Bonchurch and Benches

 

Ewan and I have just been for a Sunday afternoon mooch around Bonchurch. I described Bonchurch to him as being a suburb of Ventnor, but then the question arises, how big does a place have to be to have suburbs? Doesn't it seem a little absurd to describe somewhere like Ventnor as having suburbs? In fact, that's how you'd describe Lowtherville. Lowtherville amounts to the streets and houses at the top of Ventnor, before you descend into the town. There is a sign declaring that you're in Lowtherville but the sign informing you that you're in Ventnor has already been passed. So Lowtherville must be a suburb. 

Ventnor does not sit alongside the great metropolises of the world: Mexico City, Beijing, Los Angeles, Ventnor - no, it doesn't work, does it? But I'm still going to call Bonchurch and Lowtherville suburbs, as incongruous as that might be.

But back to Bonchurch. It's a gorgeous little village containing a slightly eccentric pub and a labyrinth of footpaths. The views of the sea glimpsed between trees and houses are scintillating, and the light brown stone walls that border the main road through it, quintessentially English. There's a café, The Pond Café, and a tiny lake opposite. It really is jumpers for goalposts stuff. 

The aforementioned hilly road through the village is called the Bonchurch Shute. Shute, or Chute, is an Island thing, and describes the steep roads that crisscross the island perfectly. My favourite Shute is the unimaginatively named Newport Shute which descends like a black ski run from the main Downs Road to the fragrant Garlic Farm. The Lime Kiln Shute to the east has a much more interesting name which must be investigated; the Island is a haven for geographers!

The highlight of our mooch was a tiny 11th century church. I think it's probably the smallest church I've ever been in - but not a chapel which I think has more to it than just being a small church. So I'm going to call St. Boniface Old Church a 'churchette'! Why not! A sign outside informed us that it was rebuilt in 1077 - I don't know whether an 11th century builder looked at it and whistled through his teeth before taking on the commission, but he did a bloody good job, if you'll forgive the French. It has a muralled wall from the 7th century and is just so - cute!

Ewan and I both noticed a preponderance of benches in Bonchurch and, come to think of it, in Ventnor and across the Island; maybe they were on offer at the B & Q by Platform One in Newport. I suppose there must be a correlation between the number of benches in a place and how pretty that place is. I was in Stoke-on-Trent once and don't recall too many benches, though I was there with my brother Pete enjoying the Beer Festival and so may not have been at my most observant. 

Many of the benches on the Island are in entirely sensible places; placing a bench in front of a nice view of the sea is a logical decision taken by a bespectacled, conscientious and diligent member of any council, and I applaud that official; I can picture him or her with a furrowed brow working out the exact placement of said outdoor, timber seat (I mean he or she has the furrowed brow, not me). 

But I do wonder if the member of the Parish Council responsible for benches in Bonchurch had enjoyed one or two lunchtime pints of Goddards (the oldest brewery on the Island) prior to deciding where to place the benches in that suburb. We came across one (a bench, not a bespectacled council official) in the middle of a road outside a house, pictured above. Also, how wide does it need to be to be called a bench? As you can see from the picture, there is only room for one person - or half an American. So basically it's a chair. But because 'bench' is the only word for an outdoor seated area, we can't differentiate between a bench for two or more people, and a bench for one. I accept this is an abstruse and pedantic point, but imagine the consequences if you met three people on a walk desperate for a rest.

"Excuse me. Sorry to bother you. We've walked for miles and are exhausted and Granny's lumbago is playing up. Do you know if there's a bench nearby we can rest on".

"Yes", you answer. "Round that corner. You can't miss it. It's dedicated to Anita Dump, 1878 - 1943."

You mention this because this is the other law of benches. They are always dedicated to someone who has died, in the way that no other furniture is. I mean I'm not writing this sitting on a sofa dedicated to Mr. Ernest Phartington, 1913 - 1988, am I!

Twenty minutes later you see the three of them sitting on each others' laps on Anita Dump's bench (though obviously the person on the bottom wasn't on anyone's lap, but you see what I mean). The tired ramblers abuse you (especially Granny), claiming you didn't inform them that it could only accommodate one person or half an American. So you see it could have serious consequences; we need a name of a bench for one person. Suggestions on a postcard.

As we walked into the house I was pontificating to Ewan. I'm an able and experienced pontificator, as I may have referenced before.

"It's good to get out, isn't it, Ewan?", I preached. "Firstly, it breaks the day up, secondly it's good exercise, and thirdly, it's good to get to know your local area, don't you agree?"

He looked at me with exasperation, trying to rein in his disdain.

"Why do you always say such obvious things?"

Then he went up to his room to resume writing his book on General Elections since World War II.

Since 1890, and following a "Home Rule" campaign, the Isle of Wight has been its own county, and quite right too! This is great, because I didn't sign up up to live in Hampshire. Nothing against that county - it's just that in some small, subtle way, it reinforces the fact that we live on an island. Actually the Isle of Wight broke away from the Mainland nearly 7,000 years ago, but geologically, not politically. So if we'd moved here in 5,000 BC we wouldn't have needed Wightlink or Red Funnel. Thank goodness that separation happened or the business model that those two ferry companies are based on wouldn't have got them their startup bank loans. 

"I do see a tiny flaw in your business plan: why on earth would you need a ferry between two land-based towns? Application declined! Abacus says 'no'!" would have been the understandable response from the Neolithic bank manager.

But the 'opportunity' bit of the four quartered SWOT analysis would have had its positives, I suppose: "Opportunities: May break away from the Mainland leading to increased demand".

Anyway that's all a precursor to a little game I play when I'm out and about here, which is to spot characteristics of English counties on the Island. I've often thought that while it very much has its own scenic identity, there are features of a number of English counties around if you start looking for them. If I had to place Bonchurch in an English county, for example, I might choose Kent -  a county whose beauty you'd describe as 'organised' - like the Cotswolds or bits of East Sussex, as opposed to the wilds of Cumbria or Northumberland. 

So on my bike ride in central and West Wight yesterday I was, at various times, in Dorset and Yorkshire. Dorset is perhaps also a county whose scenery is 'organised'. As usual I passed many thatched cottages, which reinforced the west country feeling. Some of these houses are ridiculous, the thatched roof comprising 90% of the height of the building. Last year I booked a short break in an Airbnb near Dorchester in a thatched cottage. I thought Mrs. Griffiths would be pleased and shower me with love and kisses. She wasn't and didn't!

"Don't you know thatched cottages are meant to be full of spiders?", she howled.

My suggestion that the resultant immersive therapy would be useful was not met with anything approaching acquiescence, and the kiss goodnight later wasn't what you'd call meaningful or tender. But we went and it was lovely, and we didn't see any spiders (well hardly any) and I was right again (well mostly).

Yorkshire can be wild but the scenery I saw yesterday was more Dales Yorkshire, though admittedly at their more tranquil; for a while I enjoyed rolling hills, with sheep perusing their social media - or munching grass, I can't remember which. Actually, if I can mentally add a few cypress trees to the image, the view of Carisbrooke Castle from afar, perching high on a hill, was a little Tuscan.

The island is certainly eclectic in its beauty. When I returned from my ride I declared to nobody in particular (I frequently declare things to nobody in particular) that the Isle of Wight was the most beautiful place in the UK.  And I, for one, am delighted there are numerous benches around for me and others to sit on and luxuriate in that beauty, however many people they can or can't accommodate.