“You must go to the Lake District” we were told, time and again. Last time I was there, my kids were very young, I had a Morris Minor and a basic tent, no trimmings. And the time before I was 17 and on the pillion of a Norton 650SS. So a few memories for me, but Greg had never been there.
I chose a site in the south, near Grange-over-Sands: farm site, just power, water and dump point; booked for six nights as I knew there was lots to see. The farmer, Cyril, is 87 years old and although limited physically, he still ran around on a quad bike or tractor. We got his life story, a real grafter, been on the farm 37 years, lived in the area all his life. Told us how he and the lads used to go off on their bicycles with fishing gear and old tents, 50 miles north to a fishing area they loved. In those days there were very few tourists.
Anyway, they had some lovely horses, gypsy horses, and the rest of the farm was arable. His daughter stayed there a lot to make sure he was behaving himself, she said! We settled in…the only people on the site, meant for a maximum of five caravans.
Next day we headed to Barrow-in-Furness, not the prettiest of towns, mainly because it was once a busy industrial town, but now it’s a bit run down looking. But we went to look at Furness Abbey, which was built in 1123, where the Cisterian monks were very powerful and rich until the Reformation. It’s a huge abbey and as we arrived we were told to hang on for 15 minutes…we didn’t need to ask why as the huge grounds were FULL of school children running around, with teachers trying to round them up! I actually felt a soupçon of “fear” when I saw them! I remember taking a group of teenagers on a trip when I taught at summer school and losing two of them in London! Kids were having great fun, teachers looked harassed.
The abbey was in a remote area when in use, but controlled many farms and other monasteries as far away as Ireland. It must have been a sight to see in its day, because it’s quite a sight now. It even boasts at least three ghosts – one a headless monk riding a horse. A remnant from the reformation probably. So once the school children had left, we almost had the place to ourselves and with the guidebook in hand we enjoyed imagining life there all those years ago. Those monks knew how to live!
I decided after that, as we still had daylight until 10.00 pm, that we’d go for a “little” drive. My plan was to get Greg to drive some of the narrowest, twisty-turny roads ever, which we did…culminating in the infamous Hardknott Pass. This has a sign at the beginning which tells you it’s only suitable for cars and bikes, at 30%. Don’t forget, we are driving an old Transit van. Well, I reckoned if a Morris Minor could do it 35 years ago and a Norton in 1965, a Transit should cope! Amazing what a person forgets. There were hairpin bends galore, but those hairpins were also 1:3! All single track with very few passing places. Times I was looking down on a sheer drop, with the van feeling like it was tipping over! So please excuse the lack of photographs…I told Greg the drive would cost him at least two new pairs of knickers! We did it! Looked at the Hardknott Roman Fort from a distance then drove back along the Hardknott Pass! The next pass was the Wrynose Pass, which was scary but I was getting blasé by then!
We ended up driving back to Cyril’s via Lake Windermere. Intended to stop, but things were different to when I was there all those years ago…those were the days you could get close to the water, camp anywhere, etc.. Not any more. Chockers with tourists, and very commercialised. Guess that’s progress. We were very hungry by then and by sheer luck or fluke (I told Greg I had “manifested” it), we got a parking spot near the lake, where the pleasure boats leave and a good fish ‘n’ chips shop, so we sat in the sun people watching, with our fish ‘n’ chips attracting the attention of the local birds.
A memorable day.
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