Guiting Power: The uncanny way that a vicar is able to pedal a very heavy bicycle at a constant speed no matter what the gradient of the slope or the load carried in the front basket. There is always a front basket.
Gotherington: Curtains with too many pleats that hang down in a semi circle. Sometimes referred to disparagingly as ‘tart’s knickers’, but Gotherington is the proper term. The phrase: ‘This room you’ve decorated in purple would be further much enhanced if you were to have a Gotherington finish to the drapes’.
Guiting Power is in the Cotswolds, up in the hills, not far from the Slaughters ( I kid you not, Upper and Lower Slaughter are two villages not far away. Both of these places need no special meaning ) Gotherington is a village north of Cheltenham.
Frampton Mansell: The outfit worn by a large huntsman. Rather too tight across the backside and gut as the owner has generally owned and worn it from when he was at least three trouser sizes thinner. Puts the horse under exceptional strain. See also Hartbury as someone displaying a Frampton will generally respond to to an observation about his Frampton with one single very loud Hartbury.
Hartbury: The sound made when men of a certain age clear their throats before speaking in public. Onomatopoeic. Emphasis on the HART. Method of disapproval, see Frampton Mansell. Only ever used by rich landowners who have no need to purchase their own furniture.
Didbrook: A thump or blow to the belly which results in the recipient expelling all available oxygen from the body. A term used in rugby. Recipient likely not to get back on their feet for some time, and will wheeze for days, and be dazed for weeks.
Damery: The sort of things that women keep very deep in their handbags for unforeseen circumstances that men have no knowledge of. Much better that way.
Didbrook is a small village on the way north of Cheltenham and Damery is a place I thought was in the area but does not seem to exist, although there is a Damery Lane in the area that does not go anywhere in particular. I may be wrong, I frequently am.
Avening: A large expanse of country house lawn where absolutely no weeds exist at all. Any sign of weeds within said lawn are treated with horror by the owners and with suspicion of weedkiller by purist gardening visitors to the mansion. This is always refuted by the head gardener but he’s likely to have his fingers crossed.
Corse Lawn: The opposite to Avening. An area of so-called garden which will contain a large number of highly coloured plastic toys, swings and a dog pen. Probably a rope will hang from any tree branch and there’s likely to be a trampoline which will take up any available garden space. Nothing like grass grows within.
Bagpath: The argument that ensues when a female passenger disagrees with a related driver on the right direction to a place to which they have both driven separately to before. Arguments usually start at a roundabout where they choose entirely opposite routes.
A break from the place names for a day, and a brilliant walk in the countryside. Loads of cow parsley and bright sunshine now and again. Walking with my friend Sir Robin Burton of Churchdown, who is always the best of company. We set off on a circular tour from the bottom of the Chalford valley, up through Dimmelsdale ( yes, it does sound like a made up name ) and to the top edge of France Lynch. The area is familar to me as we used to live around there. Over to Oakridge and then across towards the Daneway area but downhill to the canal and river where we stopped under a bridge and Robin sang a great song and about miners with the benefit of what might be termed, canal bridge acoustics.
I took a small video for you to take a look at and listen.
Deserving of a Scotch Egg, we finished our walk back at the bottom of Chalford valley and drove to Miserden where we knew these eggs might be on offer. Unfortunately there were other yellow beasts in the area and as we tucked in wasps were everywhere.
” These are all going to die” was the advice given to me by Robin,
” They are if they come near my scotch egg” I replied. Too many to consider going for a piece of sticky cake, we ended the day there.
Nether Westcote: Underpants of very poor quality where support is lacking in certain vital areas, like the Labour party in Cirencester.
These can be purchased generally from market stalls, but not from Cirencester market where they tend to specialise in home made jams at eye watering prices. In that respect the two items have something in common. Wearing nether westcots can be eye watering, both to the wearer and anyone who might unfortunately have sight of them.
Pitchcombe: Combe is from the latin for dung and in this instance pitchcombe is the word used for the hurling of dung. In particular cow dung that has dried enough for it to be successfully lifted as a complete circle about the size of a pizza, and then thrown.It is thought that Pitchombe preceded Frisbee as a marketing name, but has since fallen out of common parlance.
Stancombe: The stance adopted before delivering a Pitchcombe. Legs wide apart, arms like a windmill in readiness for the launch. Very risky when loaded with the necessary as detritus may emanate and you may not be popular at home, or anywhere for that matter.
Ashton Keynes: The way a small boat might sit in the water when waterlogged. An uncomfortable angle. Has developed from its first water association to mean slightly unhinged, so if someone is described as “ a bit ashton keynes” they can be considered to be “lying at an odd angle in the water”. Barmy but not completely.
Bishop’s Cleeve: The word cleeve is generally thought to relate to the way a valley is formed, so it’s a geographical term. A Cleeve is a wooded valley. How it relates to a Bishop is unknown, could be a favourite walk of the Bishop or possibly a parade through the area by religious people.
A Guide to Gloucestershire Place Names and their True Meaning.
This is another in the series from my considered in depth research into this esoteric subject.
Bishop’s Cleeve is a small town on the edge of Cheltenham quite close to Cheltenham’s Racecourse. Perhaps the Bishop was a gambler?