'Tis January. Christmas is over, and has been packed back into it's boxes and stored in the loft until next year. The new year revelry has died down, and the slow trudge back to work has begun. The schools are full of children wishing it was three weeks ago. Life has returned to normal.
Up here in the Lakes January tends to drift by almost un-noticed. At the moment we have snow, even at lower levels, so the photographers will be out in force. But tourists are a bit thin on the ground. After all, it is January. There's nowhere open and nothing on - right?
Wrong!!!
Actually, Gone are the days when you might as well have put a "closed" sign up at the entrance to the National Park. Nowadays there is a surprising amount going on. Art exhibitions, plays, the odd panto or two. And then there are the attractions. About a third of the Lake District's attractions are open in January, some of them all month, others at weekends.
So if you have a bit of time on your hands then January offers an almost unique opportunity to visit some of the biggest attractions in the region at, how can I put this politely, a quieter time than normal. Or put another way, you won't have to queue up for very long to pay to get in. Actually, at one attraction you won't have to pay at all. At the South Lakes Wild animal park they have dispensed with the tiresome habit of taking money off you - they are letting people in for free so that the animals can get a good look at what humans are like in winter.
Happy visiting!!
Sunday 13 January 2013
Friday 30 November 2012
There's money in them there hills!!
If you take the walk from Grasmere village to Alcock Tarn, via Brackenfell Woods, you will notice old metal water pipes laid into the ground. Likewise, the route from Bowness to Post Knott via Helm Road has seats built into the wall at intervals (see piccy below). And at the far end of the walk around Stock Ghyll Park in Ambleside, there is an old turnstile leading from the park, back on to the road.
Like the old milestones that can still be seen on country roads or the ornate water fountains that decorate the kerb sides of some of the region's older villages, these relics are symbols of a bygone age. Placed there for a long forgotten purpose, they lie unused. Put simply, once they had outgrown their purpose, no one bothered to take them away again.
In the case of milestones and water fountains their original use is obvious. But why water pipes in Brackenfell Woods? There are no houses up there, nothing needing to be plumbed in. And what of the turnstiles at Stock Ghyll Park? Or the seats on the path to Post Knott? And why is there an old abandoned station, in the woods close to Windermere ferry? The answer has much to do with the entrepreneurial spirit of the Victorians, and their ingenuity in stage managing nature in order to turn a profit.
In the mid 19th Century the railways came to the Lake District. The region already had a fledgling tourism industry, but with the new transport link came mass tourism, and at first the sudden influx of visitors took the locals by surprise. For the best part of fifty years the tourism industry had evolved slowly. Fishermen had become pleasure boat operators, albeit on a one to one basis. Before the arrival of the railway it was possible to hire a rowing boat and guide for the day. The guide was a local man, and he did all the rowing whilst imparting a certain amount of folk lore to his charges, who were no doubt as entertained by his stories as they were with the scenery. That was fine when the flow of tourists was but a trickle, but when the railway arrived and the region suddenly became flooded with day trippers the locals realised that to cash in they needed to think big.
The problem was that tourist attractions as we know them today simply didn't exist. Apart from the ale houses and coffee shops of the towns, the only real attraction for people to see was the scenery, and that was free. This situation did not last for long. The entrepreneurial spirit of the local population rose to the surface, and they began to think of new ways of showing visitors the scenery, and making a lot of money in the process.
In Windermere, or rather on Windermere, pleasure boats were built and launched, and there was plenty of skulduggery afoot as rival operators fought to entice visitors onto their new paddle steamers for the cruise down the lake. Consequently, it was not long before Bowness had a new, unplanned, attraction on it's shore line - the burned out hull of one of the boats.
Meanwhile, over at Grasmere, a different and considerably less cut-throat approach was being taken. Rather than finding a way of charging people to merely look at the scenery, the idea was to create a whole new scenic wonderland, complete with streams, waterfalls, and a small tarn. There was a pathway around the site, with viewpoints at intervals so that paying customers would feel that they were getting value for money by being able to see Grasmere neatly framed between the trees. That scenic wonderland was Brackenfell Woods, and if you walk up through the woods today you'll notice how nice and wide the path is. Wide enough for a horse and carriage, in fact.
The thing about the Victorians was that they were not content with just charging a flat entrance fee. As with other Victorian institutions, such as the railways and the theatre, you could pay the standard fare, or you could enjoy a bit of luxury by paying a premium. This was not simply a way for the attraction operator to make a bit of extra money. It reflected the class laden attitudes of Victorian society. Social status determined whether you travelled first class, in the warm and dry, or third class, outside in all weathers. So whilst the working classes paid sixpence to walk around the woods, the wealthy paid twice that and enjoyed a carriage ride up to the small, artificial tarn that not only provided a pleasing view of Loughrigg, all neatly framed between well positioned trees, but also doubled as a header tank for the system of artificial streams that ran through the woods.
The path up to Post Knott in Bowness was also built with the carriage rider in mind, as were the seats set into the walls. The modern visitor may be forgiven for thinking that these seats were provided for those walking up the slope to stop and rest before they got to the top, which just shows how wrong modern visitors can be. The seats were for those riding in the carriages. They were positioned at intervals and the carriage would stop on the ascent for the passengers to get out so that they could sit on the seats to enjoy the views. Clearly they were not expected to do anything so common as turn their heads to look out of the window!
Throughout the region there are relics of Victorian ingenuity. Claife Station, on the shores of Windermere, has never seen a train. It commanded fine views over Windermere, and still does, as the above picture of the Windermere Lake Cruises "steamer" shows. That picture was taken from one of windows, not in Victorian times, but in 2005. Claife Station was built by the owners of the Ferry Hotel as a luxury viewing station. It had coloured windows to reflect the seasons of the year, and even had a kitchen and dining room. It was possibly one of the region's first wedding venues, and certainly a profitable venture for it's owners.
Stock Ghyll Park in Ambleside had turnstiles for those entering the park to pay at, and also turnstiles at the exit. Since the exit was closer to the waterfalls, which was the park's star attraction, those turnstiles were designed to stop people entering. They only turned one way, in order to let people out. Once out they had to pay to get back in again.
These are just a few of the relics of the Victorian tourism industry that can be seen around the region. Each has a tale to tell of the inventiveness and ingenuity of the pioneers of the Lake District tourism industry.
Like the old milestones that can still be seen on country roads or the ornate water fountains that decorate the kerb sides of some of the region's older villages, these relics are symbols of a bygone age. Placed there for a long forgotten purpose, they lie unused. Put simply, once they had outgrown their purpose, no one bothered to take them away again.
In the case of milestones and water fountains their original use is obvious. But why water pipes in Brackenfell Woods? There are no houses up there, nothing needing to be plumbed in. And what of the turnstiles at Stock Ghyll Park? Or the seats on the path to Post Knott? And why is there an old abandoned station, in the woods close to Windermere ferry? The answer has much to do with the entrepreneurial spirit of the Victorians, and their ingenuity in stage managing nature in order to turn a profit.
In the mid 19th Century the railways came to the Lake District. The region already had a fledgling tourism industry, but with the new transport link came mass tourism, and at first the sudden influx of visitors took the locals by surprise. For the best part of fifty years the tourism industry had evolved slowly. Fishermen had become pleasure boat operators, albeit on a one to one basis. Before the arrival of the railway it was possible to hire a rowing boat and guide for the day. The guide was a local man, and he did all the rowing whilst imparting a certain amount of folk lore to his charges, who were no doubt as entertained by his stories as they were with the scenery. That was fine when the flow of tourists was but a trickle, but when the railway arrived and the region suddenly became flooded with day trippers the locals realised that to cash in they needed to think big.
The problem was that tourist attractions as we know them today simply didn't exist. Apart from the ale houses and coffee shops of the towns, the only real attraction for people to see was the scenery, and that was free. This situation did not last for long. The entrepreneurial spirit of the local population rose to the surface, and they began to think of new ways of showing visitors the scenery, and making a lot of money in the process.
Meanwhile, over at Grasmere, a different and considerably less cut-throat approach was being taken. Rather than finding a way of charging people to merely look at the scenery, the idea was to create a whole new scenic wonderland, complete with streams, waterfalls, and a small tarn. There was a pathway around the site, with viewpoints at intervals so that paying customers would feel that they were getting value for money by being able to see Grasmere neatly framed between the trees. That scenic wonderland was Brackenfell Woods, and if you walk up through the woods today you'll notice how nice and wide the path is. Wide enough for a horse and carriage, in fact.
The thing about the Victorians was that they were not content with just charging a flat entrance fee. As with other Victorian institutions, such as the railways and the theatre, you could pay the standard fare, or you could enjoy a bit of luxury by paying a premium. This was not simply a way for the attraction operator to make a bit of extra money. It reflected the class laden attitudes of Victorian society. Social status determined whether you travelled first class, in the warm and dry, or third class, outside in all weathers. So whilst the working classes paid sixpence to walk around the woods, the wealthy paid twice that and enjoyed a carriage ride up to the small, artificial tarn that not only provided a pleasing view of Loughrigg, all neatly framed between well positioned trees, but also doubled as a header tank for the system of artificial streams that ran through the woods.
The path up to Post Knott in Bowness was also built with the carriage rider in mind, as were the seats set into the walls. The modern visitor may be forgiven for thinking that these seats were provided for those walking up the slope to stop and rest before they got to the top, which just shows how wrong modern visitors can be. The seats were for those riding in the carriages. They were positioned at intervals and the carriage would stop on the ascent for the passengers to get out so that they could sit on the seats to enjoy the views. Clearly they were not expected to do anything so common as turn their heads to look out of the window!
Stock Ghyll Park in Ambleside had turnstiles for those entering the park to pay at, and also turnstiles at the exit. Since the exit was closer to the waterfalls, which was the park's star attraction, those turnstiles were designed to stop people entering. They only turned one way, in order to let people out. Once out they had to pay to get back in again.
These are just a few of the relics of the Victorian tourism industry that can be seen around the region. Each has a tale to tell of the inventiveness and ingenuity of the pioneers of the Lake District tourism industry.
Tuesday 27 November 2012
What a load of nuts!!!!
Since the weather here has been considerably better than that in other parts of the country, I thought it would be a good idea last weekend to tidy my garden. Last Thursday we had quite a bit of wind and rain, and in the evening a thunderstorm, with hail thrown in for good measure. Consequently there were bits of tree lying on the lawn, the lid off the compost bin was stuck in the hedge after it blew off, and felt from the shed roof was flapping in the wind.
This latter problem was the first to be fixed, since there are few things worse than standing in the shed and feeling a drip. As I propped the ladder against the side of the shed ready to climb up to asses the damage, I noticed a walnut lying on the ground. Since we don't have a walnut tree, nor do any of our neighbours, I was a little puzzled by this.
An hour later, having reattached the felt to the shed roof and had a break for a cup of tea and to assess the damage to my thumb caused by one too many hammer blows missing the head of the nail, I ventured out to pick the debris off the lawn and came across another walnut. It wasn't just lying there, it was well and truly embedded. A third walnut was found in the bird bath. This whole situation was starting to cause me a certain amount of anguish. It was quite clear that someone has been throwing walnuts at my garden? But who? And why?
First on the suspect list were the local youths (aren't they always?) My sometimes over active imagination developed the idea of a gang of young men prowling the district, their heads covered by the obligatory hoodies, throwing whole, unshelled walnuts into the gardens of unsuspecting residents.
It wasn't until I moved on to the front garden to clear some leaves that I noticed, nestling contentedly under the lilac, two more walnuts. And there was another one in a plant pot, firmly embedded between a rotting dahlia and the remains of a couple of trailing lobelias. (You will gather by now that gardening is not my strong point.)..
The biggest clue to where these walnuts had come from came when I was raking leaves off the lawn. I found yet another, and this one was well and truly embedded into the front lawn, just as the one in the back lawn had been. However, it got there, it was obvious that it had come down with considerable force.
Theory number one, the anti social local hoodies, was quickly dismissed. After all, throwing them is one thing, but would they really bother to come into the garden and tread them in?
No. Remembering my geography lessons at school, I quickly formulated the theory that the said walnuts had actually fallen from the sky, probably in the hail storm.
Anyway, I collected them up and took them into the house. Within minutes I had cracked one open and eaten it. And very nice it was too, so nice in fact that I had another, and another.
Now, I don't know whether you are into science fiction films or not, but I do vaguely remember a film called "Invasion of the Body Snatchers". It is about an alien race whose own planet is dying, and they come to earth and take over human bodies in order to try to set up a new, tightly organised society where everyone conforms. They do this by the means of spreading seed pods which have pink flowers on them. People take them into their homes, and then the aliens take over.
I only say this because my walnuts, although very nice, did not really taste like walnuts, and now my wife says that I am behaving strangely. Evidently I'm being really really nice to her for a change, although I have to say that I haven't noticed any difference.
I've also got a rumbling in my stomach, as though there is something in there wanting to get out. A few nights ago I watched the film "Alien", and now I'm wondering whether or not I should really have eaten the walnuts at all. But they tasted so nice, so good, and there are still three left and I was going to leave then for Christmas, but I don't know whether or not I can resist them.
Of course, none of the above has got anything to do with the Lake District tourism industry. This post is well and truly off subject, but since it is my blog I don't really care. It's just that it seemed to be such a strange weekend that I thought I'd share it with you. And now I'm off for a walk, to get some fresh Lake District air, and see if I can find any more walnuts.
This latter problem was the first to be fixed, since there are few things worse than standing in the shed and feeling a drip. As I propped the ladder against the side of the shed ready to climb up to asses the damage, I noticed a walnut lying on the ground. Since we don't have a walnut tree, nor do any of our neighbours, I was a little puzzled by this.
An hour later, having reattached the felt to the shed roof and had a break for a cup of tea and to assess the damage to my thumb caused by one too many hammer blows missing the head of the nail, I ventured out to pick the debris off the lawn and came across another walnut. It wasn't just lying there, it was well and truly embedded. A third walnut was found in the bird bath. This whole situation was starting to cause me a certain amount of anguish. It was quite clear that someone has been throwing walnuts at my garden? But who? And why?
First on the suspect list were the local youths (aren't they always?) My sometimes over active imagination developed the idea of a gang of young men prowling the district, their heads covered by the obligatory hoodies, throwing whole, unshelled walnuts into the gardens of unsuspecting residents.
It wasn't until I moved on to the front garden to clear some leaves that I noticed, nestling contentedly under the lilac, two more walnuts. And there was another one in a plant pot, firmly embedded between a rotting dahlia and the remains of a couple of trailing lobelias. (You will gather by now that gardening is not my strong point.)..
The biggest clue to where these walnuts had come from came when I was raking leaves off the lawn. I found yet another, and this one was well and truly embedded into the front lawn, just as the one in the back lawn had been. However, it got there, it was obvious that it had come down with considerable force.
Theory number one, the anti social local hoodies, was quickly dismissed. After all, throwing them is one thing, but would they really bother to come into the garden and tread them in?
No. Remembering my geography lessons at school, I quickly formulated the theory that the said walnuts had actually fallen from the sky, probably in the hail storm.
Anyway, I collected them up and took them into the house. Within minutes I had cracked one open and eaten it. And very nice it was too, so nice in fact that I had another, and another.
Now, I don't know whether you are into science fiction films or not, but I do vaguely remember a film called "Invasion of the Body Snatchers". It is about an alien race whose own planet is dying, and they come to earth and take over human bodies in order to try to set up a new, tightly organised society where everyone conforms. They do this by the means of spreading seed pods which have pink flowers on them. People take them into their homes, and then the aliens take over.
I only say this because my walnuts, although very nice, did not really taste like walnuts, and now my wife says that I am behaving strangely. Evidently I'm being really really nice to her for a change, although I have to say that I haven't noticed any difference.
I've also got a rumbling in my stomach, as though there is something in there wanting to get out. A few nights ago I watched the film "Alien", and now I'm wondering whether or not I should really have eaten the walnuts at all. But they tasted so nice, so good, and there are still three left and I was going to leave then for Christmas, but I don't know whether or not I can resist them.
Of course, none of the above has got anything to do with the Lake District tourism industry. This post is well and truly off subject, but since it is my blog I don't really care. It's just that it seemed to be such a strange weekend that I thought I'd share it with you. And now I'm off for a walk, to get some fresh Lake District air, and see if I can find any more walnuts.
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