Allie Cole: Hill Top House

Last Thursday, our group had the privilege of visiting the home and farmland once owned by Beatrix Potter, an English author, illustrator, natural scientist and conservationist best known for her children’s book The Tale of Peter Rabbit. Her artistic and literary interests were deeply influenced by fairies, fairy tales and fantasy, and she was also interested in the natural sciences. Potter enjoyed collecting fossils, studying archeological artifacts from London excavations, and was drawn to the field of mycology.

Potter supported efforts of the National Trust to preserve not just places of extraordinary natural beauty. When Potter passed away in 1943, she left nearly all her property to the National Trust, including over 4,000 acres of land, sixteen farms, cottages and herds of cattle and sheep. Her gift to the National Trust enabled the preservation of the lands now included in the Lake District National Park--a green, idyllic area of Northwest England.

 Potter’s small, homey cottage fits right in with the national park’s rolling hills and breathtaking, unaffected beauty. Her home is refreshingly cheerful — its front door opening up to a quaint garden of wildflowers and vegetables, and the interior is preserved exactly as she had left it so many years ago. While meandering through the author’s living space, I was captivated by the many physical examples of Potter’s personality and interests. It became obvious that Potter had a childish enthusiasm for life, as shown by the set of dolls in one room, the many miniature glass animals in another, and a dollhouse in yet another. Her ability to be a respectful observer was made evident
through the intricate drawings of insects and a looking glass left out on her desk.

Potter seemed to have created a joyful life for herself by exercising her imagination and also an appreciation of her natural surroundings. It seems that despite some of the challenges present in her personal life, such as the death of a fiancé and a sometimes turbulent relationship with her parents, she was still able to maintain a diligent work ethic and to care for our environment and for those who want to enjoy it for years to come.

The striking natural scenery surrounding Potter’s house, as well as the charming simplicity of the house itself, is a reminder to stop and take a look around — to imagine the slower pace of life for those inhabiting the English countryside, and to feel inspired to take in elements of my own natural surroundings at home and to allow these to inform my own writing and life as a whole.

Claire Campbell: Touring Skipton and Haworth

After spending the past two years attending a school outside of Boston, I have been on quite a few tours led around Paul Revere’s house, through graveyards, and across the historic cobblestone streets of Boston. I had never thought about the details that go into presenting a historical site, as each tour was similar enough that no definite opinion could be formed. Now, I first take note of the presentation of these incredible British sites, down to every detail that makes our experiences either profound or frustrating. In a single day, we visited two sites that greatly showcased this range of experiences.

The castle at Skipton was beautiful; it did not need tour guides dressed up in period clothing, replicas of items from the past, or really anything but the very bones of the building. Our imaginations filled in the details of past grand gatherings, how the courtyard would have looked with various royals parading about.

I was deeply impacted in knowing that this place had value because it had seen so many amazing things. Nothing else was needed to convince me of this location's worth.

 The Brontë house at Haworth was different. While equally beautiful, with a gorgeous courtyard and house, I felt like the inside of the house was a strange shrine to the Brontës. I didn’t sense any kind of respect for the sisters, as illuminated glass containers held random artifacts from sisters and their family and friends in the rooms that they lived and died. I would have preferred to see those items in a museum, not in a home. I was distracted by the amalgamation of items and posters with paragraphs full of trivial information; I did not walk away from that house feeling as though the love that the Brontë family had for Haworth was honored at all.

 It is easy to become overwhelmed with the history and artifacts of a place. I don’t know how to avoid this, as it is important to preserve places such as those we saw in Skipton and Haworth. It may be that it is necessary to have all kinds of historical sites in an attempt to honor both the owners of the past and the visitors of the present. I wish we could ask the authors and royals what they would have wanted, even though I doubt we would often be happy with the answer. But we did see beauty that day, in several forms that all helped us understand a bit more of this interesting place we are calling home these next three months.

Lindsay Call- Lindisfarne

 

How interesting that I should visit an island called Lindisfarne on the anniversary of my birth.

We share so much—aside from first four letters of our names being the same, we also carry the air of being distinctly associated with the Irish (I am distantly descended from Irish farmers uprooted to America, while Lindisfarne was first cultivated by Irish monks in the Middle Ages). The holy men lived peacefully upon this stark and beautiful place until Viking raids destroyed their priory and everything they had worked so hard to achieve—everything, that is, except their faith.

Standing on the rocky shore with my hands in the North Sea, I somehow find it easier to imagine
myself as an invader than an Irish monk. The green hills of this island rising up out of the sea through the mist, the last bastion between these conquerors and the shores of England itself, its rough beauty which asks for no attention- I can understand why the Vikings wanted Lindisfarne for their own. Maybe it’s the number of times I listened to Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” on the way here, or the small piles of rocks that visitors have piled like cairns on the shores of the North Sea, but this island has made me begin to examine the relationship between travel, pilgrimage, and conquering.


Why do we go to places like Lindisfarne? Is it to honor those whose faith came before and to try to gain some of their holiness? Is it to stand in beauty and realize how small we really are? Or is it to say we’ve been there, for a picture we can put on Instagram to make the collage of pictures that has come to stand for making our lives a bit more interesting?

In the stories we’ll tell of Lindisfarne, or Durham or London or anywhere, there is some part of us that, by simply being a foreigner in another land, has attempted to take a piece of a new culture and turn it into a part of our own. Whether we are showing off our new knowledge of Tube routes, pretending to laugh at something we really don’t understand, or even uploading a picture of a cathedral where our main focus is on what our witty hashtag will be, we’re attempting to conquer a bit of another people’s culture and fit it into our own. I’m not trying to say that we’re Vikings or anything—we’re just trying to find a way of fitting another culture into our own big story. None of these are bad things, but the focus of our travels needs to be not the attempt to collect experiences, but let an experience collect you.


We need to realize that when we travel, our own personal experience of another culture or a certain place is never the absolute truth. And there is a kind of beauty in realizing that your story is part of a collection of stories. Together, those stories somehow make up a reflection of the places you go.

Niki Blois- Durham Cathedral

Last Wednesday, our group took a charter bus up to Durham, which has been a
pilgrimage site for over a thousand years. The city houses Durham Cathedral, which the Anglo-
Normans began building in 1093 and holds the shrine of St. Cuthbert, an important England
saint. Dr. Friedman, an excellent medievalist, told us about the cathedral’s unique architectural
style: originally an Anglo-Norman construction, it also displays Gothic features such as pointed
arches, high roofs, and large stained-glass windows.

As Dr. Friedman explained, the Anglo-Normans were sea-farers, products of Norman
invasions and conquest. They built low, stolid structures with thick walls and boldly carved
pillars. Certainly, Durham Cathedral is earthy and round (round like barrels of beer, or like
the bellies of foundering ships). Its structure is stout and strong, dark and rooted. The walls still
bear traces of the original red and blue paint daubed on by the Anglo-Normans. Did you think
that medieval churches were bare and austere? I did. But no—the Anglo-Normans painted lush
flowers and patterns across their walls. Their churches, like the most explosively illuminated
manuscripts, shimmered with glowing gold, royal blue, poppy red. The Anglo-Normans strove to
create Heaven on earth.

But though Durham Cathedral is Anglo-Norman, squat and proud, it’s got touches of later Gothic architecture, aided by more precise technology such as the weight-bearing pointed arch, the Gothic style achieved ascension. In Durham, there is also light among the darkness. Soaring, exquisite beams arc across the high ceiling. Minute flourishes and embellishments cover every surface—wrought iron and wood bursting into flame from so many curls and loops and knobs and decorations. Light streams through stained glass windows, a riot of burnished colors tinting the old stone floor and studding the walls with crystalline shapes like gems, like gems on the walls of Heaven in Revelation.

To me, the cathedral is a manifestation of the old and the new mingling in a way that
doesn’t often happen. It’s a crossroads between what’s come to pass and what will. The Anglo-
Norman style gave way to the Gothic, and eventually the Gothic style faded as well. But in
Durham, a brief moment of history in transition is recorded—the shift from old to new.
Here, in our opening days of England Semester, we’re experiencing a shift as well. We’re
shifting from our old lives and into this new, scary one—one where our friends and families are
maybe a thousand miles away, and we’re just getting to know our classmates, and the exchange
rate is too horrific to think about. But maybe when the shift becomes a little rough, I can
remember Durham, where the old and the new share holy space, mingling in the presence of
God.

Welcome!

Hiya to the folks at home reading the humble postings of us, the 2014 England Semester travelers. We'll be updating this twice a week and everyone will be sharing their thoughts, so check back frequently or sign up on the right side bar for email notifications. Follow along with us as we gallivant about the English country(and city)side!

Cheers!