Yesterday I travelled up over the A595 from the Midlands to Santon Bridge. You know you're in for a fun time when the A-road you're on roams and loops like a country lane, up over the passes with the Lakeland mountains to the right and the gleam of the sea on your left. But today, after an easy morning, we have gone out to Wastwater, the deepest of all England's lakes at 79ft.
|Quick sketch of Great Gables from Wastwater|
My youngest sister and I are living in a little side cottage while the rest of my family, including grandparents, take up the main house. Fine by me as it puts us nearer to the walk that leads down to the green Santon river under the trees. The holiday so far is beginning to take on a distinctly Roman-British feel with my current reading list including Rosemary Sutcliffe's The Eagle of the Ninth and The Lantern Bearers, a book on the geology and history of my home county East Anglia, of which the current chapter covers the rise and fall of Rome in Britain, Dad's recent return from walking Hadrian's wall with my uncle, and the prospect of Roman ruins later in the week. It's all coming together.
Another easy morning, then continued the Roman theme with a visit to the ruined Bath house at Ravenglass. We tried walking out the paths of the soldiers from Hardknott Fort as they would have entered, changed in the sight of their statues and gods who niched in the walls, and sat around scraping the grime and sweat off themselves with thin metal strigils. Strange to be standing in the same place of hundreds of men before us, tracing the paths of their ghosts going about their everyday patterns. We are not so far apart from our past as we like to think we are.