After 4 long years, having waited for the COVID debacle to gradually peter out, I was able to book tickets to go home to England. And this time Elliott would be coming too. He'd been as a child but only seen it through a tourist's eyes in London, and so was looking forward to seeing my home properly, the countryside, villages and towns that I know so well. The flight went smoothly and we landed early in the morning, picked up the rented car, and then headed immediately towards Hever Castle in my home county of Kent. There's nothing like seeing a centuries old, historically famous castle as a way to feel the age of England immediately. We were soon off the busy M25, and bombing along narrow country lanes to our destination, which I was sure would be almost empty of tourists at this time of year. I was wrong. There were hordes of people, unfortunately many of them kids, since today was the last day of their autumn school holiday. But at least the sun was shining and the difference, from USA to here, in the friendliness of people was immediately apparent. The man directing traffic in the car park came over as soon as he saw us pull in, wanting to know my views on the Kia I was driving, since he owned one the same, and adored it. There was a feature that was driving me nuts on the vehicle so it was great that he knew how to turn that off for me.
We entered through beautiful bricked walls, and upon seeing the castle the years dropped away. It looked no different from when I'd last been here about 30 years ago. There were a few tents up around the grounds, likely for the school kids and parents but I was pleased to see it hadn't been commercialized in any bad way. The koi were still living in the mote, so huge that they nearly outsized the Canadian gooses, who I sometimes thought seemed a little intimidated by their underwater companions. We joined a queue that walked over the bridge, under a still fearsome-looking portcullis, and into an Elizabethan style courtyard, with latticed windows and decorated lead pipes that ran down the walls. The staff were so well organized that it wasn't long before we were inside the castle and walking around.
The history within these walls is overwhelming. Surrounded by portraits, artifacts, carved furniture and walls that are centuries old makes you feel very humble, and almost insignificant. It's incredible to think we were walking the same hallways where the feet of Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII once trod, and even his last wife, Anne of Cleves, who spent the last 17 years of her life here. Over 800 years of history are held within this castle, and it's apparent it will stand for many more. It's meticulously maintained, and I was pleased to see that most of the ivy, which I remembered had covered much of the castle's frontage, was now gone. The stained glass was even more beautiful than I remembered, obviously I'm older now to appreciate it more. I remembered the gallery at the top of the castle, where it was once a convenient spot, for genteel folk, to take exercise when the weather was grim, pacing up and down the walls lined with portraits.
Outside, the gardens were amazingly still in bloom. Dahlias, roses and perennials still flowered and there was barely any sign of autumn foliage; the trees still green, even though it was almost Halloween.
I walked over to the water where the pavilion stood overlooking the lake. The last time I'd been here was over 30 years ago, when I'd worked with a dear friend, Bernard. At the beginning of summer, we'd worked for about a week, putting up bleacher seats for the Shakespeare Theatre group which would perform through the summer months. We'd have to haul long metal poles, planks of wood, huge canopies, and boxes of clamps, nuts and bolts from storage sheds, and then build the bleachers on this grassy area in a semi circle. And at the end of summer, we'd take it all down again and store it away. It was heavy work, but we thought nothing of it, we just got on with the job, eating our lunchtime sandwiches at the edge of the lake, or sometimes going across to the Henry VII pub for a pint and a ham roll. We got to see areas that the public weren't allowed into, my favorite being the old cobbled stables, and were privileged to enjoy the grounds when nobody else was present. I spent many happy days with Bernard, he was a great friend, and we had plenty of laughs. He taught me a lot about nature, both fauna and human. He passed away quite a while ago, while I was in the US, so it was nice to stand in this spot that we'd shared and remember good times. I can never now look at a Mullein plant without thinking of him.
We met a ghost on the way out, who told us a wonderful story about another apparent ghost who had terrorized him, but had actually been his wife, who he hadn't recognized, had killed, and now paid for his mistake as she haunted now him. Or something like that, but it was very amusing. We then walked over to the Henry VIII pub, which didn't look very different either, and had a wonderful lunch, and an even better, long awaited, pint of Kentish bitter. Divine!
We hadn't rested since leaving the States the night before and time was galloping by, so we drove into Maidstone, my home town, getting there just after dark, where we would stay at a hotel by the river, (not as lovely as it sounds), and then meet my bestie, Sally, for breakfast the next morning. Another grand day to look forward to!
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