A Walk From Grasmere to Rydal and another Utopian Idea

Dotted around Britain there are large country houses converted into Youth Hostels. According to Hostelling International:

The founder of the youth hostel movement was a German teacher, Richard Schirrmann. He was a believer in learning by direct observation and often took his classes on excursions and hiking trips. The hiking trips could last several days, and Schirrmann and his pupils would find accommodation in farm buildings.
On one of these excursions, on 26 August 1909, the group was caught in a thunderstorm. They finally found shelter in a school building in the Bröl Valley. The headmaster let them use a classroom and a farmer gave them some straw to sleep on and some milk for their evening meal. The storm raged the whole night. While the boys slept, Schirrmann lay awake. That was when he had an idea…

 Only an hour or so's drive North of Liverpool and we can stay in the midst of the 'fells' or mountains of the Lake District. Here are some of the grounds of our new home (for as long as we choose to stay).

But, as beautiful as the hostel and gardens are, the greater beauty calls us. We climb from the tamed lawns of Grasmere up a steep but carefully laid stone path into the blue-topped hills above. It is still early morning and long shadows show up the hills like actors on a stage.

The Herdwick sheep are not quite ready for visitors.

I watch nervously as some of our party head for what looks like the edges of solid ground

only to see that new platforms lie safely beyond.

We skim the top of the crags and look down towards Dove Cottage, Wordsworth's first home which was  ‘crammed edge full’ with his family and guests and then follow across a ridge to Rydal Mount where he spent his final years. Past Rydal Mount is a huge stately home called Rydal Hall on the grounds of which gushes a slender mill stream overlooked by a terrace cafe. We stop for a lunch of soup, paninis and cappucinos and then press on, downwards this time, to Rydal Water.

William Wordsworth helped to choose the site of chapel of St Mary in Rydal, where originally an orchard stood. 

There are caves mentioned on our map and we climb the other side of the valley to investigate. We didn't expect anything as dramatic as these. At first we thought we saw bats but then realised the 'Scooby-Doo' squeaks were those of swallows. This is 'Swallows and Amazons' country after all.

Rydal Cave where swallows swoop

Cosseted again by the homely shores of Grasmere, we visit the tiniest of shops (I am taking this photograph with my back against the farthest wall) for the gingerbread Wordsworth was said to have yearned for.

Utopia

I have been reading about inclusive Utopias, ones that are open to all and provide a welcome to those damaged by or lost in modern society, in 'Utopian Dreams' by Tobias Jones; an account of his journey to discover another, better way, of living. Simultaneously, we found ourselves beaten by the wind and rain in the unprecedented storm clouds that have hit the UK of late and camping was no longer a solution. So we choose to spend some time in Centre Parcs in Cumbria.


 This Utopia costs money and perhaps even causes more social ills than it solves, but it was a solution to our personal immediate needs. But I found a lot to admire here and learned a little about how our lives could look if only things were organised a little differently.

 When we arrived at Whinfell we thought we would certainly want to escape the village and had planned trips to Penrith and the beautiful surrounding countryside; however in reality we drove up to the wooden house, unpacked our bags, parked the hire car back at the edge of the park and didn't see it again for five days.

 We marvelled, of course, at the clean and organised kitchen and the en-suite bathrooms after having only a share of showers and an outdoor sink for the past weeks. We then visited the huge glass dome with a swimming pool, flumes, slides and river rapids set within a tropical garden. The place was buzzing with people: children, couples and groups of all ages and many with disabilities. There was so much to do and see. In this paradise alone our son spent nearly five hours a day. He was determined to make the most of every moment.

After all the noise and chaos of the 'village' we retreated to the truly impressive stillness of our temporary home. Centre Parcs has been established long enough for the woodland to dominate again. There are hares bounding past and red squirrels knocking pine cones from the great height of the cosseting green canopy above. Families of ducks play in the most unpromising little puddles. We were situated in a closely built cul-de-sac but it was actually tricky to make out any neighbours from the windows. Cars must be parked away from the houses except on moving day and even the bikes cycle only on the main thoroughfares.

 In the silence and stillness of the house, with the aid of a giant blackboard we planned all our activities.

 There was so much to try. We choose zip-lining (plummeting down a line between trees), ceramic painting, badminton, windsurfing, perhaps the most wonderful was the horse-riding. The stables are set overlooking the surrounding fells.

 As with the most sci-fi of Utopias however, even the tress were not quite as they seemed!

 My souvenirs will be fresh ideas: the possibility that a community can hold many people and offer much to occupy them in a small area, yet offer them stillness and a retreat from noise. My other will be this - a huge canvas printed with a large photograph of a tranquil forest. Huge enough to lose oneself in.