Habits in Harlaxton, Haworth, and Home

Oh, how the mighty have fallen! I am no longer queen of all I survey, but I must conform myself to living an institutionalized life in a college dorm in England. No longer can I eat when my stomach growls (my preferred method) but I must eat when the clock and the cook says it is time. No more meals plopped on the couch with my family and a great movie but with a crowd in the dining hall.

One thing I cannot get used to is this English notion of two spigots in every sink. Now, I don't mean two handles, but two different exit points for hot and cold, spaced as far apart as the sink will allow.

So, you either wash your hands in scalding hot water or ice cold water, or you try the "back and forth really fast" method of mixing the water. At first I thought these faucets were only at Harlaxton, since it was so old, but in my travels I find they are everywhere: in the train stations, on the trains themselves, in the modern shopping centers. In my dorm room it is the most inconvenient. I had hopes of washing my hair in the sink as I do sometimes at home. I tried it yesterday just for fun (!). I filled up the sink by putting in the little rubber plug on a chain and mixing hot and cold to a nice temperature. Then I literally stuck my head down into the water and splashed it with my hands to the back of my head. It was comical and painful. How I take for granted those lovely faucets back home! I remember buying a new faucet for the bathroom at home and the agony of deciding between a one handle or a two handle. I have a new appreciation for the wide range of faucet choices we have in the states. I think if I moved here I would order a bathroom faucet from home!

Another thing that has struck me in this place is how important steps are in my new life here. I'm sure there's a symbolic metaphor somewhere in here for this stage in my life, but I leave it to you to find it. Suffice it to say, I think about steps often and find myself taking lots of pictures of them. The first set I encountered at Harlaxton was the five-flight, straight up, dark and dingy set with a cagey lift in the middle, that ended in the path to my dorm room.

It was a love/hate relationship. The exercise was great but it did nothing for my soul. I was soon scouting for an alternative.

Now I take the oak staircase as often as I can and always stop for the look up.

The intricate plaster work, the mirrors, the view of the painted ceiling and the natural sunlight does much more for my outlook. Looking up as you climb does that for a person.



The steps that greeted me at the youth hostel drew me up as well, with the beautiful 3 story high stained glass window at the landing. It seems I'm always drawn to the light...



The stone steps up the moors brought back the love/hate relationship in reverse. My soul was satified on the moors, but the exercise was almost too much for enjoyment (we hiked nine miles that day!)


So, I've discovered a love of steps in my life. Now I know why I have often contemplated how to improve the 1880s (now 1980s) staircase in my own home. feel a greater need to rescue it from pure functionality and return it to a thing of beauty. As on the moors, outlook with introspection is everything. Beauty along the way and something to look forward to at the top of the climb can make it all worthwhile. Again, I'm sure there's a life lesson in there somewhere, but I leave it to your own contemplation.

The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and he delighteth in his way. Psalm 37:23

Poetic Pace Car - Dr. Ruth Benander

If you can keep up you can really hear some great stuff! I was able to stay close enough for about an hour and heard some Emily Dickinson...

I never saw a moor
I never saw the sea
and yet I know how the heather looks
and what a wave must be
...and a little Blake as we gazed down into the valley at the mill buildings...

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my charriot of fire!

I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.

and then I lost her. I could not keep up with Action Grrl
sigh

The Moors of England

We spent two half-days exploring Bronte Country (Haworth). The hike up through the town of Haworth was very quaint, but the tour guide quickly dispelled that myth with her graphic description of running sewage, crowded conditions, and unhealthy water supplies from the groundwater running through the small cemetery where 42,000 (!) bodies were buried and not decomposing very well. (No wonder the Brontes all died young)

In the parsonage at the very top, right at the edge of the moors,is where the Bronte family lived and died young while producing some of the most enduring British Literature classics of all times. As we toured the Bronte parsonage, now turned into a museum, I was struck by the very small size of the rooms. However, after seeing the tiny shoes and dresses of the Bronte sisters I see that they fit quite nicely in the doll-house of a parsonage. The family life as presented at the museum seemed to be all about writing and very little about the day-to-day existence of the family; no laundry, no chamber pot, even the kitchen where Emily made the family bread focused more on the German book propped up by the breadboard than the production of the family's meals. This is quite different from other "home life" museums that I have attended. The museum catered exclusively to the literary pilgrim, as it focused almost exclusively on the actual writings of the family and quite a lot on brother Branwell's paintings. The sister's lap writing desks were fascinating, especially Emily's, which still held a set of lick-n-stick stamps that were brain teaser puzzles.

The Brontes, as children, wrote very tiny books for their imaginary worlds. The books can only be read with a magnifying glass! As I walked among the heath and bracken on the moors, I could see how the Bronte children could see a tiny land with the heath as the forest. It was easy to imagine the fairies still in England and living on the moors and dales.

The gift shop again catered to the literary pilgrim with a few nods to bored children and teenagers. Many versions of the Bronte novels were evident along with biographies and historical treatises of the village of Haworth and the surrounding countryside. I was so pleased to find a nicely done graphic novel of Jane Eyre to use in my middle school classroom, but the graphic novel of Wuthering Heights was atrocious. It looked like an over-stylized Spider Man comic, with lots of sinewy muscles and boobs popping out everywhere in anime style. I passed. In the middle of the gift shop was a kiosk with typical toys (balls, crazy pens, puzzle books, stuffed animals, etc.) that was obviously placed there to keep kids busy while Mom perused the Bronte paraphernalia.

Up to the moors we hiked the next day, nine miles up and back from our youth hostel. I think 8.5 of those miles were straight up! How did those women hike this in little heels, dresses with petticoats, and only a wool shawl? I was tired and wet but still contemplative. The wind was relentless and yet not unwelcome. I could imagine Cathy and Heathcliff here as I stood on the cliff covered with heath (sometimes Emily Bronte just hammers home her symbolism, know what I mean?)The moors don't seem desolate from a Wuthering Heights perspective, but they seem above it all, in both a physical and a metaphorical sense. However, thinking of Jane Eyre roaming lost among the moors searching for peace and safety from the storms of love and life, the desolation side of the place is apparent. It is interesting to see the quite different feelings about the moors as written by the Bronte sisters. If it is possible, I would like to agree with both of them. My senses were invigorated by the moors and I got a touch of the sublime, but I would not like to be up here alone in the rain in the dark, overnight, with no home to welcome my return. I have a greater sense of Jane's despair on the moors.

I look forward to reading all the Bronte sisters' works again (some of Anne's for the first time) now that this place is in my soul.

Cultural/social interactions

(photo is a flower in the conservatory at Harlaxton)

I've been paying special attention to the everyday interactions of the English on our trips into the market town of Grantham. First of all, the shuttle/cab ride to and from Harlaxton is frightening! I can't shake the feeling that the car coming down the wrong(!) side of the road is going to hit us head-on, and I have never seen people drive so fast on such narrow roads. Seatbelts are a must and are a large part of the culture. We have been asked to put them on by every driver of every vehicle we've been in, including the big motor coach. (Does a Croswell bus in Cincy even have seatbelts?) It's been another adjustment to realize that here, pedestrians DO NOT have the right-of-way. Simply crossing the street has been quite an adventure.

I've also noticed that most people, including our drivers, are quite chatty IF YOU APPROACH THEM FIRST! I am so used to being greeted by clerks (sometimes forcefully) in stores in the U.S., but here no one speaks to me unless I speak to them first. They are always properly polite, but very few smiles. Everyone talks so softly that it is easy to hear us Americans coming from far away. I'm beginning to wince a little at my own loudness. In the States, it is almost a badge of honor for me to say, "I come from a loud family" and make no effort to change, but the longer I am here the more I catch myself sub-consciously trying to be quieter (volume-wise, not quantity wise!)

The English seem to be very aware of personal space and the rules of public spaces. I made the mistake of getting out of the wrong side of the shuttle bus (why can't I use that door?) and was later informed that the driver was "quite put out." After speaking to the very helpful lady clerk at the train station, I made the mistake of going the wrong direction in the queue to exit. There was only one man in line, but he very testily said (try this at home in an English accent), "You've got to go 'round that way, can't you see?" This was not said politely, but rather incredulously that I would even consider going against the flow. I'm going to make a conscious effort to abide by this as I make my way around the country. I'm trying hard not to be the arrogant American that expects others to conform to me and my ways.

My conclusion is that the English do not initiate conversations with strangers, are polite when spoken to without actually smiling, and are helpful as long as you follow the rules.

Not unlike myself...

The View from Here

This is what I wake up to every morning. The course is appropriately entitled "Literature in the Landscape" and I see inspiration in every landscape here, even from my 5th floor dorm. I think anyone who lived here could be a poet or an artist, even if it was just in her own heart.

The Village of Grantham

Not far from Harlaxton College is the village of Grantham. After lunch we all decided to take the shuttle into the village to buy supplies at the grocery store for late night snacking. Grantham is the childhood home of Sir Isaac Newton, whose statue stands proudly in the town square, right in front of the Grantham Museum. This side of town looks very much as I expected: old-world style buildings, lots of old mossy stone work, neat old churches, most buildings two stories, no higher. It was charming and very "English."

Do not be deceived, however. Directly across from the memorial to Sir Isaac is the Isaac Newton Shopping Center. I'm not sure how Sir Isaac would feel about this particular commercialized tribute to his name, but it made me laugh and made me a little sad at the same time. After all, what does shopping have to do with Newton? Was the shopping mall named this to capitalize on Newton's name or simply because it was across from the famous statue? In America we tend to name shopping malls in an "olde England" style, as if Eastgate Mall was the East gate into the walled city. I suppose I shouldn't judge, since the English have every right to decide how to honor their heroes. This, too, seems to be very "English."

One thing different about this mall, which was mostly very much like any American mall, was the proliferation of thrift shops. I was in heaven!! If you look closely you can see one under the shopping center sign. I found three of these shops in this mall, each one dedicated to a different charity: charitable veterenarians, dignified living for older people, and the association for the blind. Each shop was small, very well organized,tastefully arranged, and best of all, CHEAP!! I was impressed that here in England, thrift store shopping is not relegated to the abandoned shabby store front, and those shopping have a better sense of the charity it will benefit, rather than just how big a bargain they can find. While in one store buying this very cute scarf for £1, a lady walked up to the counter and gave a handful of change to the clerk for "the lovely animals."

How refreshing!

Merry Adventures

You who so plod amid serious things that you feel it shame to give

yourself up even for a few short moments to mirth and joyousness

in the land of Fancy; you who think that life hath nought to do with

innocent laughter that can harm no one; these pages are not for you.

From The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood

In two days I embark on a journey to the land of Fancy. I have spent three years at UC "plodding among serious things" and am ready for a few Merry Adventures of my own. I've never been on an airplane (never!) and I've never been out of the United States, (well, the Canadian side of the Falls doesn't really count).

I've indulged myself the past few days with books that are not textbooks but real literature. I'd almost forgotten how much I missed that. It will be a real treat to actually visit the landscapes in the stories and surround myself with others who find "mirth and joyousness" in dusty old books.

I am looking forward to reading The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood aloud to my grandson Tyler on my return. He loaned me his small Bible for my trip (the only one that would fit in my tiny suitcase) so I owe him the treat of sharing "innocent laughter that can harm no one."

I am grateful most of all to almighty God who has blessed me with this small side trip in my lifelong journey.

You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand. - Psalm 16:11