Tea and cake with the Wordsworths and the Old Man of Coniston

Most years the furthest north I get are places like Bridgnorth in Shropshire, or Hinckley in Leicestershire, though two years ago, quite spectacularly, I made it to Manchester for my Masters graduation. To be on holiday as far north as Lancaster, then, was a feat, being quite a bit further north than the Northerner's hometown of Barnsley. And since we'd made it that far, why not go further north again, to the Lakes, for the day? So we did.

First stop, the monolith that is Wordsworth Grasmere. I say monolith because I couldn't help comparing it with the rather more modest commemoration of Coleridge in the wilds of Somerset, where the cottage he and Sarah rented has been owned by the National Trust for the last 116 years, and boasts a tea room, shop and garden, with parking available in the pub car park over the road. 

In comparison, Wordsworth Grasmere offers an 'immersive family experience', and comprises Dove Cottage, which William rented with his sister Dorothy, and later also his wife; a garden, orchard and woodland; a cafe; a gift shop; its own car park; a purpose-built museum housing the collections of the Wordsworth Trust; a library; an archive; a Reading Room; an art collection of the Lake District; and a viewing platform offering panoramic views of the surrounding area. Plus, a lot of the neighbouring cottages seemed to be part of the enterprise in some capacity or other as well. Phew. 

Helm Crag from outside Dove Cottage

Since we had Cwtch with us, and would have to go on the guided tour one after the other, we restricted ourselves to the cafe, cottage and garden. More than anything else, I'm interested in how poets lived. 

As I awaited my turn to go into the cottage, I heard some rather subdued singing at my shoulder and turned to find a robin serenading me with its wistful subsong. Turns out robins are really good at ventriloquy - who knew?

I loved the cottage, with its dim light, though I suspect I'd have found myself chopping my fingers instead of onions if I had to cook in that kitchen.

Poor Dorothy. Beds everywhere as her brother's family grew in size. 

The walls of the small bedroom were covered in newspaper in 1800, in an attempt to insulate it.

the garden giving way to woodland

looking towards Silver How

I left Wordsworth Grasmere impressed, but privately yearning for the simplicity of Coleridge Cottage and a rather less grand day out.

Our second and final stop of the day was Coniston Water, where we'd done another über-touristy thing and booked ourselves onto a boat trip. Since neither of us could bear the Swallows and Amazons stories as children, we avoided the one that visits 'Wild Cat Island' - which is actually Peel Island, at the southern end of the lake - though we were still given some information about the gruesome sixsome, along with details about Donald Campbell, the Omaze house that was in the draw last Christmas, and John Ruskin, which seem to be the area's chief claims to fame.

The guide on our boat announced that while the normal length of time required to climb the Old Man of Coniston is three to four hours, with another two to three hours to get back down, the record time is a shade over an hour, with twelve minutes for the descent. Which makes you wonder what would happen if they rolled a cheese down it.

Brantwood, former home of John Ruskin

the Steam Yacht gondola, owned by the National Trust

Something I didn't even know existed: not sea glass, but lake glass.

Strictly Cwmdonkin

A forecast of heavy rain all day, with possible thunder and lightning, had us scurrying for Swansea - in particular, Uplands, where Dylan Thomas maintains a ubiquitous presence 70 years after his death.

First stop, the appealing suburban semi that is 5 Cwmdonkin Drive, his birthplace.  

The Thomas family moved in when the house was new, in 1914, and lived there until 1937. The rooms have been furnished with items that give a feel of how it would have looked when the Thomas family were in residence - with the help of a woman who'd been maid there when she was 15 and Dylan 16. There are also some surviving original features that date from that era.

First stop, the grand front bedroom in which Dylan was born on 27th October 1914 (though usually it was reserved for lodgers). 

Dylan

The next bedroom along the landing was used by Dylan's elder sister, Nancy. 

The view from the second bedroom window

Along the landing

By now I was getting flashbacks to my grandmother's house, although hers was rather less grand. For example, unlike 5 Cwmdonkin Drive, it didn't originally have an upstairs bathroom - the smallest of the four upstairs bedrooms was converted for that purpose. The Thomas's house had not only a bathroom, but also a separate toilet. 

I couldn't help thinking of Dylan's observation that 'poetry is not the most important thing in life... I'd much rather lie in a hot bath reading Agatha Christie and sucking sweets.'

What in my grandmother's house was a bathroom (for the lodger) was Dylan's tiny bedroom in Cwmdonkin Drive ... 

... and perhaps the most atmospheric room of all. It's fascinating to think that two-thirds of his published work was written here. 

Also grander than my grandmother's house was the back bedroom with its bay window and view of Swansea Bay. This was Dylan's parents' room. 

Downstairs, the parlour (or best room) has an impressive Arts and Crafts-style fireplace ...

... and more of a front door than an internal door. (Loving the fingerplate.) Apparently, it was rarely used and the door kept locked.

Whereas almost all the rooms in my grandmother's house were filled with beds to accommodate her and my grandfather's 11 offspring, the Thomases, with their two children, were blessed with rather more space. This meant that the second downstairs room could be used as Dylan's father's study.

In one corner, a short video of Jimmy Carter plays, in which he explains his love for Dylan, his favourite poet. (I always knew he was a good man, and now I like him even more.) 

The third room downstairs, which my grandmother called the kitchen in her house and was both a sitting room and a dining room,  fulfilled much the same purpose for the Thomas family, but here was rather more loftily referred to as the dining or breakfast room.

The next room is the kitchen (the scullery in my grandmother's house). So many familiar artefacts here from my own childhood, like the wooden carpet sweeper (I'd completely forgotten!) and the mincer clamped to the table. 

The larder

The wash house and coal shed

Having taken our leave of 5 Cwmdonkin Drive, we drove to the Dylan Thomas Centre in Swansea's former docklands (now rather pretentiously called the 'Maritime Quarter'), where there are lots of interesting displays about Dylan and the legacy of his 39 short years. 

There's a very poignant moment when a young Benjamin Zephaniah appears in a reading that's more an exhortation of 'Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night'.

Even sadder, a photo of Dylan post-mortem and a sculpture cast from his death mask. 

Then back to Uplands and a splosh around Cwmdonkin Park, where the young Dylan spent so much of his time playing, and which so influenced his writing. It's full of memorials to the greatest of poets. 

We stopped for an ice cream, which I'm sure Dylan must have done too, although probably not for a Sidoli's Cookie Dough and Cappuccino Mocha Swirl double scoop in a waffle cone. 

'The ball I threw while playing in the park has not yet reached the ground'