.
I was sat on an old wooden seat carved from the trunk of a tree and looking across a lake towards Grimsthorpe Castle that we had just visited. It was a beautiful scene and yet I sense a feeling of disconnection from it. I felt I did not belong there at that time and that the place would be happier seeing the back of me.
We had nearly not got in at all. As we travelled up the long drive, after travelling nearly fifty miles, the teenager asked me if I had any money. This was the first time he’d ever asked this question. To my horror I realised that I had forgotten to bring any!
The ticket office was already before me and a following car prevented any escape. We were allowed to park out of the way while we search the car for elusive coins. We had to find £18 to admit the two of us to the house and grounds. Luckily, that was the exact amount we managed to find. We were in, but perhaps left with a sense of disquiet and unease that remained with us. I have never forgotten to bring money before on a day trip.
The teenager had gone to ‘stretch his legs’ while I looked towards the house. There were short nettles on the patch of ground in front of the seat that prevented me from walking down to the lake. There was no chance of feeding the ducks the few remnants of crusts that we had left over from our picnic. The ducks had the chilled aloofness of wildness I guessed they had been rather fed.
There was a sound behind me. I kept still. I could hear someone stealthily creeping up behind me as if to spring a surprise. I guessed it was the teenager who was about to put his hands over me eyes. The rustling became louder, ‘I can hear you’ I said out loud and I laughed and turned around.
To my dismay there was nobody there.
There was also no place for anyone to hide. There was an open field behind me. I was so convinced that it was The Teenager playing a joke that I checked every corner of the seat expecting him to spring up at me.
He wasn’t there.
Unsettled I sat back again to wait for his return but this time I was keenly alert to every sound. The breeze would occasionally brush nettles against the back of the seat but that hadn’t been the sound I’d heard.
I had heard the sound of someone approaching.
The Teenager appeared eventually and we continued with our walk around the lake.
What was it I heard?
Was it the sound of Catherine Howard sneaking up on Thomas Culpepper. Had they found a chance to find a few elicit moments away from the watchful eyes of the Henry VIII’s court on the journey up to York? Had she once crept up on him in such a way and covered his eyes with her hands, or had he once crept up on her? Had this particular ancient tree trunk from which the seat was carved held a memory of sound in its heartwood?
Was it the sound of ghostly rustling silks and taffeta that I heard or just the sound of nettles scratching disinterestedly on the back of the tree trunk seat?
The Teenager wasn’t impressed, ‘Come on let’s go,’ he said.
I had the sense of being out of time, and felt uncomfortable and dissociated from the landscape until we passed by the arches of an ancient broken bridge.
Ghost perhaps?
.
I was sat on an old wooden seat carved from the trunk of a tree and looking across a lake towards Grimsthorpe Castle that we had just visited. It was a beautiful scene and yet I sense a feeling of disconnection from it. I felt I did not belong there at that time and that the place would be happier seeing the back of me.
We had nearly not got in at all. As we travelled up the long drive, after travelling nearly fifty miles, the teenager asked me if I had any money. This was the first time he’d ever asked this question. To my horror I realised that I had forgotten to bring any!
The ticket office was already before me and a following car prevented any escape. We were allowed to park out of the way while we search the car for elusive coins. We had to find £18 to admit the two of us to the house and grounds. Luckily, that was the exact amount we managed to find. We were in, but perhaps left with a sense of disquiet and unease that remained with us. I have never forgotten to bring money before on a day trip.
The teenager had gone to ‘stretch his legs’ while I looked towards the house. There were short nettles on the patch of ground in front of the seat that prevented me from walking down to the lake. There was no chance of feeding the ducks the few remnants of crusts that we had left over from our picnic. The ducks had the chilled aloofness of wildness I guessed they had been rather fed.
There was a sound behind me. I kept still. I could hear someone stealthily creeping up behind me as if to spring a surprise. I guessed it was the teenager who was about to put his hands over me eyes. The rustling became louder, ‘I can hear you’ I said out loud and I laughed and turned around.
To my dismay there was nobody there.
There was also no place for anyone to hide. There was an open field behind me. I was so convinced that it was The Teenager playing a joke that I checked every corner of the seat expecting him to spring up at me.
He wasn’t there.
Unsettled I sat back again to wait for his return but this time I was keenly alert to every sound. The breeze would occasionally brush nettles against the back of the seat but that hadn’t been the sound I’d heard.
I had heard the sound of someone approaching.
The Teenager appeared eventually and we continued with our walk around the lake.
What was it I heard?
Was it the sound of Catherine Howard sneaking up on Thomas Culpepper. Had they found a chance to find a few elicit moments away from the watchful eyes of the Henry VIII’s court on the journey up to York? Had she once crept up on him in such a way and covered his eyes with her hands, or had he once crept up on her? Had this particular ancient tree trunk from which the seat was carved held a memory of sound in its heartwood?
Was it the sound of ghostly rustling silks and taffeta that I heard or just the sound of nettles scratching disinterestedly on the back of the tree trunk seat?
The Teenager wasn’t impressed, ‘Come on let’s go,’ he said.
I had the sense of being out of time, and felt uncomfortable and dissociated from the landscape until we passed by the arches of an ancient broken bridge.
Ghost perhaps?
.
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