Thanksgiving at Dent

As Bill's three children (all fully-growed now) acquire partners and make babies, finding suitable sleeping quarters in my house is an increasing challenge. 




The last time we had all three kids and families, Bill pulled the motor home up outside the house and ran an extension cord up over the sidewalk. 



Sarah and Gareth said they enjoyed that experience, though the party people on their way to and from the pub were a bit loud and scary. I never notice them anymore, but I remember when I did.





So, just for fun, last year I rented a holiday house in Dent, which we judged was fairly central to the three coming from the NE (Edinburgh) and  SW (Chester). 





As it turned out Sarah and Gareth didn't make it but I knew enough in advance that I only got a three bed house. 





It was an end-terrace house square in the middle of Dent, along a narrow cobbled road. The terrace ended at the pedestrian entry into the church yard, which was the view from all the north facing windows. 

Oddly, the grass of the cemetery came up to the level of the window sills, providing a rather unique perspective. In the front, just across the narrow road was the George and Dragon pub. I had the feeling that folks leaning out of the windows there could just about touch anyone leaning out of ours. 



That was one of the downsides, the noise from the pub.  I'm all for people enjoying themselves, but pub closing time is past my bedtime. Also, there was no parking place outside the house, not that this bothered the tradesmen doing improvements next door or unloading goods for the pub. They parked so close to the front door it was hard not to take it personally. Then again, that was because (I think) they assumed the place was vacant. One of our entertainments was watching drivers edge past each other or inch around the corner (we were at the top of a t-junction), particularly the lorries doing deliveries. Online shopping was clearly the main resource for the villagers.




The ground floor of this house was just a large kitchen and a sitting room with a wood-burning stove. 

One of the oddest roof lines I've seen, or is it a roof within a wall?

The first floor (what would be the 2nd in the US) had our en suite bedroom, another double bedroom (for Simon) and a full sized bathroom squeezed into an odd place under the eaves. 

I've lived with double glazing so long that single panes in sash windows
(as in houses where I grew up) are unusual now.

The 2nd/3rd floor was probably an attic at some point. It had a large room with a telly and a child's bed which opened into a very large bedroom (for Helen, Martin & Charlotte). The views over the hills were lovely from up there.  

I loved the funny little niches in the wall, with stone 'sills'.

In addition to having a cemetery straight out the window, there was a cat flap that opened onto a stone shelf next to the sink. Thinking of food hygiene and resident dog, Daisy, I made sure it was locked. The kitchen was reasonably well appointed with an American-sized fridge, but I just managed to squeeze the turkey into the oven, located strangely at floor level.









I learned about the hazards of south-facing windows, which was a good thing to know. I sometimes envy the neighbours who face north/south but the glare from the sun isn't always a welcome thing. Never mind taking photos, I sometimes couldn't actually see what I was doing. 





There isn't a lot to see or do in Dent if you're not into walking (and when they say 'walking' in Britain they mean as in with boots, in all weathers, more like what you might call 'hiking' in the States). We did enjoy a visit to the museum and tearoom. That said, I had to get back to supervise the turkey so didn't see much of the museum on this trip. Helen surprised me at Christmas with a video about the 'terrible knitters of Dent'.  

Dent is a place Bill goes regularly and I've been a couple of times. The village needed funds to pay for a teacher and so they organised a race, the Dentdale, a 14 miler up and down hills. It's a tough one that Bill did regularly with running buddies he's known 40 years. I've even done it a couple of times. I remember the first year he introduced me to Wensleydale cheese, definitely one of life's greatest pleasures. Bill's the only one of his gang still running, but they meet up every year around that weekend. 

But I've digressed. When you read 'terrible' knitters you should be thinking 'awesome'. The people - men as well as women - knitted as a livelihood and they turned out quality products quickly. It wasn't unusual for people to knit as they walked to the next village, go to a friend's house and knit with them, to knit well into the night. It can't have been an easy way to make a living. 

As with up here in the North East, knitting sheaths (called pricks in Yorkshire) were common. This device tucked into the knitter's belt and held a needle so that the hands were free to manipulate the other three or four (socks being knitted 'in the round'). A wooden sheath was often made by a man as a betrothal gift and they could be quite ornate. The one I remember had a notch, sort of a hook, to keep it from sliding down into the belt. Clever stuff, being able to carve and knit with such skill.

If you Google 'terrible knitters of Dent' you'll find all sorts of stories/videos.



We also visited the historical church and found it attractive. I love the 'box stalls' - I'm sure that's not what they are called - made of wood. I gather there would have been a thermal advantage to gathering all your family into this enclosure, a desirable thing sitting in an unheated stone building.









The food turned out alright and there was plenty of it. As I figured, it was easier to cook in a strange kitchen than to cook at home and clean house from top to bottom in preparation for guests. We stayed up past Charlotte's bedtime playing various games. It was a good weekend as I recall, well worth the rent I paid. 

Sadly, I couldn't get a firm commitment from everyone in time to rent a house this year, so Thanksgiving will be here. The cleaning schedule is on the fridge, next to the shopping and cooking lists. {sigh} Perhaps I should have just grabbed a 4 bedroom house earlier on?

Have you ever gone away for a change of scenery (and to avoid housework?)

More Granny Squares

Were you taught as a child 'not to ask for anything'? I certainly was. It seemed that if I asked I would likely be denied, but if I expressed appreciation without expectation, I might just get lucky. I'm not sure I disagree with this practice, I do dislike a demanding or whiny child. Then again, I've never broken the habit of not asking for much. Bill tells me off for not stepping forward more, for settling for the leavings. 

I would say that in addition to being shy of asking, I do find a rather perverse satisfaction in making something nice from what others have disdained. Like maybe I'm smarter/more creative than they are, which is certainly a false conceit, but there you are.

I tell you this by way of explaining how I ended up crocheting a blanket from thread. Because our knitting group functions mostly from donated 'wool' (the British term for what I would call 'yarn'), we take whatever we can get. The most popular stuff is double knit. Chunky wool or aran weight get used pretty well, but 'novelty' yarn gets left to the last. The cones of very fine wools used in knitting machines aren't very popular either. Meriel has a windy-up contraption that will wind several cones together, but I thought I'd give it a go to use up a few without that. I seem to like my colours like I used to eat my food: one item at a time. Rather than have variegated wool, I selected a fluffy, chenille-like pale green and a more staid navy to work. 

This was also last winter. One weekend Bill had a Long Distance Walkers' meeting down in County Durham at the village of Bowes. I didn't get out and explore but he led me to believe that the Ancient Unicorn Inn (a pub/B&B) constituted the business district of this place. I knew that the spectacular Bowes Museum and Barnard Castle (the name of the town, with a ruined castle) were nearby, but they didn't appeal on my own. 

It was cold and snowy and our room was in what used to be a stable. This meant some nifty arched windows. The pub was across the 'yard' (remember that term?). I asked the landlady to keep the heating on all day for me so I could stay cosy in our room (I may have threatened to make a mess in her pub if forced to hang out there for warmth). I spent the day walking back and forth, stringing the navy thread out around the room and rolling up a triple-stranded yarn to work with. The green I doubled up later at home. 

Bill just pretended he didn't know how I spent the day, he thinks I'm pretty mental sometimes. Which is OK, I think he's crackers going off in the wind, wet and ice to walk the moors for 20 or more miles. He came back from this to a hot shower and then we went off to the pub for dinner with the rest of the crazy people long distance walkers. So we both got to indulge ourselves. 

The blanket took a very long time to complete, but since I loved the colours I didn't mind a bit.

Knole and Numbers

One of the books I read while we were in France was Inheritance, by Robert Sackville-West. It could easily have been called Disinherited, as many of his stories included those less fortunate than himself. He doesn't own Knole, but he is entitled to live there, which is probably a much better deal in these modern times.



I ran across his description of the great stairwell that made reference to Maarten de Vos (or Maerton deVos) and scribbled it down, so pleased to have found it.

I have already mentioned that Knole is thought to be, or at least to have been, a Calendar House; they are apparently fairly rare. 

One of the other things I remembered was reading (or was it hearing?) some guide leaflet/recording about all the decorations of the Grand Staircase. One of the main things was a nude statue underneath the stairs of a ballerina who had been a long term lover of one of the Sackville-Wests. Her story is well-covered in the book, but I think the statue was buried in the basement for quite a while after the wife came along.

The decoration of the actual stairwell includes carvings and paintings concerning the four seasons (easy enough); the five senses are easy, too, even if I had to think about it and count on my fingers. (If you don't have a 'gratitude list' for your 'down' days, I recommend you write one and put each of those senses on it.)

I Googled the heck out of Maarten de Vos and didn't find much, but it does look as though this 16th Century Flemish painter had a large influence on subsequent artists. According to deVos there are Four Stages in the life of Man: Amor (Love), Labor (Work), Honor (Achievement?) and Dolor (Pain). Gosh, I'm really looking forward to getting old after winkling out the definition of 'Dolor'. He did paintings of each of these, but the ones at Knole are by a later painter.

Also according to the stairwell (and a few other sources) there are Seven Virtues. I had the impression at the time these were carvings on the banister or newel posts, but I never figured it out, there is so much going on in a relatively small space. 

In looking all these things up, I ran into some odd words. 

According to painter Brueghel (Pieter the Elder), the Seven Deadly Sins are:

Pride, Avarice, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath and Acedia

The last word apparently means apathy or sloth.

When looking for the 7 Virtues, I found reference to 

Wisdom, Justice, Charity, Faith, Hope, Fortitude and Temperance

but also to 'Liberality' and Sapientia (which translates as Prudence)

Wikipedia / The Bible has : Chastity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Patience, Kindness, Humility

I would guess 'Liberality' goes in line with 'Kindness', perhaps Fortitude with Patience and/or Diligence. However, I note that the arts don't give much attention to 'Chastity', or 'Humility' for that matter. 

The visitors' information provided at Knole pointed out that the artwork on the Great Stairs did not include the virtue of 'Temperance', a funny little thing which is probably why I remembered all this to begin with.

Handwork at Bateman's

So, I was last talking about our visit to Bateman's, home of Rudyard Kipling. I said I found it quite homespun and that I would explain that remark. 

Countries in Europe

I think it was all the examples of needlework I noticed.

Sorry about the reflection! A map of England's counties.

Embroidered maps of England and Europe first caught my eye. 

Parts of the UK. Interesting that the North Sea is called the German Ocean, among other different names.

The Kiplings' bed had embroidered hangings and bedspread. 

I believe one of the volunteers there said a local embroiderers' guild had done a copy of the original or extensive repairs or something. 

Even the ceiling of the canopy was embroidered. 



I believe a lot of this was the work of Kipling's wife, Caroline. I don't know if she will have done the needlework on the bed curtains, but I'm pretty sure she did the piece for the canopy.

The initials RK and CK under a tree of life.

There were a lot of pillows, a footstool or two and a firescreen which all looked to be the work of a busy needlewoman.

I doubt she did the tapestry in the hallway and probably not the curtains, but there are many textiles that have that sort of look.

It is at least one part of what made me think it would be lovely to live there. 

A quilted bedspread in their son John's room.

We get to see a lot of really grand houses as members of the National Trust. 

They are wonderful to walk around and see the history.

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 However, there aren't many of them that make me wish I lived there, not like Bateman's.

I get lost too easily!

Batemans

The next National Trust property on Bill's list was Bateman's, the home of Rudyard Kipling. It was the 'homeliest' of the houses. [In the States, we use the word 'homely' to describe a plain or unattractive woman; in the UK it is used to describe a house as warm and inviting, or home-ly]. I prefer the latter use, don't you?

Still fairly large by today's standards, it just escaped being a museum, though museum it was. The house is Jacobean, ie built in the 1600s. 

[I    had an American friend once ask me what was meant by 'Victorian' or 'Georgian'. Just in case you don't know, 'Victorian' refers to the time period of Queen Victoria's reign, roughly the 1800s. Before her there were several King Georges in a row. Jacobean refers to King James.]

Anyhow Bateman's is full of dark wood paneling and Kipling aimed to furnish the house in the same period. The darkness made it difficult to take good photos (that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it).





If   you were paying attention at Knole, you'll recognize this style of couch. 

[There is a whole 'thing' over here about class and language and what you call your couch / sofa / settee / davenport tells a lot about you. If you are interested in such things, I recommend Kate Fox's Watching the English.]

The house is of course very Indian in the furnishings, but I found it quite home-spun and very British as well. I will look for some examples for my next post to explain that view. 




We loved the garden/cafe so much we had lunch there before we toured and tea there afterwards. More about gardens later.

I found it hard to leave Batemans, I loved it so. I could easily imagine living there.



I'm aiming for slightly shorter, more manageable posts as life is quite busy just now. So I shall stop here and pick it up again later.