Mike can feel vindicated. Today is the weather he predicted for the entire trip. The fog and rain are gone and the sun is shining between the clouds. We are able to clearly see how many sheep are really out there covering every bit of landscape. Traveling further north in Wales, our destination is the Bodnant Gardens. Along the way we drive through towns that were once thriving centers of slate production. Hillsides of slag are all that we see as reminders of a different time.
The gardens, the property of five generations of the MacLaren family, contain eighty acres of gardens, terraces, ponds, and streams. The house, in the usual English/Welsh style of aristocrats is enormous. Although it is a National Trust property the toothbrushes sitting in the third floor window seem to be evidence that the house is still occupied. Flowers still in bloom created a rainbow of colors. A staff of twenty keeps every the plants, trees, and acres of grass in pristine condition.
The pin mill sits several terraces below the manor house at the end of a large rectangular lily pond. The family moved this building from a previous location where it had been used as a manufacturing site for making dressmakers' pins. Hidden in the trees is the Poem, the family mausoleum where all the titled MacLarens are buried.
Around the estate are many ancient trees planted in the 18th and 19th centuries. Each has a plaque explaining its significance. One of the Yew trees is the tallest in Britain. This tree is extremely poisonous and was in ancient times planted in sacred places to ward off evil. The Christians adopted those sites for their churches and the Yews remained. The church protected them from harvesting for firewood or wood to make longbows so today ancient Yews are found in the yards of many British churches.
A last minute decision took us on a detour from our North Wales to Worcester route, veering off to Longdon. Our friend Maureen Piper had been a wonderful correspondent but I had not heard from her in eighteen months. My letters to her had not been returned. When we arrived the house was vacant and the "For Sale" sign was laying behind the brick wall. Mike and I rang the bell of the house across the street and were invited in. This couple had known Maureen for thirty years and provided daily assistance the the last few years. Maureen died of a lung infection last March at the age of ninety one. Although sad I was glad to know about the end of the life of a fascinating woman.
Posted with Blogsy
No comments:
Post a Comment