Seven Days There

by Ruth Hay

  They arrived at a bench by the side of the road and sat there gladly. The reason for the positioning of the bench was immediately apparent as the view was spectacular. Ahead of them rose a mountain almost a perfect triangular shape. From their slight elevation the whole valley could be seen and they could point out places they had passed, looking more interesting from their new perspective.

  “You know,” began Sandra, “I am realizing we walked here without any sense of the scenery behind us. It’s only now we can see the bigger picture and notice what we were missing before.”

  “That sounds like a deep thought,” commented Corinne, when she had swallowed a mouthful of water. “I came to the same conclusion. Is that a message for us, do you think?”

  Valerie let the question linger in the air. Her opinion was that Sandra was right on target and Corinne’s idea of a message could apply equally in all their situations. It was well worth considering the value of a new perspective in all their lives.

  Valerie did not allow a long break as she knew muscles began to cool off quickly and the day’s exertions were not over. She led them through a gate marked ‘National Trust Property’ and the hiking poles came into play as they were on a wooded slope following a rough trail upward. By this time, all three could calculate this increased height was going to provide even better, longer views of the countryside and so it proved. At the top of the hill was a structure of stones where they could sit and look into the next valley previously hidden from them.

  “Isn’t this magnificent!” breathed Corinne. “I never knew you could see these vistas for such little effort.”

  “And the air is so clear and cool. In the woods the sun is filtered. I love it. I had forgotten how this felt. It’s a feeling I left behind when I left Mull so long ago.”

  When Valerie led them back to the marked trail they were heading downward again.

  “There are two choices here, I think. We’ll take the shorter route this time.”

  To their surprise this choice involved a detour through a low tunnel built of stone. When they emerged from the other side it was to see a square, buff-coloured house below them and a path leading to it through marked garden beds centred around a large well. In moments they were at ground level and approaching the house.

  “So, this is where you were taking us, Val? What’s here?”

  “It’s something new to me also. The house is called Allan Bank and was only recently opened to the public. The story is that a Liverpool merchant had the house built in a three year period between 1805 and 1808. William Wordsworth protested about this as the elevated site ruined his view of the woods and hills from Dove Cottage. I think he must have seriously annoyed the original owner as the Wordsworth family moved in that same year, renting it from John Crump.”

  “I can guess what was said about Crump! Wordsworth had a fine command of language!”

  “You’re probably right, Sandy. In any case they stayed for only three years after improving the windows to take advantage of the surrounding views. The family moved on to the Rectory in Grasmere.”

  “Sounds like they were tired of renting and Wordsworth got a job as local vicar. How do you know all this, Val?”

  She produced from a pocket a National Trust guide to the property that she had picked up on her recent visit to Grasmere, and flourished it. “Always be prepared!”

  “Huh! Always be a teacher, you mean.”

  “That too! Take a look around and check out the window views. Each and every one is worthy of a painting, they say. The house is a work in progress. Decisions about its final form are still being made. You can make suggestions. And see if you can find out which kind of tea was preferred by Wordsworth.”

  “Honestly! Do you teachers ever quit teaching?”

  “Never!”

  A pleasant hour was spent in and around the house including Valerie’s discovery of a medieval chapel nearby that looked ancient until she asked and was told it was used as a billiard and games room by later owners. “Bad decision!” was her response.

  Corinne’s best find was identifying from a large window, the same terrace above Grasmere Lake that they had all been on a day or so before.

  Sandra proudly declared she had located the tearoom in the old kitchen area and learned they served free cups of tea, courtesy of Twinings, a famous London company who sent Wordsworth a chest of their tea every year and were now renewing that tradition for Allan Bank.

  “Right! Follow me for lunch,” encouraged Valerie.

  “Thought you would never ask,” groaned Sandra. A quick cup of Twinings’ best had not satisfied her hunger but she soon perked up when a short downhill walk from the house took them back close to the spot from which they had started and they were soon in the centre of the village and seated at tables on a balcony overlooking the River Rothay, decorated with a flotilla of mallard ducks bobbing around against the current.

  “This was worth waiting for!” declared Sandra, as she settled in her chair and perused the menu.

  “It was a favourite spot of David’s. He used to drop crumbs from his scone down to the ducks and watch their antics.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me!” Corinne took charge and ordered afternoon cream teas for all of them, returning from the indoor counter with a heavily laden tray. Sandra had nabbed a table right at the edge of the balcony and there was silence as the women enjoyed the special treat in this lovely location. Visitors passing by on the stone bridge above them looked down in envy at the peaceful scene.

  Appetites sated, thoughts turned to other things.

  “You and David must have loved it here. No wonder you chose this area for our holiday with you.”

  Valerie nodded through a last mouthful of cheese scone. “I was worried it might be difficult for me but it has brought back many happy times and that is helping heal the wounds.”

  “You must realize it is healing wounds for us also, Val, although different wounds of course.”

  Sandra agreed. “I know I have a long way to go. Oprah says we have to forgive ourselves before we can do the work of healing and forgiving others.”

  Sandra sounded so sincere that her companions did not have the heart to make the usual jokes about her devotion to Saint Oprah. They privately thought she was probably correct. Valerie felt a pang as she thought also of Zoe and the long journey to healing ahead of her.

  Corinne changed the subject by stating she had been looking across at the churchyard for the last hour and wondered why so many people were walking around there. “What’s so special?”

  “Let’s go and see!”

  The churchyard of St. Oswald’s Church was a tree-shaded, peaceful sanctuary where pilgrims came to visit the burial place of the Wordsworth family. Paths snaked through the grassy areas. In spring a host of daffodils would remind visitors of the poet’s most famous work. The three friends wandered around and back toward the river where they spied others enjoying the Riverside Restaurant’s balcony seats they had only just vacated.

  At the same moment, Valerie and Sandra noticed the flagstones on the path beneath their feet were inscribed with names and locations. “Look at this! These are memorial stones. We could do this for Grace and take a picture to send to Zoe. I think she would like that. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a brilliant idea!”

  “And I know how you can do it!” proclaimed Corinne. She disappeared and returned in a minute brandishing a pamphlet she had spotted in a box at the churchyard entrance.

  “You can do this from home. Just fill in the details and they will send the photograph when the stone is laid in place.”

  Corinne and Sandra backtracked to read more of the inscriptions. Most did not give dates of birth and death only names and sometimes quotes. They concluded the stones commemorated many different events. Valerie followed along with another thought in her mind. This would be the ideal place for her to place a flagstone for David. Visiting it in its place here would provide an excuse for anot
her trip to the Lake District. She acknowledged this time and this place had given her the most restorative moments she had enjoyed in many years.

  Valerie and Corinne tucked their pamphlets away safely. Sandra looked at her watch and stated the afternoon was not over. Where could they head next?

  Encouraged by this enthusiasm, Valerie decided to extend the day with a climbing challenge that would demand all the strength her companions had demonstrated. She led them back to the car park and they drove through the village and out onto the main road. Only a few minutes later, she pulled into a steep lane where cars were lined up along the left side.

  “Wait a minute! The sign we just passed said ‘Rydal Mount’. Don’t tell me that’s short for mountain?”

  Valerie had just spotted a free parking spot further up the lane and quickly claimed it, as it as just large enough for her car. She carefully backed in before answering Corinne.

  “Yes, there is a mountain just ahead of us but you need to know, Wordsworth, whose large, final, family home is off this lane, climbed Rydal Mount for exercise every day of his life.”

  “Well, now!” proclaimed a confident Sandra, “It can’t be too much of a challenge if he could do it. Let’s give it a try!”

  Valerie had the idea that the trio would not make it to the heights of the mount but she knew even a shorter ascent would be worth the time and trouble. She and David had attempted this climb and found it to be one of the most satisfying hikes they had ever done. But that was long ago.

  Corinne had a spare water bottle, Sandra had the two hiking poles, Valerie had the backpack containing a camera and a small pair of binoculars, and thus prepared they set off up the lane through a farmyard and onto a rocky but well-marked track that led straight upward.

  At first, their attention was on their footing. Rocks of various sizes had been pushed to the side when the path was made and all three were conscious of the need to place their booted feet carefully. The track twisted around a vertical hillside and they were soon puffing for breath as each step was on a steep incline. This was no easy access like the White Moss climb of two days ago.

  “I need to stop to catch my breath,” begged Sandra.

  “Good thought,” agreed Valerie, and they disposed themselves on the next large rock that presented itself. As soon as their breathing had returned to normal, it was obvious that their efforts had been rewarded. The lane below had disappeared and the view encompassed both the lake and the hills on the opposite side of the main road. The lake was still, tranquil, and reflected both the surrounding blue sky and the green hills. As they watched in awe, white clouds sailed across the sky and their shadows traversed the entire landscape. It was something they would never have seen at ground level.

  Valerie told them it was called Rydal Water. “I think Wordsworth must have thought the climb worth the effort to see this.” She took several photographs.

  “And, we’re nowhere near the summit yet!” added Corinne. “What about it, ladies, are you game for more?”

  They passed around the water bottle and vowed to keep going for a few minutes more. Valerie recognised her friends were succumbing to ‘climbers’ fever’ the desire to see if the next panorama would be better than the previous one. She promised herself not to allow the beginners to push beyond their strength. Corinne was younger, but Sandra and Valerie were going to suffer for it if they overused these new muscles.

  One more turn of the track brought them to a wide, expansive view in another direction. Fields of sheep bordered the main road far below and in the distance a lush green valley followed a river filled with rushing water from the previous day’s rain. They looked in silence broken eventually by Corinne’s quiet voice. “I have just realized we will have to go back down this mountain again. I think it’s time to retreat.”

  “I agree,” breathed Sandra. “But it has been so worth the effort. How Wordsworth managed this in his later years is beyond my understanding but I can see why he would want to try. It must have been quite a sight in all seasons.”

  They gathered up their belongings and their remaining strength and carefully made their way down the mountainside with Valerie in the lead to prevent any slips or falls. Descending uses a different set of muscles and she was keen to keep the day’s delights as a good memory, unmarred by accident.

  By the time they reached the car, all three were ready to admit defeat.

  “I can’t wait to slip into that hot tub,” sighed Sandra.

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” admitted Corinne.

  Valerie agreed, and drove them back to Ambleside in the silence of deep contentment.

  There was still an evening ahead of them to relax, recover and, she hoped, revisit some of her original intentions for this reunion.

  All three donned pyjamas and settled down before the patio windows with glass in hand to enjoy the evening sunlight on the hills. They had dined well on microwaved meat pies and baked beans with bakery bread and a cream trifle from the fridge.

  Feet raised on footstools, they reviewed the day and laughed together like old friends. As darkness fell, Sandra turned on the television for the first time since she arrived, commenting on how it was her daily companion at home and how she had truly not missed it with all the excitements of the week.

  They watched a comedy series which Sandra recommended but when it was over she confessed it had lost its charm for her. “I don’t know how to explain it, but something has changed in me. It’s like the feeling on the mountain when you see a new perspective you never had imagined possible.”

  Corinne instantly echoed her sentiments. “For me, the mountain views had two aspects. There was the godlike sense of being far above and watching the tiny cars and tinier people going about their business without knowing they were being observed, and the opposite sense of how very small we humans are set against the sheer magnificence of nature in the raw.”

  “This conversation has taken a decidedly philosophical turn,” remarked Valerie.

  “Well, it just proves how trivial that TV program was.” Corinne turned to Sandra. “Look, I’m not trying to disparage you. Anything that gets you through the day is all right by me. If I had had a chance to distract myself by watching TV I might have been more easily satisfied with my working days and nights. There never seemed to be the time to do it.”

  Sandra shrugged. “It’s true that what we have been through together this week makes the average half-hour comedy look totally inconsequential. I am reminded of a book I saw in a Kendal bookshop.

  I was looking around for books to take home for my grandchildren and they had this book on display.

  It was titled; ‘Letters to My Former Self’ and it made me think what advice I should be giving to my grandchildren to save them from my mistakes.”

  “Did you buy the book? It sounds like something I could use for Carla.”

  “No. And now I wish I had.”

  Valerie put down her glass and heaved a deep sigh. “Ladies, you may not believe this, but before I came here I made a list of questions to ask each of you. It was similar to the book Sandy described. I was hoping we could get into real discussions using the questions but, of course, I could never have imagined the things we have already revealed to each other.”

  Sandra looked at Corinne and saw reflected in her face the same curiosity she was feeling.

  “Val, go and get your list. It sounds more interesting than anything on TV.”

  Corinne refilled their wine glasses. Sandra pulled her chair closer to the leather couch and arranged the cushions. She suspected this was going to be a long session.

  The list of questions was in Valerie’s hand when she returned from the bedroom. She went to place it on the coffee table for all to see, when Corinne snatched it up and returned it to her.

  “You choose the questions you think have the most relevance for us now. We don’t need to see them first. We just have to pledge to be truthful about our answers.”

  She cast a gla
nce at the other two and received a nod to confirm their commitment.

  Valerie cleared her throat and took a quick sip from her glass. Suddenly, what had once seemed like a fairly innocuous parlour game activity, assumed an importance far beyond her original intent. She now knew enough about her companions’ lives to predict the impact of their answers. She also understood this session could not have been viable before they had reached this level of intimacy with each other.

  “If you insist, I’ll start with the question that most closely resembles Sandra’s book.

  If you could talk to your teenage self, what advice would you offer her?”

  Her two listeners sat back in their seats. This was not going to be an easy question to answer.

  The silence lasted for two long minutes until Valerie decided to take the bull by the horns.

  “I’ve probably had more time to consider this one, so I’ll begin.

  I would tell her that life is long, don’t rush into anything.

  Choose your friends wisely. With luck, they will be with you always.

  Protect your heart. It is easily damaged.”

  Neither of her listeners said anything. Both were too busy considering how her words fit with their own life experiences.

  Finally, Corinne smiled at Valerie and took over.

  “I would give that girl a shake and tell her to be much more adventurous. To look for opportunities to enlarge her life, see new places and meet new people.

  I’d tell her she is different looking but much more attractive than she thinks she is.