Word: cotswolds
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...down-and-dirty travelogue, True Brits (Arrow Books; 340 pages), they're the kind of thing that passed for "physical culture" among the Anglo-Saxons of yore. And what's more, such ancient sports and kindred traditions are very much alive and, er, kicking in 21st century Britain. The Cotswold "Olimpicks" - events included cudgel fights and bearbaiting - survived until the intervention of tut-tutting vicars, landowners and justices of the peace in 1852. The sport of shin kicking, a variant of wrestling - with heavy boots and few rules - hung on a few decades longer. It even enjoyed a brief vogue...
...that Phillips is an uncommon commoner. His family is what the British refer to as "county"-people of comfortable means who have homes and stables in the counties and hold high business or professional positions, if they work at all. The Phillipses have a handsome 16th century house of Cotswold stone and primrose hue in Great Somerford, Wiltshire, about 80 miles west of London. Mark's grandfather was an equerry to King George VI. His father, Peter Phillips, is a director of T. Wall & Sons, a large produce firm that specializes in pork sausages and ice cream (and which...
...succès de spectacle was The Royal Hunt of the Sun, plays a labored game of "hound the humanist" in The Battle of Shrivings. Sir Gideon Petrie (John Gielgud) is an aged, Bertrand Russell-like champion of rationalism living ascetically at Shrivings, a converted medieval abbey in the Cotswold Hills. From there he guides a peace movement and blandly preaches the perfectibility of human nature to youthful acolytes and to his wife (Wendy Hiller), with whom he renounced sex, on principle...
...Coward and T.S. Eliot. For his part, 42-year-old Fry is taking his success with the same equanimity he has shown through slim years as an actor and schoolteacher. With his wife and twelve-year-old son, he still lives in a 6s.-a-week cottage in a Cotswold village, 28 miles from Shakespeare's birthplace, without telephone, electricity or gas. He works through the night by kerosene lamp, drives to London, only when he has to, in a small, secondhand...
There it sat, an $18 million imitation English village, spang in the midst of the Connecticut countryside. An eccentric old woman had built Avon Old Farms as the spit & image of a Cotswold village, with carefully warped roofs, rippled window panes, synthetically worn stairs. She had meant it for a boys' school. There were no students at Avon last week. The only sign of schoolboy life was a boy named Butch, busy tacking up college pennants in a monklike cubicle in one of the dormitories, installing model airplanes, and littering up the joint after the fashion of twelve-year...