England.. a place where the houses are named not numbered, where the women wear more eye makeup then American drag queens, and a place where the bread is about as awful as the weather...HERE is where I've spent the last week. Having lived here for 2 years when I was wee lass I have since been eager to examine the country through an older pair of eyes. You know, back to my British roots, etc. So I've been romping back and forth from a town called Chorleywood and London all week. I'm staying in Chorleywood with old family friends Ken and Claudine Morris. Ken is a good ol' chap and, if I may, quite "to the point." With his deep, burly scottish accent he illustrates honesty with ease and I can see how, to some people, this may be intimidating. I, of course, have always preached about honesty and found his company to be refreshing and truly enjoyable. Claudine, on the other hand, I'm most convinced dislikes me (for a number of reasons that I wont be bothered to mention) and she has contributed to my sweeping assumptions of British women; they are cold, snappy and, on occasion, quite rude. I have found it appropriate to make such sweeping assumptions of the whole British culture because, well, I've only had a week to examine it. To be honest, I think I have every right to do so. It is quite odd, actually, the contrasting feelings I have for the two sexes of Britain. The men I have found to almost always be great looking and charming. The women, however, have been unfriendly and have such an air of snobbery it creates a 2 foot barrier around their existences that I don't dare intrude into. I just want to say this to the women of England before I move on: not ALL of you are royality.
Now, this trip was wonderful in all sorts of senses but I will mention only 2 specific days. The first being a trip to the city of Bath. Bath is nestled into the English countryside and under government mandate is compeletly built out of a local golden-coloured stone, the Bath Stone. It has several natural hot springs that the Romans built luxurious spas around and some are still standing today. The lover of "old stuff" in me was absolutley enthralled by this. Something else I discovered while I was visiting was that Jane Austen had lived there. I went to her vistitor center and bought a copy of Pride and Prejudice which has since put me into a goopy, romantic mood (great). Bath is so incredible I'm finding it hard to describe to you, so I will only suggest that given an opportunity you visit.
The second day I will mention is the day that I went to my old house. Home cottage, as it is named, was once the frolicking ground of my sisters and I. It is an old World War II house set on a fruit farm, accessorized with secret passages and ghosts. It illuminated my imagination as a child and since I've been eager to if it still lives up to its original magic. Ken so kindly offered to take me there this last Saturday and I, of course, said yes. After getting slightly lost we turned down the old dirt road and soon found ourselves face to face with Home Cottage. Mighty and white with black shutters and a red door it looked just as I remembered it. After quite indiscreetly taking pictures of the house, the owner rightfully came out and inquired what I was doing. After explaining that I lived there as a girl she invited me inside and let me look around. It is, perhaps, one of the oddest feelings I've ever had...strolling down halls that I used do somersaults down, walking up those abnormally creaky stairs, peering out the window that me and my dad used to watch foxes chase rabbits out of...I remember feeling awful for the rabbit but always having a pertinent fascination with the hunt..
England is a jolly good time, regardless of the weather and women. France tomorrow and I can't wait.
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Alina, Home Cottage was built about 1920, so it pre-dates WW II.
ReplyDeleteFor the rest of the readers of these comments, we rented the house while we lived in England in 1996-1997. The property is as Alina has described it, and the owners of the farm, Pat and Peter Hinds had sheep, ducks, chickens, and several orchards of apple trees, (???) trees, and the girls would run and play among the orchards and fields. Imagine a Beatrice Potter story, and that is what they enjoyed.
In fact, I can still remember the day young Daniel Boone and his best friend Henry Miller ran up to the back door of Home Cottage and told me (Mr. Boone) they had just killed a cougar, and what should they do with the fresh kill?
Thanks, Alina. Good memories. I really loved that house. I'll upload some pics to FB later on.