I'm now happily resting in my B&B in Sheffield. It's in a lovely Victorian home, recently restored, that has extremely high ceilings. Lovely, except when you realize this also means that the staircase up to the first floor bedrooms, is much longer than I am used to. The host very kindly picked up my little suitcase and brought it up for me. I got a key to the front door. Now I just have to figure out how to turn the doorknob. It's quite interesting to look at but I think I may need rubber gloves to grip it.
Now I'll back up a bit. A lot has happened since my last epistle. Getting up early for the flight to Leeds was not an issue. I picked up my "bag breakfast" of a muffin, a banana and a cup of coffee in the hotel lobby and waited for the airport shuttle. I had booked on Aer Lingus because of the necessity of arriving back in Dublin in Terminal 1. So, from the shuttle I got off at Terminal 1, which was the stop after Terminal 2. Whatever. Then I checked the departures board looking for my gate. It was in Terminal 1. So, I got in half of my 10,000 steps schlepping back through the upward sloping passage that joins the terminals. Fortunately I'm travelling with a small carry-on suitcase on four wheels that roll beautifully. I had checked in online and had my boarding pass on my phone. No need to find the ticket counter. All I had to find was the gate.
Eventually, at the right gate, we were called for boarding. I thought it was for the plane - nope - it was for the bus that drives you to the plane. It seemed for a while that we were driving to Mullingar in the centre of Ireland. That is one big airport. Once at the plane - what? that little thing? - we boarded via a very narrow staircase at the back. And I found my even narrower seat in Row 2. The flight was smooth as silk and the landing was soft - all in all, much better than anticipated. The wild rain and wind of the day before had departed overnight.
At Leeds airport I boarded a train just outside the terminal, to the downtown rail station. There I bought my ticket and was soon en route to Manchester's Victoria Station. Waiting for me there were Danuta and David Burgess. I'd last seen Danuta almost 45 years ago, but conversation flowed as smoothly as if we'd been in frequent touch. We walked to Piccadilly Station where I checked my bag so walking around would be easier. The bag went through a security procedure that would make the TSA proud.
We lunched at a nice cafe where Dominic Burgess popped in briefly to say hello, and then we went to the Manchester Art Gallery. The exhibition we explored was a series of photographs taken in England over several decades, by photographers from other countries. It is interesting to see life through the eyes of a photographer - especially one who is capturing what he/she feels is the essence of a place that is not familiar.
From there we went to the public library - a building that reminds me of St Paul's with the huge dome. The interior has been completely modernized and the exterior maintains the original structure. All around it are examples of mainly Victorian architecture with a few modern buildings sprinkled around. All in all a lovely afternoon.
We used the tram system to return to Stockport where David reclaimed the car from the parking lot and we headed for their home. The tea and apple cake were a lovely treat and my tired feet were pleased to have a rest. I met Mrs Maj, Danuta's Mom, having heard of her over the years. She's a sweetie. After work Dominic and Iona came in and later the three of us enjoyed an Italian dinner at a nice restaurant that is walking distance from their new condo.
More exercise was worked into the day on the stairs leading to their second floor apartment. Here remember, you walk up one flight to the first floor. It had been a long but very satisfying day.
Saturday dawned clear and sunny and chilly. I borrowed a toque and mitts from Danuta. My recently purchased woolly scarf was put to good use. My own toque was in Dublin and my gloves were not very warm. The first impression on seeing a photo of Danuta and me that was taken later that morning, was of a couple of nuns. Yikes!
Quarry Bank cotton mill was on the agenda. What a great choice. My Sunderland ancestors worked in the woollen mills in Bradford in the 19th century and I hadn't ever heard of the cotton mills in the Manchester area. It was a short drive to the site which is managed by the National Trust. I can only compare that to Parks Canada, but this includes heritage buildings.
Timing is everything. The weather was nice, if frosty, but the gardens were closed. This didn't surprise me as it is February and no Canadian gardens would be open, but we were just a week too early. The home of the mill owners, the Gregs, was also closed until next week. The grounds were lovely for a peaceful stroll. Then we went into the mill.
Now that it is a heritage site, the machinery still mostly works, but not all at once. To think that these huge machines were invented and worked so efficiently over 100 years ago is amazing. The Gregs were quite generous employers compared to others, but the 15 hour days with a few minutes break for tea and lunch, must have been gruelling. With the machines all clattering away the din would have been deafening.
I was surprised to see that the lives of the women workers were featured and that the Greg family valued education - of women. There were examples of their everyday lives and believe me I would not volunteer to go back to those times. The Victorians gave us many things, but leisure for the working class was not one of them.
Having taken in what we could and having stopped for lunch in the cafe, we rested briefly. The cafe was full and we had a hard time finding a table. Danuta spied a family preparing to leave so she and I kind of hovered around as the parents got the two youngsters organized. They recommended the soup so we had the (mushroom) soup which came with a Granary Blossom. No - it was not any sort of flower. It was a large wedge of multigrain bread - very tasty.
Sufficiently restored, we then returned to Stockport to the market square. On the street front was a sign for Staircase House. Doesn't every two or more storey house have a staircase? This one did not disappoint. The staircase was the feature of note - mostly. This home was built in the 16th century with an interesting combination of wattle and daub, plaster, bricks and mortar and wood beams. It was heavily damaged by fire in the more recent past, but the city - in a great show of wisdom - decided to restore rather than ravage the building. The staircase was as badly burnt as the rest of the house but enough was untouched so that the restorers were able to discern the wood engravings on the banisters and whatever you call the parts between the handrail and the stairs. It is not ornate but considering that it is so very old, is quite remarkable.
It is not like visiting a house that you see from the street. You don't see it from the street. I guess the front didn't survive the fire. For one directionally challenged like myself, it was hard to get my bearings inside. To be realistic, getting your bearings in a house that seems to sprawl left and right is one thing. Getting your balance on floors that are not only sloped, but the stuff of skateboard tracks, is quite a challenge. Presumably all the heaving that cause the "uneven" flooring, happened over the past several hundred years, and was not part if the initial construction. I mean, this place has survived sort of intact and if the floors had started out the way they are now I doubt it would have made its first century.
The entire home was really amazing. It is furnished in some rooms, to represent different time periods in the life of the house. I would not have done well in any of those eras but I do have to admire those who did. It was fascinating to tour this place and I hope it becomes a major attraction.
We had supper at the Burgess home and I spent part of the evening chatting with Mrs. Maj. She has had a very interesting life even if there was a period of time that was very very difficult. She has written her story, in Polish, and is now waiting for her younger daughter to complete the translation into English.
This morning, Dominic and Iona took me to Elizabeth Gaskell's house in Stockport. She was a well known writer and had feminist views before her time. I will have to find some of her books - Cranford comes to mind and I think there was one titled North and South. The house had fallen into disrepair after the last inhabitants left. Restoration began in 2004 and has recreated the original carpets, mouldings, wallpapers and some furnishings. They are true to the period, but as all of the family possessions were auctioned after the death of the last daughter in 1913, were not the items that actually belonged to the Gaskell family.
Danuta cooked us an amazing dinner, topped off with a chocolate and pair pudding cake from the Nigella Lawson cookbook. The meal was a wonderful conclusion to a great weekend with people I now consider to be good friends. I hope we can get together - somewhere - before another 45 years elapses.
Dominic and Iona took me to the Stockport train station and got my ticket sorted out and we said good-bye. I didn't have to wait long for the train and was soon onto phase 2 of this adventure.
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