After a gloomy night in a castle (not as romantic as it sounds – and it was dark and rainy when we got there and dark and rainy when we left, so sorry, no pictures), we sped back to Dublin to catch the Stena Line ferry from Dun Laoghaire (note: if you go, pronounce it correctly as “Dun Larry,” don’t embarrass yourself by saying “Dun La Hair” as I did) to Holyhead, Wales. The plan: stop overnight in England halfway to Edinburgh, Scotland.
The drive along the northern coast of Wales, the north edge of Snowdonia, was impressive and dramatic in the driving rain – thick fog enrobing the mountains on our right, the stormy sea on our left. Much less dramatic was the traffic on the M6 motorway headed north. So it was dark by the time we got to our bed for the night, Briscoe Lodge in Windermere, the Lake District.
What a delight to wake up the next morning and find ourselves smack in the middle of the tea-and-crumpets-hour on PBS. The conjoined towns of Windermere and Bowness on the shore of England’s largest lake, Lake Windermere (at least I think that’s its actual name – on every map we had, it was simply labeled “The Lake”), are beyond charming and must have the highest per capita ratio of ice cream and chocolate shops anywhere on earth. It puts Squirrel Hill to shame, people.
And then there are the swans – the swans own the place. Having never been directly approached by one, I did not realize how large a swan actually is – certainly quite larger than a Canada goose. When a pigeon on the boardwalk approaches you hoping for crumbs, that’s one thing. But when a three-foot swan with feet bigger than my hands wanders purposefully in your direction, it’s a little intimidating.
I had asked our host at the B&B about the sign for a “Beatrix Potter attraction” I had seen on the drive in, and he informed me that the better one is on the other side of The Lake, accessible by ferry. I’ve been a fan of Potter’s “little books” for a while – I just like the artwork and the style. Admittedly, Seth wasn’t very interested in that, but the ferry ride and walk through the country to her farm, “Hilltop,” sounded good, so we decided to check it out.
There is a great tradition in the UK – which I believe, but am not going to bother confirming as fact right now, is legally instated – of the public foot path. This is basically a pedestrian shortcut between villages or points of interest, which forms a thoroughfare through private land. What a great way to see the countryside. The pathway to “Hilltop” goes through forest and national trust land, as well as private farms (through pastures, past sheep – watch your step!) and numerous vacation properties. We hiked about 2.5 miles over rolling hills – yes, the place was called “Hilltop” for a reason – each new vista more picture-perfect and Herriot-esque than the last.
Hilltop itself was maintained as a working farm during Beatrix Potter’s life and continues as such in the care of the National Trust. Potter was devoted to preserving the farming culture in the area, buying land to prevent it being developed and also actively breeding a particular type of sheep historically common to the area. She was also very interested in wildlife and studied or kept as pets many of the animals that figured in her stories. She used the sights around her as material for her illustrations, and scenes from the village can clearly be identified in her books, as well as the interior of her house and many pieces of her furniture and possessions, which have all been preserved as she would have left them. So the little books I read as a child that took place in crazy-land actually took place here – it’s real! Except the animals don’t wear clothes, or have names, or talk… well, it’s sort of real.
After a late lunch of quiche and pastie at “Aunty Val’s Tea House,” we were ready to continue our drive north to Edinburgh.
