HONEY, I"M HOME

We’re in the village of Great Strickland this evening, at the Strickland Arms.

Getting here wasn’t easy. Some of you know that our flight itinerary started with a flight from Charlotte to Boston, with an hour and seven minute layover to catch a flight to Dublin, then on to Glasgow. And you also know we tried to change that but were assured everything would be all right.

As expected, it wasn’t all right. Never had a chance. The American flight from Charlotte to Boston was first delayed, then cancelled because of a window that wouldn’t close. I expect a window to get stuck and not close on a bus, maybe, but not on an A300.

Anyway, two customer service lines, three planes, two trains, and two taxis later, we got into Great Strickland, in England’s Lake District.   Even better, our luggage came along. And, even after all the hassle, we got here just four hours later than originally planned.

As I noted earlier, this village and surrounding area of Westmorland County was the home of Strickland’s dating back to the twelfth century. It was the home of , and first named by, my 24th great grandfather William.  Today, it’s a typical Lake District village of 370 people, including those living in the surrounding countryside.

The village pops up out of surrounding farmland laid out by seemingly endless stone walls.  The main (only) street, Priestclose Lane, might be a half mile long. But in that half mile Priestclose Lane is lined on both sides by one 17^th century house after another. These, and the new houses, are  made from local limestone, and roofed with slate mined from local quarries 250 years ago. In this half mile, there are 17 English National Heritage buildings.  

Typically, these houses were small homes with a stable or barn attached. In many cases, the barn has been converted to additional living space. These are still private homes, all with elaborate, well tended gardens, in the English fashion.  Saying this is a pleasant place to live would be a huge understatement.

The Strickland Arms, the Inn we’re staying in, appears to be the only commercial establishment in town, and it’s another of those 200+ year old buildings where the sleeping rooms are in what used to be the attached barn. A neat place, and It’s also got a great kitchen.

In spite of getting here late, we had enough time to explore Great Strickland, take a break before the walk starts tomorrow, and have an English Sunday Dinner. I chose the steak and ale pie, with roasted potatoes and vegetables. Marty had the sticky lamb pie with the same accompaniments, but he wouldn’t eat his peas.

We’ve both taken the tough it out approach to getting over the time change, even though it maybe hasn’t been by choice. Not much sleep on the planes, nor the trains, for the last 30 hours, so we ought to sleep well tonight. That’s going to happen any time now...

St. Barnabas' Church

From my side of the family