Escapes, Adventures and Happy Memories

"The world is too much with us; late and soon" said William Wordsworth, and we felt that way somewhat so we took a local trip to a place of quiet solitude, Holyrood Abbey, almost in our back yard. 

Holyrood Abbey and gardens

Holyrood Abbey

It's a beautiful ruin with gorgeous gardens, and was very peaceful. We wandered around in sheltered and quiet spaces, just a few yards and a tall stone wall away from the hustle and bustle of the touristy Royal Mile and the equally busy Scottish Parliament. Despite the late season the lawns still show green and there is colour in the trees. The paths wind peacefully through shrubberies and leafy groves. We even found a minstrel hiding in the bushes, who reminded us of our musical grandchildren. He has been playing there for many, many years. The poor fellow is not so much worn down from playing on his fiddle for all these years as he is quite literally worn away. Even so, it is easy enough to imagine a time when royalty strolled these gardens and listened to live music for a garden party--as they still do, of course, occasionally, since this palace is still used by the royal family.

The ruins themselves are very picturesque, of course. Lots of decorative stone work, windows bereft of their glass, and memorial stones of the great and good, or just the politically well-connected. It was a peaceful expedition and laid the groundwork for our next, more adventurous venture.

Moffat, Source of the Tweed

The following week, right after Thanksgiving we made a break for the border, out and away--not just to the Border territories of Scotland but across the border into the southern lands, into England. It was exhilarating to cross the English border at the renowned Gretna Green Smithy.

This sounds awfully rebellious, but more prosaically, we had permission from the Area Presidency, and were heading for the temple to celebrate our anniversary. On the way down we achieved a goal, sort of. We wrote earlier about our desire to see Berwick Upon Tweed, which is the mouth of the Tweed River, well on this trip we saw the other end of the Tweed river, where it rises in sheep-fields in the Scottish borders. 

We had managed to leave work quite early, strongly encouraged to do so by our mission president, and so arrived in Preston in time to attend a Friday evening session in the temple. The garden around the temple was manicured and elegant, as they always are at temples, and we were impressed by a row of large trees, precisely trimmed into teardrop shapes standing as a row of neat green sentinels down the side of the temple.

41st wedding anniversary at Preston Temple

We peacefully entered the temple where we were greeted with warmth and friendliness. After the hustle and bustle of the morning and the long journey it was nice to just be able to relax and slow down.We were in good time to change and head into the meeting room. After the session we peacefully sat in the celestial room and just soaked it up for a few minutes. What an oasis of peace and spirituality the temple is!

However, brute nature intruded itself once more; it was now quite late in the evening and we had skipped minor details like supper in order to reach the temple in good time, so we scooted over to our accommodation in the temple grounds, changed into more casual clothing and headed for dinner. We asked around for advice on where to eat and got several suggestions from people and from the Internet, and headed off for a likely prospect. On the way we passed a chippie, which seemed crowded; that had to be a good sign, and the rare open parking place right outside the door made it an opportunity too good to pass up. We crowded into the steamy warmth of the tiny shop, redolent with the aromas of freshly fried food, and ordered fish and chips. We had to wait awhile, of course; the British have a good grasp of take-away (AKA take-out) but fast food is an unfamiliar idea. However a casual question to the nice young lady serving us about "Traditional Lancashire meat pies" on the menu got us into a conversation with the cook. He was enthusiastic about his profession and told us the meat pies were made by a local baker according to a recipe that had been in the family for ten generations (yes generations, not years). He lovingly described how they were packed full of meat, fat and gelatin, and how, to really enjoy them you bite into them and feel the juice running down your chin. Younger enthusiasts, of which he clearly had been one, would bite a small hole in the crust and slurp out all the juice before eating the rest of the pie. It was fascinating to listen to his enthusiasm about pies and cooking, and even about healthy cooking oils (he uses peanut oil), but our growing hunger drove us from the heady atmosphere of his emporium back to our room to eat piping hot haddock and fresh potato chips, doused liberally in tartar sauce.

We stayed in the Temple patron accommodations. The entire facility had hallmarks of an American architect, with wide corridors, large elevators, generously large car parks and that sure indicator of a Utah designer, drinking fountains in the hotel corridors. The prices were clearly intended to encourage people to attend. We spent £25 for a spotlessly clean room that includes a comfortably large en-suite bathroom and a kitchenette with fridge, microwave and food prep area. They did ask us to make sure we left the room clean, emptying the trash and stripping the bed in the morning, and putting the sheets and towels in the laundry bin, which we were happy to do.

The next morning we attended another early session in the temple, soaked up as much of that spirit as we could, and then pointed the car to the north.  The Lake District was a very small detour, so we did not resist the temptation. It truly is a beautiful area with mountains, fields, winding scenic roads, picturesque villages and, of course, an abundance of lakes. We wound our way through to Grasmere, home of William Wordsworth in Dove Cottage. I believe it was here that he wrote his beloved poem,

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Unsurprisingly they have a daffodil garden there, very much asleep in the winter cold, but we have seen and will see again the rolling fields of daffodils in the Spring. In the meanwhile we enjoyed the view of the pub across the bridge at Grasmere.

Grasmere

We found a local pie shop and feasted on spicy Cumberland sausage rolls and cheese and onion pie. and wandered around Grasmere staring in shop windows, along with hundreds of other tourists. We even met some Church members, who saw our badges and took a minute to greet us.

Also very importantly, Grasmere is the home of Sarah Nelson's famous gingerbread, reputed to be the best in the world. There is a just tiny shop and always a queue. We stocked up with some for ourselves and gifts for the office. In a fit of spontaneous impulse shopping we also bought ginger meringues and ginger and seville orange marmalade.

Ambling along the narrow roads we enjoyed the stark beauty of the Lake District in winter. The scenery is painted in shades of grays, browns and reflected light, but is still majestic and soothing.

Rydel Water Grasmere

We crossed the border back into Scotland and headed for home, stopping briefly to drop gingerbread with the mission president and get an update on a sick missionary, and arrived back, tired but happy at our bright, warm flat.

And finally, let us finish where we started, with Wordworth. We will remember this trip for time and times to come. And though we enjoy the beauty of winter, we also look forward to Spring when we shall see the fields of daffodils again.

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.