A Long Day Ending with Ghosts

We spent the morning debating whether we should head south to Stonehenge before heading north to the Lakes. It was an hour one way, the wrong way, and we were already looking at a 6 1/2 hour day, according to Google. We decide to forego the rock monument and make our way to the home of Wordsworth and Carlyle. But the gods were not with us. We encountered numerous traffic jams, construction, and just general slow going. It took us nearly ten hours altogether, including getting lost in Manchester. The ladies were patient, and we all got along just fine, but is was hard driving.  We ended up at Orton Hall, south of Penrith and were stunned at our room. The hall itself is a mansion built in 1662, a dark time in England’s history to be sure, but this was an opulent house and grounds with coats of arms on the walls and other trappings of history and wealth. St. Judy immediately felt a dark and heavy presence, and I have to admit that I did as well. I often do in England, especially in houses of the wealthy. I feel like a Scotchman or an Irishman these times and want to curse the English for their crimes. While several people were staying there, we saw almost no one. It was a very odd feeling being there. We were able to do some laundry and to visit the lovely village of Appleby where I bought a shirt or two to replace the ones that I had jus thrown away because I didn’t want to wash them. I shot a little pool and finished the novel No Country for Old Men, which is even more wonderful than the film. Those who loved the film will love the book since it fleshes out the philosophies at work there in more detail. McCarthy is amazing.

Saturday morning I went down to the village post office that doubled as a market and picked up my Eurail pass that I had mailed from California, then picked up some breakfast for the ladies and me. We had a kitchent there, though we had to pay for the electricity we used, but I bought some bread and jam. The brand of the bread was Warburton’s, and Judy and I had a good chuckle at that. I also filled up the tank with petrol. I knew it was going to be bad, but still I was shocked. I kept thinking I was calculating the transition from liters to gallons and pounds to dollars incorrectly, but I wasn’t. I filled up our car for $125, almost double the price of gas in the USA. And all I could think was that I wish it were this much to fill up in the states. If it were, we might be able to have an energy policy that wasn’t insane and did not get people killed in the Middle East.

While we were visiting the nearby village of Appleby, where some of my ancestors are from, I had an interesting conversation. We had trouble parking as it was Saturday and Market Day, but after driving around the village several times, I finally found a spot. While waiting in the rain for Angie and Judy to emerge from the tourist information center, a man approached me and, of course, asked me for directions. He wanted the Royal Oak Pub, and I told him that I was visiting from America, but I was pretty sure it was down the street, around the curve, and to the right. He looked at me and said, “Why is it so unconvincing coming from an American?” I told him I understood. It was July 5, and I suppose he was feeling a bit put off by the celebrations back home. He went into the bakery I was standing in front of, and I watched the women behind the counter point down the street and to the right and smiled as I looked down. He came back out and said, “You were right on, chap. And I suppose you’re still giddy from those celebrations from yesterday.” I just smiled and told him I would glad he found it. I didn’t even think about July 4, not that I do anyway. He was giviing it more meaning than I was. We had a lovely dinner and headed back to our haunted mansion where we sat in a cold room and watched three movies in a row before going to bed.

I long for Scotland, for shortbread, single-malt scotch, and haggis. Give me the Highlands over the Lakes any day.