By John C. Dyer, UK correspondent
Part 1. Wells and Glastonbury
I used to understand the Liverpool accent. That was 1987. Today it is "Scouse." Sounds like a cross between Norse and Welsh. But not English. A year later, I still scratch my head trying to listen and understand. Local idioms are among the most fascinating aspects of the adventure saga into which I have made the last "age" of my life. Then there is the Lancashire "Are you OK?" Asked with such a concerned expression one is dead sure that, undisclosed by telltale pain or weariness, there is a great fissure working its way down one's now ashen face. It just means, "Hi, how are you?" Not to worry. (Photo Farmscape right by JCDyer, summer 2011)
In between acclimating myself to my new world of fascinating North West UK smells, sounds, idioms, I have managed a trip or two, like my recent one to Edinburgh.
Another is a trip to Somerset I will share in three installments, Wells and Glastonbury, Bath, and Bristol.
We chose Bath Travel Lodge as “base camp” for our Somerset trip, preparing to take in Bath, Wells, Glastonbury, and Bristol. Each held significance for us. My partner grew up not far to the south of Wells in Dorset. She began teaching in Bristol. Her daughter was born there. For me, it was a major site in the legends of my childhood hero, Arthur, and potentially the home of my Dyer ancestors.
It also has great hand crafted wedding bands, definitely field for the two intrepid partners.
The morning of the first full day, my partner drove the 22 miles from Bath to Wells through the “warm apple pie and mulled cider” farmscape of Somerset’s Mendip Hills. Glastonbury Tor floated in the distance like a green island on a dark blue green lake. Glastonbury was indeed an island in a marshy lake into historic times. As befits one of the most legendary mystic sites recorded in the English language, it evokes Wagner and Mussorgsky in one breath.
Wells
Some sights stay with you, sometimes because magnificent, sometimes because atmospheric, sometimes because of associations, sometimes for very personal reasons. Wells Cathedral ticks all these boxes for me. Although the town of Wells itself was always relatively small, still little over 10,000 in 2001, Wells Cathedral was once the administrative center for one of the United Kingdom’s most influential and important Bishops, the Bishop of Wells. The King of Wessex constructed a church on this site in 705 A.D. Construction on the current cathedral began in the 10th century, but began in earnest in or around 1175 AD. It was completed in 1239 AD. A 1,000 year old font remains from the Saxon era . (Photo right by JC Dyer summer 2011)
The Cathedral’s massive exterior is breath taking enough as it is today. But consider its details and the statues which line its exterior walls 
(Photo left detail, Well Cathedral by JC Dyer summer 2011) were once brightly painted, visible at great distances in the medieval landscape. Something of the colour scheme can be glimpsed from its currently painted interior It is magnificent, graceful, and intimate all at the same time. Wells is sometimes called the poem among England's Cathedrals. 
(Photos of Wells Cathedral by JC Dyer summer 2011)
But there were more personal reasons for me. What is it about in old age some of us become endlessly fascinated by our genealogies? Famously leading to that noble or famous forebear, perhaps a King. My inquiries, which have included genetic testing, have brought me to redefine the question, but a part always seems to be the line of our fathers and of our mothers. Perhaps it is motivated by the same impulses behind ancestor worship.
That was the inquiry that brought me to Wells Cathedral. The earliest record of a Dyer to whom I can prove some sort of a connection is found in the records of this Cathedral, a Henry Dyer appointed in 1329 to a Benefice by the then Bishop of Wells during his first year as Bishop. The Bishop involved was Bishop Ralph of Salpino (Shrewsbury). Not long into my visit to the Cathedral I found his burial (Photo right above, Bishop Ralph’s burial by JC Dyer summer 2011). Another to whom I have some proven relationship administered the Chartulary in the last quarter of the 15th Century. As I stood on the steps leading to the administrative complex high in the Cathedral I wondered that I stood where another John Dyer had daily hiked to work in the 15th century. (Photo right above: Steps leading to the Administrative complex, Photo left above: Wells Administrative Meeting Room by JC Dyer, summer 2011).
Outside the Cathedral lies the Bishop's Palace (Photos far left by JC Dyer, summer 2011), which can be viewed from the Cathedral's lovely tea room (Photo near right by JC Dyer summer 2011).
Also outside lies the Music School, the student housing so charming I drifted into imagining student life (Photo far left by JC Dyer summer 2011), interrupted by a street musician playing a Mandolin (Photo near left by JC Dyer summer 2011).
I could go on endlessly about Wells, the Bishop’s Palace, the Wells Music School, its ancient history. It is a remarkable place to visit. I can see myself living there. But a day is short. It was time to boogie on down the road to Glastonbury.
Glastonbury: the Legendary Avalon
Glastonbury is, as I am sure every reader knows, world famous for its music festival, its ruins, and its associations with Arthur. Glastonbury is the legendary Avalon, site of Arthur's burial. A medieval story has monks at the Abbey digging up the remains of Arthur and his Queen. Of course, you will get a fist fight from a Cornishman over wrongly locating Arthur outside of Cornwall. Every good Cornishman knows Tintagel is at least Arthur's "Keliwick" and lies above the Camel estuary where there is absolutely no doubt the ruins of Camelot will one day be found. No doubt. Shhhhh. (Photo left by JC Dyer summer 2o11)
When is a rose, not a rose? When it's a Hawthorne
A possibly older legend, also in part involving Cornwall, is a little less widely known outside the UK. It concerns Joseph of Arimithea. Joseph of Arimithea, so the story goes, came as a missionary to Britain after the Crucifixion, landing on the Fowey River in Cornwall. There may be more to this legend than meets the eye. The non-canonical literature lists Joseph as a tin merchant. Cornwall was an ancient center of tin mining. Joseph legendarily founded a Christian order at Glastonbury.
At the ancient mystic Tor, Joseph allegedly transplanted a “rose” brought with him from Jerusalem. The rose turns out to be a Hawthorne and not originally planted at the Abbey. Also consistent with modern research that suggests the crown of thorns may well have been made of a plant like Hawthorne. The bush originally identified as Joseph's was not in fact planted on Glastonbury Tor. The current bush is a descendant of one transplanted from a nearby hill. This bush (or perhaps more accurately its descendent) remains.
Britain’s Mt. Shasta?
As rich as is the history and the legends that surround Glastonbury, that is not the first impression I had as we arrived. My first impression? 
The Mount Shasta of Britain, a centre for fans of New Age culture. (Photos left Glastonbury store and street bagpiper by JC Dyer summer 2011). Colourful people everywhere. Photos right, Glastonbury Street scenes by JC Dyer summer 2011)
First Impressions are everything, they say. Both very English and not at all English all at the same time.
By the time we hit the ruins, we were bushed - seeking comfort in hugging Joseph’s rose (Photo left: the author Hugging "the Rose"). 
We could only tour the ruins of the Abby, observing other visitors. We had to settle for seeing the Tor through the camera (Photos Glastonbury Tor, Victoria "bushed." Ruins/Visitors by JC Dyer summer 20011) rather than hiking to the top, while drinking tea from the Abbey Tea Shack (Photo right by JC Dyer summer 2011).
After small "t" tea failed to up the energy, we bagged further exploration and schlepped 
down the road for evening “Tea” at Wagamams of Bath (Photo right by JC Dyer, summer 2011). For the uninitiated, capital "T" Tea in the UK is the evening meal. Note to Self: in the future, reserve at least a day each for Wells and Glastonbury. They are worth it.
Evenings in Bath are gorgeous. The sun moves across the local "Bath Stone" of which so many are made, etching them in shadow while turning them golden. (See Bathstone photos right by JC Dyer summer 2011) Particularly pretty was the Covered Bridge 
(Photo below left by JC Dyer summer 2011).
The entrance to the ruins of the Roman Bath beckoned, but that was for another day Even the trees whispered of adventure, mysticism, playful light yet to come. (Photo left center of Roman Bath entrance and "Whispering Trees" right by JC Dyer summer 2011).
Next up: On to Bath and Bristol.