue, just as it would be in the U.S., and all street parking was taken, but
there was a modern parking structure and while the Jaguar XJ is a proper
British car, it was bigger than most on the road and parking was an
interesting fete. The Cathedral, the festival and the town did not bring me
down as goes the song…..walking through the festival, with the dreary, cold
weather, it was no stretch at all to feel transported back in time. Yet, the
shopping was modern, the buildings historic. As I walked into Winchester
Cathedral, as always in Europe, I was struck by the history, the humanity
who had trod these floors before me. The library, with the Winchester Bible,
a 12th century illuminated work that remains unfinished, is a ‘must see’, and
to my mind, the best part of the cathedral. The gift shop, along with the
cafeteria, are in sharp contrast with the historical/ medieval feel of the
Cathedral, while located only a few yards away from the ancient marvel.
Shopping once again paired the old with the new. The norm for any area at
Christmastime: folks meandering from shop to shop, street musicians
performing on the sidewalk outside of a Starbucks, a modern drug store in an
aged storefront, only serves to highlight the architecture of the buildings and
the historical significance of the region. However, leaving Winchester in the
comparative safety and luxury of a new Jaguar XJ is also far from the norm.
Speaking of architecture, The Bishops of Winchester inhabited Farnham
Castle in the village of Farnham, for over 900 years. Bentley is just a stones
throw from Farnham. But wait, besides being home to a castle, is there
more to Farnham than meets the eye? The peaceful, “All Creatures Great
and Small”, James Herriot feel that we Americans want to experience caused
me to look for Mrs. Pumphrey and Tricky Woo, maybe I wasn’t’ in Yorkshire
but ……it felt right!
As my Bentley countryside reverie was to be interrupted, combined with, or
attached to, a trip to the neighboring burg of Farnham, I began to wonder just
what Farnham would bring to the table. How could it possibly compete with
Bentley, and Ann of the Mill, and Sandy of the Bull Inn, of sheep in the
pasture, of ancient bibles, and, well, all of it? Really, as the purpose of the
trip was car stuff, what could complete it more than a trip to the ‘shop’ of a
major historic racecar player?? Once again, the contrast took my breath
away. Obviously a horse and cattle operation at one time with a fantastic
barn, which has been restored to its original splendor, what was behind the
wooden barn doors? A fantastic collection of vintage racecars! Vintage, in
Jane Austen country, is relative term. What constitutes a vintage car? Well,
cars are a relatively new creation and Ms. Austen would not have known
them, so we are modern/historical in a relative sense. Our prejudices are
just challenged. We are there for a photo shoot of McLaren MP4 Porsche
powered F1 rolling stock…and eminent race car photographer, John Brooks,
is there with all his paraphernalia, along with racecar historian Kerry Morse,
to record the event. Their goal? To photograph the McLarens, in the mist, in
the cold, in the historic setting……to capture the sense of the cars and the
people who influence racing. It was cold, it had the perfect feel, but, wait,
there was more to come!
Did I want a ride in an F1 GTR McLaren? The ex Ray Bellm 1996 F1 GTR
still in Gulf Oil colors? Of course! Did I realize what I was getting into? Of
course not! This fabulous looking McLaren was rolled out of the shop…. Still
wearing its championship Gulf colors of blue and orange it was, well,
romantic and loud and full of horsepower of the more recent type. Oh, it was
Colonel Brandon, it was The Pie, and it was in Jane’s countryside…..it was a
steeplechase, it was a need I felt to cut my hair short and pretend! Did I turn
down the ride………of course not! I pried myself around the roll cage and
into the little racing seat located to the left of the driver, as the McLaren is a
center steer. Strapped into a seat that allowed for NO movement, there and
then, I decided it was up to my driver for my safety, I figured it would be over
quick. I decided these cars are built for catastrophe, and, hey, this guy
knew what he was doing. I put on my best happy face and we were off.
There is nothing to compare to a drive through the English countryside in a
McLaren “streetlegal” racecar with a proficient driver. Behind us was yet
another McLaren F1, this example being of the production type and then
Brooks and Morse in the yellow Porsche 997 trying their best to keep up with
the McLaren duo. I could barely turn my head, partly out of fear, partly out of,
well, the inability to turn my head. Feeling a bit like Plato’s workers in the
Allegory of the Cave, I was only aware of what was going on directly in front
of me. Conversation with my intrepid driver was not possible. He couldn’t
hear my silent screams and his reassurances would fall on deaf ears. I could
see, in my peripheral vision, people looking at the ride, but I was focused on
the road ahead…..it seemed to go on forever. We finally left the village of
Farnham, and there is nothing more interesting than traversing speed bumps
in front of a school in an extremely cool and fast car. As we left and went
into the countryside, I was able to see cows, sort of………. they went by so
fast! I felt as if the cows were tigers about to be churned into butter. Finally,
we pulled into what looked like an upscale dairy. Upscale, indeed, it was a
warehouse that was the home to what seemed like a million (ok, I am prone
to exaggeration) very cool, historic racecars. Let’s see, historic racecars in a
modern warehouse in the middle of land that makes me think that all
creatures are truly great and small. Cows, horses and sheep grazing quietly
in a pastoral setting, not even glancing up at the roar of the McLaren. Old,
new, old……..wow, forget Mi and Colonel Brandon even Mr. Darcy……bring
me Mr. Firth, bring me Mr. Rickman! Somehow I knew I had to come back
to reality, to my half of the world, which was waiting. I had to say goodbye to
Ann and David of the Mill, Sandy of the Bull Inn and then Brooksie…..the
‘other half’ of SportscarPros. I do have a bit of a confession to make; the
countryside, the Jag and the sightseeing took precedence over Donington.
While the hardworking crew of SportscarPros was shooting away at the
track, I was tooling around in either a beautiful black Jag or in my own black
riding boots, which doubled as walking boots. After all, as Jane once wrote,
“Why not seize the pleasure at once, how often is happiness destroyed by
preparation, foolish preparation?”
En route to Heathrow the next morning, after saying my goodbyes to Ann
and David, after one last coffee at the Bull Inn, after a short detour thru a
neighborhood near Heathrow, one which seemed to have an inordinate
population of the elderly, and a trip on the shuttle to the airport (one last
chance to visit the other half in the form of a shuttle driver who should have
been in movies)…..I was struck by the thought that my modern trip was now
to become history and that lurking in the Hampshire countryside there truly
was more horsepower than just that of the equine variety.
Lizett Bond
July 2008
|
