Three Weeks in England

The Second Week

We arrived in York, the capital of Yorkshire County, and with our new car — a Ford Focus — we edged our way out of town and headed for our next place of stay.

Less than forty minutes later, we arrived at Newburgh House B&B, parked along a side road next to some barns, approached the front yard past an open gate, and rang the bell. Newburgh House is run by two guys, Ryan and Andy. They welcomed us, explained how the keys worked, showed us where breakfast was served, and about the breakfast hours. Then we retrieved our suitcases, they carried both of them upstairs, and opened the door to our room.

Although we had chosen the Pink Room from their website, one never really knows how close a picture will match reality. But the room was even better than the picture. It was very large, with a king-size bed on the far left with nightstands, and a huge bathroom with a separate bath and shower to the right. Two large curtained windows faced the front of the property from the bedroom, and another window looked out from the bathroom. Both rooms were fully carpeted. There were four large green velvet chairs and a chaise lounge in the bedroom, and two pink velvet chairs in the large bathroom, next to a large closet. Along the wall that separated the two rooms, there was a bureau that worked for Vere as a desk, and I used one of the green chairs at the bottom of our bed and the marble coffee table in front of them for my desk. The window seats were extra deep and functioned as additional counter space. The bathroom had a pedestal sink with amenities and separate lighting, and a lower table under the window had towels piled up. We plugged in our laptops, and put up our feet. The view out the front was of a huge green meadow, dotted with sheep. The place was clean, quiet, rural with little traffic, and perfectly charming. We were really going to enjoy the next seven nights.

By 5:30 we were thinking of dinner, so we got in the car and drove just a half mile past the B&B to the small village of Coxwold. We found the Fauconberg Pub and went in. This was a typical pub with a small restaurant. We were seated in the back room next to five women at a table who were celebrating. Just the night before, the youngest of them had gotten married. Four men were lined up at the bar with beers, one of whom was the new husband. Stories of the couple, told with rural accents, were cheery with toasts, and hearty laughter set the mood. One woman even sat with a white pug dog on her lap. Paintings on the wall showed sexy women in armchairs and above the bar was a sign reading, “Is it beer-time yet?” It was a total pub immersion. We had arrived in Yorkshire!

I wanted the cheese soufflé for an appetizer, but that was the one thing they were out of. How could any kitchen be out of eggs and cheese? I changed my order. We shared a bread and olive board, and a heritage beetroot and goat cheese salad with walnuts. Then I had the breaded scampi with peas, tartare sauce, and a glass of Chablis. Vere had the pan-fried chicken breast with sauce Diane, creamy mash, and broccolini.

Afterward, we crossed the street, entered through a gate to a cemetery and walked to the top of the hill. The many tombstones were mostly of men who had died in WWI. We sat on a bench at the top and looked over the hills of Coxwold. It was the perfect time of early dusk when the day was cooling down, the birds were chirping away, and the sun hovered on the horizon, seemingly not wanting to set.

Back at the B&B, we filled out the breakfast forms and left them on the table at the bottom of the stairs. We did a little writing and reading and then went to bed.