Hartley Fell

Continuing yesterday’s spirit of being sensible, I decided to walk towards (or even to) Nine Standards on Hartley Fell and back the same way, prepared to turn round if the path was too awful. I could see the stone piles on the skyline as I started up the bridlepath, and it seemed doable.

I almost baulked at a ford but found it manageable. My nemesis was the bridge close to the stones: it was under water and there was no other way without getting waterlogged boots. Since I was finding the walk a bit samey – a long trudge up on bare moorland into increasingly strong winds – I didn’t mind admitting defeat. I found a quiet spot to eat a banana and admire the view and then turned round. I think I saw a barn owl on the way down.

Smardale

I’ve come to Kirkby Stephen to walk, and walk I shall – despite yesterday’s grim storm and today’s wind. Smardale was the sensible option: minor roads and low levels with the guarantee of a really satisfying view of the old railway viaduct. I set off after a breakfast so big that I didn’t bother to stop to eat en route and had an enjoyable day. I saw a red squirrel beside the old railway line and I disturbed a bird in the heather – black with its eye outlined in white, so I’m guessing a black grouse without its mating plumage.

The bare dog rose thorn reminded me of the potential harshness of winter. It’s hard to think of its bleakness when one is used to central heating and filled supermarket shelves.

Ruddigore

I’ve never seen a Gilbert & Sullivan opera before. Great fun and brilliantly staged. I managed to get to the pre-show talk this time, where I learned that it satirised “transpontine melodrama” – and, here, the bridge was the one over the Thames. So “south of the river” has a long reputation for being infra dig.

Even by the standards of opera, the characters were caricatures. The only moment of real feeling (besides mirth) was in a pretty, sentimental duet – “There grew a little flower” – between an elderly maiden and a ghost. I came out still humming the bridesmaids’ song.

  • Sir Ruthven – Dominic Sedgwick
  • Rose Maybud – Amy Freston
  • Richard Dauntless – Xavier Hetherington

A Midsummer’s Night Dream

I mistimed this one. I knew nothing about the opera before I went – not even the composer (Britten) – and was going to rely on the pre-show talk to fill me in. So I prepared to set off for the 6 p.m. start of the talk . . . and discovered that it had started at 5 p.m. The opera itself started at 6 p.m.

So I went in unprepared. Not that it mattered – and, besides, we’d “done” the play in school (O-level perhaps) and some lines, memorised for exams, called back to me across the decades. The early start, I’m guessing, was for the sake of the slightly creepy fairies – average age 10, working hard on a school night.

It was good. Unusual choices (Oberon was written for a counter-tenor, the wood was represented by sheets of perspex) and a sixties setting. The music introduced me to tone painting and started eerily. Non-singing Puck was very good – shades of Gollum or even Mutley – but somehow the sense of the physical world reflecting fairy discord was lacking.

I liked the thought that its premier was in the Jubilee Hall, Aldeburgh. La Scala, eat your heart out.

  • Oberon – James Laing
  • Tytania – Daisy Brown

Dalemain House

I caught the bus to Rheged (and, as I got off four minutes later, wondered why I’d bothered) and walked to Dalemain House. A pele tower and Georgian house in one, so it was interesting to pass from one era to another on the guided tour of the house. (But, my goodness, it was cold inside!) We moved backwards in time, from Chinese rooms and symmetry to a Tudor plasterwork ceiling, and finally the hall with an enormous fireplace. The last buyer of the house was Edward Hasell in 1679; he was a former steward to the ubiquitous Lady Anne Clifford.

I walked back – snubbing the bus – past Rheged, once the quarry that had supplied some of the stone for Dalemain.

Eamont Way

I walked along the Eamont Way again – this time from Pooley to Penrith. It’s a pleasant enough walk, but I can see why I didn’t meet anyone else on it. Why walk to/from Pooley Bridge without even a glimpse of Ullswater?

As darkness fell, I hung around on the platform bridge hoping for a glimpse of Comet Tsuchinshan-ATLAS. It was the best view of the western horizon I was likely to get. No, nothing.