England Travelogue - 3

We went to see where Wordsworth lived. He lived in a town called Grasmere. He lived in 2 different houses. The first is called Dove Cottage. He lived there with his wife, maiden sister and 3 children. The roof didn't completely cover all the rooms, so the sister and the children got rained on. After he got famous, they sometimes had as many as 17 guests. Coleridge was one of his best friends and stayed a lot. According to the guide, Wordsworth and his sister were orphaned as children and raised by relatives who resented being burdened with their care. They dreamed and imagined one day they'd live together in a little cottage and have their own garden. Which is exactly what they did. His sister, Dorothy, wrote prolifically in a journal which wasn't published until long after her death. Cheryl found a copy of the book in the St. Mary's Thrift Store in Grange-Over-Sands. Dorothy was a gifted writer in her own right. Wordsworth married her best friend. It sounds like a happy arrangement for all, but I have to say that Dove Cottage was the meanest, low-ceilinged, damp-smelling, cold little dump I've about ever seen. They finally moved when their 4th child was due. I'm imagining the wife, Mary, putting her FOOT DOWN, since it was probably she who had to feed all those guests and take care of her children in a leaky barn! The guide said she served 3 hot meals a day to everyone, and 2 of them were porridge! Here's the view from the garden, which was the best part. They don't let you take pictures inside.



There is a museum there that had a John Constable exhibit, along with some paintings and drawings of the Wordsworth family and other comtemporaries of his. Byron was sort of beautiful in a rather feminine way, but Tennyson was a babe. The most amazing thing about the whole experience was that they said it looks very much like it did in their time. Many of the views of scenery in the Constable exhibit can still be seen today much as they were when he painted them. That is such a stunning accomplishment for the British to have pulled that off. Despite huge increases in population - mostly due to immigration. But they value beauty as much as we value private property. It makes me so happy for them and so sad for us. The whole drive up the country on the M6 - a major highway like I-95 in the East or 101 in California - was mostly undeveloped land. There is no sprawl. There are, however, American fast food restaurants at every rest stop. But they've had to dispense with the golden arches, thankfully. The only ugly spot I saw was Birmingham, which appears to be the Elizabeth, New Jersey of England. I guess they have to put that stuff somewhere.

Then the Wordsworths moved to a much nicer place called Rydal Mount. They had a bigger garden too. Here is a picture of Rydal Mount:



The part I liked best was a hike you could take between the two houses along the loveliest path. It was called the 'coffin path' because there was no church near Dove Cottage so people who lived in that area - or I should say - died in that area had to be carried on the coffin path to a distant church to be buried in hallowed ground. It took me almost an hour to hike it and in those days they had lead coffins. Here's what it looked like:



That about did it for me as far as going to tourist attractions. After that, all I wanted to do was hike. One other note, the cows and sheep seem really happy. Not that they told me or anything but you could kind of tell. There was no melancholy about them like there is sometimes around domesticated animals. The sheep are so cute. They hang out, grazing, on a hillside in a loose group. Sometimes one will get a little farther away from the group than the others because he's been focusing on eating. When he looks up, he sees he's not part of the group and he starts baa-ing like crazy. The other sheep keep eating, but they answer the separated one until he gets back to the group. It's quite a symphony. Different sheep have different voices. I think it might have to do with their age. Some have really high-pitched baas. Others - I'm picturing it's the elders of the group - have deep, resonant baas. While I was on the coffin path I saw a little sheep walking along the top of a wall carefully - one hoof in front of the other. I watched him for a while. He seemed to have figured out he could eat the low-hanging tree branches that way. Not sure how he got down though. Here he is: