Lincoln

Staggered out of bed at 9, after having another vivid dream; jet lag seems to cause it. Every night since we landed, I've had very detailed dreams with complex plots, which all seem to involve speaking with Pat - who then turns into someone else, halfway through conversation. Odd.

Breakfast was lavish, with copious amounts of fruit salad, toast, and yacht-sized cups of tea. Barbara wouldn't let anyone serve anything themselves - we have been waited on, hand and foot since we arrived... which is terribly nice of her, but leaves me feeling very crude, and fairly ineffectual. Then again, I wonder if she'd just be offended by people helping out in what is definitively HER kitchen (which is a thing of spotless, vintage beauty)?


After breakfast, Malcolm donned his Wellingtons and showed us around their garden, which they've built from scratch. When they moved in it was a paddock, but now it's full of perfectly-aligned trees, with flower beds coming. Mum and I were intrigued to see all the plants we've read about since we were small, from British children's books. The authors always write about poplars and oaks and privet and laurels - and for a kid living in Australia, it's a stretch of the imagination to try and envision them all. Holly, for instance, turns out to be a tree, not a bush. And I've seen real hedges, now, all along the country roads around Lincolnshire.

The four of us set out mid-morning for Lincoln. The cathedral can be seen from miles and miles away, and is about twice as huge as I was expecting. As we approached, a funeral procession was leaving, and the last bars of Widor's "Mighty Toccata" were being played on the organ inside. WHOA.

Having always had an ambiguous relationship with religious places, I was genuinely surprised by how beautiful I found the building. Much less cluttered than Yorkminster, and... somehow... a more inviting place. Like the building was looking politely down on me, telling me it was really OK to be an atheist, but would I perhaps like to reconsider? (Sorry, dear cathedral. I wouldn't.)

The choir stalls were particularly glorious: dark polished wooden seats (proably oak), each with a pile of red and green leatherbound hymnals in front. I felt almost overcome; apparently I miss singing in the cathedral at home more than I had realised.


We strolled down Steep Hill through Lincoln itself (or at least the tourist quarter), which is filled with almost as many quirky and malformed half-timbered buildings as Old York, all of which seem now to be tea houses, secondhand bookshops, or sweets shops, which very few exceptions. I fulfilled one of my British ambitions at "Goodies of Lincoln": ever since I was small and read gran's copies of "Lion Annual" cover to cover, I have wondered what Humbugs taste like. Answer? Minty and awesome.

At the bottom of the hill mum and I found St Mary Le Wigford, the church where her grandparents were married. The same altar steps are still there. It was remarkable to have such a tangible experience of family history, halfway across the world from "home"... and such a contrast to the cathedral up the hill.


We returned to the car and headed back for Brinkhill, getting lost in the process. Mind you, that meant the passengers (Pip and I) got to see even more of Lincolnshire than planned, as dusk was falling. Light seems to work differently, here in northern England - and I don't just mean it gets dark at 4.30 pm. The light during the day is... @kinder@; more diffuse. The sun seems to "warm" colours, not just bleach them out; seeing Lincoln cathedral turn honey-coloured in the late afternoon was quietly glorious. Sunset seemed to stretch on in pinks and oranges and aquas for more than an hour. But what really struck me was when I looked the other direction after sunset, to see the near-full moon rising over the fields. It was ENORMOUS! As well as being golden, and shrouded in wisps of cloud, it seemed to be the size of a pumpkin when compared with the apple-sized moon that rises at home. "A gold dubloon", just like the Ted Hughes poem my yr 12 English teacher liked to quote at us.

Dinner was about 2 hours ago as I write this, and again was both lavish and delicious (I am being spoilt rotten!!). Salmon on stir-fried vegetables with sour cream, on asian noodles. With citrus tart and poached plums for desert, with cream. Now that I've happily digested all of that, and it's 9.30, I think it's time for sleep. Up early tomorrow to visit Gainsborough in time to see a tidal bore. After all this family history mum's been doing, the rest of us are a little worried she'll be overcome with the "Gainsborough longing"... like Legolas hearing the sea for the first time...