Tag Archive | Leeds

Galloping Around the Midlands: Leeds, Sheffield, Chatsworth House and Bakewell

Nov6

Thursday, November 3, 2016

Leeds, Sheffield, Chatsworth House, Bakewell

Morning Rush to Depart:

I awoke early on the top bunk of my bed in my dorm at the hostel in Leeds, got my stuff and myself organized and left with Shilpa for company (she was off to work) at 7.00 am to board a public bus to get me to Leeds Coach Station. I then got into a National Express coach leaving Leeds for Sheffield at 8.30. As I had loads of time to spare, I bought myself a croissant and a mocha latte from a café at the coach station and waited. My coach came soon enough and I was off. An hour later, I was in Sheffield where I found the Left Luggage Locker really easily. For just a pound a day, one can stash luggage in very secure lockers. I was relieved to find one as soon as I alighted from the coach. My entry into Sheffield was interesting as we got to the ‘Interchange’ coach station for we passed through the smithys that made Sheffield famous. When I was a little girl in India, we owned a set of stainless steel cutlery that my parents had received as a wedding present–it said Made in Sheffield on them. I never did dream that I would one day be in the city in which they were made!

By doing research on the Internet, I had discovered that a public bus No. 218 runs from Sheffield to Chatsworth House every half hour from the Interchange station. I found the gate from which it leaves and entered into conversation with two little old ladies who advised me to buy food from a kiosk at the station if I was headed to Chatsworth. Everything at Chatsworth costs an arm and a leg, they said. Accordingly, I bought a chicken and mushroom pasty and a scone oozing Yorkshire cream and strawberry jam–with a bottle of water. They would see me through most of the day.

The bus arrived on schedule and cost me five pounds for a return ticket. I took my favorite seat–top deck, front and center–and enjoyed the joy ride through little villages outside of Sheffield before we left urban environs behind to enter into the more rural parts of southern Yorkshire. In a few minutes, we were entering Derbyshire and the Peak District National Park where Chatsworth House is located. Sheep started to punctuate the landscape as did cows and horses. I started to feel my excitement mount.

Exploring Chatsworth House:

So where was I headed? And what is Chatsworth House? And why is it on a tourist map? Well, among Britain’s grand houses and country estates, Chatsworth ranks way up there with such extravagant properties as Blenheim Palace and Castle Howard. It has a long and complicated history that dates back to the 1500s when the original house was built in Tudor style by an Earl called William Cavendish and his wife who was known as Bess of Hardwicke. This original house was almost entirely destroyed (by a fire, I believe) but upon its foundations, the current house was built in the 18th century by a descendant. One of these descendant Earls (I forget which one) was a Royalist and fought hard to put William and Mary on the throne of England after the ouster of James II. For his pains, he was made a Duke and was given the title Duke of Devonshire. It is a title that all his descendants continue to use to this day. This Duke also built a palatial set of State Apartments with the idea of hosting and housing the new King and Queen who had arrived from Orange. However, they never did make it to Chatsworth House–and so the most gorgeous rooms in the house) the ones that are the grandest show pieces of the house tour) were never used by royalty.

It was hard for me to keep track of which Duke did what to the house–there are too many of them and each one added bits and bobs to it to make it the place it is today. In modern times, the most famous Duchess was Deborah–one of the Mitford sisters who was beautiful (photographed extensively by Cecil Beaton), talented and clever. She and her husband Andrew Cavendish gained the title quite suddenly when Andrew’s older brother was killed in World War II. Not only did they inherit a title and the ancient pile but also a massive debt which led them to form a Trust in whose care the place was entrusted. The Trust continues to run it today. Deborah and Andrew Cavendish’s oldest son Peregrine is the 12th and current Duke of Devonshire and he is married to a woman called Amanda Lonsdale.

From the minute you enter this grand manor, you are confronted by opulence with a capital OH!!! Every aspect of the interior is Over The Top. The outside looks rather plain–a square structure with little to commend it–but the moment, you enter the main door, boy, are you overwhelmed! The interior beggars description, but I will say this: most striking are the ceilings that are entirely painted by the Italian artist, AntonioVerrio. They are modeled after Fontainblue and other grand chateaux of the Loire Valley  in France and have every decorative detail that is to be found there. In the Main Entrance, the tableau celebrating Ceasar and placing King William in that guise is quite ingenious. It sets the tone for the rest of the rooms. Thus, painting, sculpture, decorative objects and furniture combine to impress at every level.

Meanwhile, the current Duke and Duchess, who still live on the premises in a part of the House, are avid collectors and you will find contemporary artists very well represented such as Henry Moore and Martin Flannagan and Emily Young. There is a fully carved Oak Room with barley-twist wooden pillars and carved busts on the walls. There is a stupendous Library that the family still uses–it has about 30,000 titles from the old to the new. There are staircases with more paintings and sculpture than you can possibly take in. There is a massive Dining Room which has held state banquets through the centuries. There are also rooms crammed with Old Master paintings and corridors also filled with them. There is a whole section devoted to the most famous Duchess of Devonshire, Georgian Spencer, an ancestor of Diana Spencer–who had an unhappy a marriage as did Diana (the movie The Duchess starring Kiera Knightley is based on her tragic life). She lived famously in a ménage a trois with her best friend Katherine Foster and husband the Duke. There is a grand painting of her in a special wing as well as the semi-precious stones she collected in their uncut state.

As for the State Apartments, well, what can I say? They are simply spectacular. Some have leather tooled walls, others have trompe l’oeil paintings on them. Some are filled with paintings by Veronese and Canaletto. There are bedrooms and closets chockful of porcelain and china that is artfully arranged on the walls. In one room, there are water colors by Michaelangelo and Rafael as well as a painting by Rembrandt. Truly, I was overwhelmed by what I saw and at the end of two whole hours of reading the room cards and inspecting most of the major art works, I was seriously exhausted. My senses felt saturated by what I had seen and I could not take in another stick of furniture! It was with relief that I entered the Sculpture Gallery and found it filled with works by Antonio Canova (his Sleeping Endymion is exquisite and his twin lions are simply stunning). Thankfully, this is the last room and I reached it with supreme relief.

I almost lost a glove by the time I reached the huge shop–I noticed that it had slipped out of my pocket…but thankfully, retracing my steps through just two rooms led me to it–draped on a sign post. I could have cried with relief.

I must add that armies of staff were in the process of decorating Chatsworth for Christmas. It would be closing the next day and then re-opening a week later with a larger ticket price (I had already paid 20 pounds) for the festive season. I felt pleased that I got a glimpse into most of the Christmas decorations–albeit unofficially–without having to fork out an extra 5 pounds.

So what did I think of Chatsworth? I think it is absolutely worth traveling half way across the country to see. However, my visit was not over–not yet. For a major attraction of Chatsworth are its gardens and since I had been advised to buy a ticket for 4 pounds that would take me around most of the estate on a 45 minute buggy ride with a running commentary by a guided staff member, it was a no brainer. That was precisely what I did. And a fiver was never more profitably spent!

The Gardens at Chatsworth:

The garden tour introduced me and two other visitors to the work of Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown who created the rolling hills and sprawling lawns and to the additions of Joseph Paxton who built the rockery, the rock garden and planted the stone arches. There is an incredible Grotto with a smallish pond in which every tree planted on the banks is reflected as if in a mirror.

Autumn has brought burnished hints and hues to the gardens and with sugar maples and copper beeches, Japanese dwarf maples and ash trees shedding their foliage, there were multi-colored carpets and what appeared to be yellow brick roads leading to infinity. Sculpture dotted  the gardens profusely together with steps, fountains, cascades, even a maze. There were formal (Elizabeth Knot gardens) and informal bits (herb gardens).

Chatsworth also has a huge Farm Stand where locally grown produce is sold. In the shop, there is honey made by estate bees and a number of plain and fancy preserves–all made from fruit and veg that is organically grown. There are also green houses and vines that produce Muscat grapes from which wine is made–bottles of it are also sold in the shop. It appears that being laden with debt, Deborah found that turning the estate to profit would be the best way to stay afloat. There is no way any human being could see the extensive acreage of this place on foot–taking the buggy was the best tip I could have received and I was very grateful.  Yes, the gardens are part and parcel of the House and I do believe they ought to receive just as much attention as do the interiors.

Rest and Retail Therapy:

Feeling quite drained by the experience of touring the house and viewing the gardens, I went in search of the café and got myself a coffee.  I ate my pasty in the spacious environs of a café that was almost as large as a restaurant and offered multiple choices. These bits of the estate are located in what used to be the stables–they are stone-clad and sturdy and look posh and rustic at the same time.

After about half an hour, I went in search of the goodies in the shops. Christmas décor was everywhere and all merchandise is displayed at their attractive best. I poked around but not being in the market for anything, did not dip into my wallet.

Off to Bakewell:

After wandering around for a bit, I realized that I still had about two hours before I needed to reach Sheffield to get my evening’s coach to London. That was when it hit me that I could take the same bus for a further fifteen minutes to the village of Bakewell–famous for its Tart and its pudding. Feeling a little nervous to make the onward journey because the last thing I wanted was to miss my coach, I decided to hope for the best and take my chances.

Ten minutes later, a bus came along and another fifteen minutes later, we were entering the little village of Bakewell. It was already about 4.30 and light was fast fading. Still, I have to say that I was determined to see what I could and to taste the dessert for which the village has become internationally known.

The bus dropped me off at the town center just past the picturesque bridge over the burbling brook that leads one into the village. I raced to a shop to buy a postcard and a magnet and discovered that the shop in which the pudding originated and which is most famous (although ever second café serves us the treat) was just around the corner.

Tasting Bakewell’s Famous Pudding:

Known as the Original Bakewell Pudding Co., it really was just a few steps away. It is a charming and very quaint spot with blackened timbers and a very low entrance. The café is upstairs and after I was seated, I ordered a pot of tea and a serving of the pudding (as someone in the shop had told me that the pudding is preferable to the tart). And how fabulous it was! It has a crisp filo-like pastry shell, a creamy almond filling and a layer of raspberry jam. It was served with a small pitcher of custard and I have to say it was unexpectedly delectable. A single serving cost 5 pounds and with the pot of tea costing me 2. 50 pounds, I had a very early dinner right there!

I wandered then around the little village with its uniformly grey stone walls and its cobbled streets. There were a lot of lovely shop windows and eye-catching displays everywhere as well as the Rutland Arms Hotel right in the middle of the cross roads. I would have enjoyed browsing through the narrow lanes lined with enticing shops–but light was fading quickly. Plus at exactly 5.00 pm, all the shops closed as if in harmony together.

My bus that would take me back to Sheffield was due at 5. 07 pm–it would arrive in Sheffield at 6.00 pm to leave me enough time to retrieve my backpack from the Left Luggage Locker and find my gate for my return coach to London at 6. 30 pm.

And indeed, despite my nervousness (what if the bus broke down somewhere???), we made it to Sheffield with time to spare. I got my bag out and found the gate for National Express departure. I had a lovely companion en route named Ellie Stevens–a student at Sheffield University and in her company, the miles were eaten away. I did get a nap for a good one hour and ate my creamy scone en route and by the time I was waking up, we were arriving in Milton Keynes and Ellie was saying goodbye.

About 90 minutes later, we were skirting London. I got off at Marble Arch and took the Central Line Tube home. I was opening my door at about 11.00 pm.  and given the miles I had covered, all I could do was throw myself on my bed and pass out.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

 

Leaping Around Leeds: Royal Armory, Retail Therapy and Giving a Talk at Leeds University

Nov5

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Leeds

A Morning With A Difference:

After what started as a harrowing night, peace and quiet did reign over the crummy hostel in which I awoke on a beautifully sunny day. The fog and drizzle and dreariness of yesterday gave way to blue skies. It was a day tailor-made for sight-seeing and I decided to look on the positive side and get on with my day. Accordingly, I washed and dressed and got the heck out as soon as I could. Although free breakfast was provided (all day long) at the hostel–a number of half-opened boxes of cereal, a range of jams and white bread with a toaster were provided–I was having none of it. My aim was to find a decent breakfast in some place nice in which I could pass time until the museums opened for the day.

My other aim was to see two or three of the city’s major attractions before meeting Paul, a professor of Portuguese, in the coffee shop opposite the main university library building at 4.00 pm. These were: the Royal Armories, Leeds City Gallery (closed until next year for renovation), the Henry Moore Institute, the Victorian Quarter and a few of the superb Victorian civic buildings. Fortunately, most of these attractions are within the City Center–all accessible on foot.

But first I needed brekkie…

Full English Breakfast in a Pub:

I did eventually find something I had been craving for days–a reasonably-priced Full English Brekkie. As I walked down towards Leeds Station (from where I would find a bus to take me to the Royal Armories–which is the only attraction quite out of the way of the main sights), I found a pub that was actually open at 8.00 am. It was the refuge I was seeking on a terribly chilly day–for Leeds (being so much higher than London) is already really cold. I was grateful for my cap, gloves, scarf, warm socks and full-length down coat as I battled the wind.

Full English Brekkie did cheer me up inside and out. There is truly nothing quite as appealing as the kind of heavy-duty oval ceramic platters that publicans place before you containing eggs and bacon, sausages and mushrooms, tomatoes, hash browns, baked beans and toast to make you feel as if you can conquer the world. Over unlimited hot coffee (yes, the concept of unlimited does exist in some hidden pockets of the UK), I sat myself under a TV screen, sole mistress of all I surveyed, and ate. And ate. And ate. It was simply divine. About a half hour into my enormous meal, elderly patrons arrived and before nine o clock tolled, were deep into their buckets of ale and stout and lager! No wonder pub culture is alive and kicking in Britain and publicans are not completely out of business.  Yet.

 

Off to the Royal Armories:

At about 9. 30 am, I left the pub and made my way towards the station past one street after the other that was completely lined with shops. It would not be long before I would discover that Leeds is the Shopping Capital of the World! But for the moment, I resisted the urge to get into some of them–okay, I did wander into one that sold the most amazingly shaped and fashioned soap (like wedges of fancy cake), bath bombs (like cupcakes), etc. before I found my way to the station and into a No. 70 bus that took me across the river and to the Royal Armories.

Inside the Royal Armories:

Prima facie, the Royal Armories is not my kind of place at all. It is why I whizzed through the small armory collection in the Tower of London, a few days ago. However, every guide book extolls the virtues of this place and urges the visitor to make the pilgrimage to the collection that was once housed in the Tower of London but moved to their present venue when this building was built.

The building is new and very modern–not at all what one expects to find in a place that houses historic weapons, arms and armor. It reminded me much of the Albert Dock in Liverpool as it is built around a boat basin with boats still anchored in it. This is a very modern part of the city–glass and concrete towers all around you. The entrance had a giant poppy attached to it–an emblem of what everyone in the country is wearing on their lapels at the moment: red poppies to commemorate Remembrance Day which is on November 11 and which is still marked with much reverence in this country–unlike the US where it is called Veterans Day and given no importance at all. And yes, as someone who has studied the Battle of the Somme in detail in France and has walked the Poppy Trail on the fields of Picardie, I did make my contribution in the many boxes that have sprouted up everywhere and I am wearing my own poppy lapel pin proudly.

Once inside, I did what I usually do: I asked one of the guides to point out a few highlights that I ought not to miss. I had thought I would spend no more than an hour in this place…but by the time the guide told me what to look for, I knew it would take longer than an hour. As it turned out, I was there when the museum opened at 10.00am and left only after 1.00 pm. It was quite fascinating really.

So what did I see? First off, the display on the walls of a tower-like structure was quite wonderful. It consisted of spears, shields, cannons, cannon balls, pistols, guns…all very well arranged and reflected in an arrangements of mirrors on the floor that made the collage above appear endless.

Next, I took the elevator to the second floor to look at armor from the Elizabethan Age. Here I saw the armor of luminaries of the period: Henry VIII, Earl of Deveruex Robert Dudley (the only man Elizabeth I is rumored to have really loved), armor of women who marched into war, armor of little boys. This is all very well arranged as is the complex manufacture of them. This floor is devoted to jousting and hunting and there is accompanying heraldry and the paraphenalia associated with pageantry right here.

Sections merge one into the other and before long, I found myself in the Civil War section with a young man dressed in costume giving a performance. He talked about why the Civil War occurred and demonstrated the use of rifles that were used in it. So what is nice about this museum is that you often come upon a section where you are then treated to a short demonstration or an act of some sort.

In another section, for instance, another young actor clad as a pub-owner in Canterbury in the 1100s, told the story of how and why Thomas Beckett was killed. It was entertaining because he punctuated his narrative with jokes and wise cracks. I found myself attracted to the section on the Indian Uprising of 1857 that is known as the Sepoy Mutiny. I spent a while there looking at the notorious Enfield Rifle that led to the loss of thousands of lives on both sides. There is no attempt at white-washing the death and destruction that early British rule in India under the East India Company caused.

And so it went on–as the sections merged, I found myself attracted by exhibits that did not stick to the highlights to which I had been directed. I saw sections on the Great War and on trench warfare–there was to be a demonstration here too but I did not stay for it. I eventually got to the fifth floor to see the armored elephant–it was quite a stunner, I have to admit. Set within the context of Moghul India, it offered insights into the kind of warfare that was carried out on the Indian sub-continent before the arrival of the British. But before you get there, you see a huge tableau of a tiger hunt conducted from the back of an elephant in India. Short films on hunting for food and for sport interspersed these sections.

This is a museum that would be child’s paradise. I can imagine children spending hours here fully enthralled by what they see. In spite of myself and my tendency not to particularly like such things, I was drawn in. And I definitely could see why this would be a place to which all guide books direct visitors. I was not unhappy at all that I had ventured into it.

Retail Therapy Capital:

I took the bus back to the City Center and got off at the station. From there, I wandered around, using my map, towards the Victorian Quarter which is a series of lovely sturdy buildings–all stone and ornate curlicues and carvings–that were built in the Age of Victoria as indoor markets. Inside, you are struck by soaring iron ceilings that are wonderfully decorated with ornamental animal heads to support a structure that in turn forms a canopy above individual kiosks or stalls. While I spotted everything from bric a brac to ribbons and trimmings, from fruit and veg to sausage rolls, nothing really caught my eye. In the Leeds City Market, the buying and selling is old-fashioned.

However, once you leave this section behind, you enter modern-day Leeds with arcades and malls galore–built on the same principal of each one being a complete structure unto itself–it is filled with lovely glass fronted, bow-windowed shops carrying luxury goods–from designer showrooms such as Louis Vuitton and Mulberry to perfumers, from cashmere cardigans and leather gloves to high-end artisan chocolates and cheese. The architecture is stunning and as soon as I arrived in Leeds, I discovered that Christmas had arrived. Every shop is decorated already with all sorts of glitter and a variety of items that Americans call ‘ornaments’ and the British call ‘baubles’. Every place is brightly lit, each store oozes offers and there is much to catch the eye and empty the wallet. I browsed but did not pause too long anywhere.

In Search of the Major Art Galleries and Civil Buildings:

Leaving retail therapy behind me, I went in search of Phase Three of my sight-seeing–a look at the Art Galleries. I could not have been more disappointed. The Leeds City Gallery is closed (although its café is very pretty and quite ornate–I stepped in for a few minutes to take in its grandeur) and the adjoining Henry Moore Institute (which usually houses interesting sculpture) was also closed for a new installation. Left with two major art venues closed to me, I wandered off to see the Central Library Building with its lovely clock tower and its façade blackened with age and soot from decades of Industrial waste (for Leeds sits right in the heart of the Midlands that saw unbelievable manufacturing zeal during the Industrial Revolution) and the Town Hall–a rather unusual building with its rust colored façade. A few streets up, I passed by the Civic Building and then the Leeds City Museum (into which I popped for a just a few minutes).

I would have liked to have lingered everywhere, by this time, I was running out of steam and felt that I ought to get to the appointed meeting spot–a coffee shop called Opposite right opposite the Parkinson Library Building of Leeds University. I meandered slowly through streets that began to show evidence of student foot traffic and within twenty minutes, I was seated in Opposite with a steaming bowl of bean soup with bread and butter and an iced mocha latte–which was my lunch. I people-gazed as students and faculty members trooped in and out, I eavesdropped unashamedly on conversations around me (it is the sort of thing you do when you are alone) and I tucked into my second meal for the day well past 3. 30 pm as my breakfast had fueled all my forays up to this point.

Off to Give my Talk at Leeds University:

At 4.00 pm, as planned, Paul, my host arrived with Sophia, his colleague in the Departure of Portuguese Studies. It was a pleasure to meet them both and as they escorted me across the road and into the university campus, I got a chance to see a portion of the university before dusk fell and it got too dark.

About a half hour later, I was all set up on my seat and speaking to a far bigger audience than I had supposed would turn up at the end of the day. Paul introduced me to students and faculty and I began my talk on the Indo-Portuguese Influence on Diasporic Goan writers. I have to say that it went off really well and was followed by a very lively discussion in which a large number of questions were asked and comments made. I was very satisfied indeed with the way things went and felt happy that my journey up north into England had been completely worthwhile.

Dinner at Hansa’s:

My host Paul and another one of his colleagues called Aleric then invited me to join them for dinner–they chose a place called Hansa’s–run by a Gujarati from Tanzania called Hansa who made her home in Leeds. Had I more time, I would have taken a bus to Bradford which is the Curry Capital of the UK–but Hansa’s seemed like a very happy compromise.

Like most Gujaratis, Hansa is a vegetarian and the fare she offers remains strictly within the confines of her dietary limitations. I ordered the Paneer and Vegetable Sizzler Platter as I felt a trifle full after my very late lunch but my companion chose the Thali Meal which was very substantial indeed. With a Kingfisher beer, the sizzler was quite wonderfully delicious if a tad too spicy even for my Indian palate! Our discussion continued over dinner when we had a truly stimulating conversation and many laughs. Overall, it had been a very good academic experience and I was invited by Paul to contribute an essay on a new collection of Goan literature that he is intended to produce.

Paul escorted me back to the hostel where I arrived at about 10.00 pm to find that Shilpa, my roomie, had already made herself ready for bed. I did not stay up much longer myself. I’d had a long and very fulfilling day and was ready to call it a night. I also had an early start to look forward to as I had major plans for the following day–I intended to visit Chatsworth House in fulfillment of a dream I have cherished for ages.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…