From North Wales to the Lake District, by way of Liverpool.
The day started out well, and ended up very well, but with a glitch along the way which could have been pretty bad, but wasn’t.
We left our really nice guest house in Llanberis around 9:30, heading for the Lake District by way of Liverpool, about two hours north. There the Beatles were waiting for us, and we were chugging along the Wales Expressway, the A55, minding our own business , when the clutch vanished (we’re driving a manual transmission). It just sank to the floor, but I was luckily able to at least get it out of gear, and head over to the verge, off the road, although only just. The clutch completely failed, making it impossible to get it back into gear, and once the car was off, making it impossible to start the car as it requires the clutch to be disengaged.
Tom pushed the car as I was steering it further off the road, as we were dangerously close to very fast moving and busy traffic, but was having a hard time when an angel truck driver stopped his large truck in the middle of the slow lane of the fast moving two lane highway, ran over to us and pushed, along with Tom, getting us far enough off the road, and then, just like that, popped back into his truck and was gone. Like the Lone Ranger, although I did manage to wave a thanks as he sped off.
I was able to reach emergency hep quickly, and the highway service folks were there within 30 minutes as this is definitely not a safe place to be , and very lively and friendly they were, and they whisked us off to a nearby service area where we met up with the rescue driver from the Automobile Association, also friendly and chatty. In turn, he whisked us off to the nearest Europcar (car rental) in Chester, where they were both friendly and very efficient. We were in our new car within ten minutes, our third car this trip, and within about three hours of the breakdown we were back on the road, still on the way to Liverpool. And I really like this car… much easier to handle and with a far better transmission than the Nissan compact SUV we’d been driving (and which had a very difficult transmission, so maybe the clutch had been failing for a while before its complete failure). Another adventure behind us. Who knows what’s yet in store?
Anyway, we arrived in Liverpool, at Penny Lane, which we both found thrilling. It’s just a regular street, nothing special about it, other than the fact it’s now got various stores and attractions along the way associated with the song and/or the Beatles, but even then in a fairly unassuming way. It’s really just a regular street, which makes it even better. I’d been expecting a real tourist-type attraction, which is happily not the case.
And the roundabout – yes, it’s there, although there wasn’t a pretty nurse selling poppies from a tray behind the shelter in the middle of the roundabout. But it did sit beneath the blue suburban skies.
Actually, the whole area is largely residential and pretty suburban, just like the song says, and rather solidly middle class, or working middle class, and not a nitty gritty or run down neighborhood. And the same is true for Strawberry Field, which we visited next, after walking around and along Penny Lane for a while, just drinking it in. These are both near the neighborhoods where McCartney, Lennon, and Harrison lived and grew up as lads, so they had a working middle class experience growing up, whereas Ringo grew up in a more working class inner city neighborhood.
We also enjoyed the Dovetail Towers, a magnificent pub at 60 Penny Lane, with a beautiful interior, where Freddie Mercury once stayed, and before the pub become a pub in the 1960s, and was instead St. Barnabas Church Hall, Paul McCartney sang as a boy in the St Barnabas’ Church Choir, and both McCartney and Lennon played in the late 1950s, in their pre-Beatles skiffle group, the Quarrymen. ‘Ey up, good history, that!
While we were in the very nice outdoor gardens of the pub, Tom sipping a cider, a couple of friendly locals came over to talk, with full-fledged Liverpudlian accents, which I was glad to hear and even more glad that Tom got to hear the perfect scouse accent. They were from the real estate office next door to the pub, and laughingly told us that property prices were good in the area and suggested we ought to buy some while in Liverpool.
And then, time to visit Strawberry Field (although the song is called Strawberry Fields). Strawberry Field, built in the 1870s, was originally a large Victorian house surrounded by extensive grounds, and in 1936 was acquired by the Salvation Army, which turned it into a children’s home for girls. Lennon lived just a few minutes away, and played in the grounds of as a child. The original house was demolished in 1973, although the red entrance gates were retained, and the site is now a visitor center, gardens, and Beatles landmark, still owned and run by the Salvation Army. It’s a nice place to visit, with lovely gardens. Let me take you down…
I would like to have also checked out the Cavern, which continues to be a music venue, but it it was a little too far and it was time to get back on the road for the 90 minute, 90 mile journey to Windermere in the Lake District. So off we went, and as we neared and crossed into the Lake District in Cumbria county, we saw those lovely verdant and lush patchwork fields on rolling hills (it sounds like a corny expression, but it’s the truth) unfolding around us, arriving at Kirkwood House, where we’re staying tonight and tomorrow, around 6:15.
We were met by the owner, Richard, who moved to Windermere about 15 years, escaping from life in London where he grew up in Leyton, in the East End, and we exchanged a couple of stories after he learned I was born in the east end. He and his wife, Paula, are very happy up here, and own a sailboat and planning some long voyages ahead, and he was envious when I told him I’m later heading to the Faroe Islands, a place they have long wanted to sail to. Very nice guy, and very friendly and helpful. And what a lovely place, with an equally lovely room, in a lovely part of England.
We walked into the small town of Windermere, a little less than a mile away, enjoying the scenery and environment around us, and for the first time I wore a sweatshirt – it’s starting to get cool in the evenings nowadays. The buildings and stone walls in this area are largely built from local stone, including volcanic and sedimentary rocks, slate, and sandstone, which partly give that particular look to the entire area.
I’ve been to the Lake District perhaps three or four times, and the last time was with Bev, Marilyn, Alan, Suzanne, and Harold back in 2017, when we stayed for several days. This time, Tom and I only have tomorrow and the morning of the following day, so will have far less time to see the fuller region, but we’ll get a good taste on this whirlwind tour of Britain we’re on.
We ate at Tilly’s in Windermere village, and had another good English meal of meat pie and mashed potato. It was starting to get late by now, and getting cooler, so we walked around a little more before heading back to Kirkwood house, and wrapped up our evening. But before we did, Tom did a Phil Rich thing – that is, something I’ve done many times in my life: walk into something, and walk into it hard. In this case, my side of the room had a low slope ceiling with a solid wooden beam crossing the width of the ceiling. No problem for me at my height, but for Tom…
There was no actually no reason for Tom to cross to that side of our room, so it never occured to me to give 6′ 7″ Tom a warning, but he did cross the room, and I looked up in horror when I heard the very dull and very hard thud as Tom walked right into that solid beam, which didn’t given an inch. It shook him up, and I was sure he’d wind up with a huge knot and bruise on his forehead, but he must have hit it at the “right” angle, so it wasn’t half as bad as it could have been. It hurt, and Tom was most definitely disoriented for a moment as he reeled backwards, but all turned out well, without even a headache, and by the morning it was as if it had never happened. Not even a bruise. Until this trip, and planning for it, I’d never thought about the potential difficulties of being so tall. I might add, this wasn’t the first time Tom had bashed his head, but this one seemed the worst, but all turned out okay (sigh of relief, but big ouch nevertheless).
Tomorrow we’ll figure when tomorrow comes, but we’ll probably stay within walking and maybe bus distance, as there’s plenty to see and experience in this area, including a cruise on Lake Windermere. But we’ll see. Until then, goodnight.