from wet-n-windy to windermere
by Rach
somewhere in The Lake District, England
“No need to go any further, chaps, let’s build ourselves a wall right here,” declared Hadrian one wet and windy day. No history book will tell you this, but I reckon he had wandered up a bit further north and encountered the same “severe storm” that we suffered through. For two complete days we were blanketed in grey on grey, rain deluging unrelentlessly. Hadrian must have realised the futility of pressing on further north, and we did too. We awoke in a massive puddle having spent two nights being buffeted about so strongly that Tgirl5 had spontaneously had an audible word with the Almighty, “Thank you for this wild weather, God, but please don’t let our vans blow over.”
(escaping)
After a morning playing “spot the tourists” in Lindisfarne (where the priory was closed due to flooding!!), we sat in the still-pouring rain for a family conference.
Scotland or Wales? London or Greece? Windermere or Edinburgh? Warwick Castle or Windermere? “Oh no, don’t make us choose between THOSE two, that’s too hard!”
Greece was voted for in favour of London on the assumption that we are more likely to return to Heathrow than Athens. Not being able to get to Coll, and the fact that the weather forecast was for rain for as long as Met Service could predict, we decided to skip Scotland altogether…maybe another time. (It’s not that we are scared of rain – it’s just that trying to get gear dry in a confined space with 90% humidity is a nightmare…as it is, we made the kids wear shorts so their trousers wouldn’t get wet today – harden up, it might be only eleven degrees and blowing a gale and at home yes we would call this winter, but we can’t afford to get too wet!!)
So all that remained was for the tide to back out so we could return to the mainland and head for Windermere. At least we had got across and had a rainy look round the village…oh yes, that’s where the spot the tourist game happened. Tourists are the ones wearing rain jackets and sandals. Locals wear full oilskins and high gumboots.
We had also retreated into the Priory Museum, another fantastic hands-on establishment with beautiful artwork adorning the walls, displays creatively presented and lots of information to absorb.
We had visited the church where people have prayed for 1300 years. This is the spot from which England was reached for Christ, where the first missionaries set out from…and where people are still pilgrimaging to today. In fact, the Pilgrims’ Way across the causeway is marked by tall wooden poles to guide the way (when the tide is low, of course).
We had viewed the castle from a distance (two castles actually from our vantage point), we had walked down to the beach, we had read tombstones (a two and a half year old daughter dead, a lady who lost a five year old, and then three children aged 19 to twenty-something and then her husband, and finally in the same year, her only remaining 31 year old son – what heartache).
We had experienced the elements and marvelled at their effect on the priory columns (we couldn’t go IN, but Rob got some good shots all the same), we had admired the beautiful colour of the stone; indeed, we had had a full morning in spite of the rain.
But now being mid-afternoon, we set the GPS for Fastest Route and soon found ourselves driving familiar roads, roads we had already traversed, right down to Hadrian’s Wall. As the rain continued to bucket down we commended the general’s decision to not take on the far north!
About “bedtime” ( a very loose term meaning 7pm for the littlies, but with no sign of bed in sight) the sun came out, we climbed a farm-covered hill and pulled in to a lay-by with an awesome view…time for dinner (ten people fed in ten minutes for six pounds forty pence – thanks Sainsbury’s, where we had stopped a little earlier – one roast chicken, 24 pita breads and a kilo of coleslaw, followed by chocolate log..…mmmmm)
This small climb proved to be the beginning of a greater one, right up to 1903 feet. Without the stone walls, the mainly bare hills would have looked most Mongolian. On reaching the summit we were treated to a marvellous view. Spread before us was a patchwork quilt of varying shades of green, brown and golden fields, stitched with lines of dark green trees, stretching as far as the eye could see.
We ooh-ed and aah-ed our way down, winding back and forth across the face of the hillside. Parking spots abounded, the sun was gathering a golden hue, but we resolved to press on towards the Lake District, the raw beauty we had just seen filling conversation for quite some time and distance.
Around the first lake there were plenty of lay-bys, and we pulled in to them all. We pulled out again after reading the “no overnight occupation of vehicle” signs. The authorities had missed one such spot (or perhaps, more likely, some hooligans had removed the sign), and so we accepted the invitation to remain Right Next To the lake. We hadn’t quite made Windermere, but given the late start, the driving conditions, the shopping stop, the fuelling stop and the water-filling stop, we had done well to get so close.
Waves are gently lapping on the shore beside us. We hope they stay further away than the puddle we woke up in this morning!
Time on the road: need to check Jboy13’s record!
Distance covered: 225km
Tags: 2008/09, children, dress, food, history, postcard: England, postcard: Mongolia, recreation, transport, weather
rayres
Good choice indeed 🙂 I hope you love Windemere. My parents regularly visit. One day I hope to follow. It sounds like paradise.