Tea and fruitcake with Lord Byron

No the 'fruitcake' of the title doesn't refer to me. Read on:

Inspired by the blogger, French Fancy, and her recent Byron based post I went off on the Mansfield bound Pronto bus yesterday to Newstead Abbey in order to write about their tea rooms and how it was to have a fun half day out to Lord Byron’s ancestral home.

The journey from the Nottingham city centre Victoria bus station takes about half an hour and the buses come back to Nottingham every fifteen minutes. I was quite amazed at that frequency and thought that I would be stranded for a couple of hours whilst I waited forlornly for a return bus. Once the bus arrived at the main gates I paid my entrance fee to a very chatty young woman and headed off down the main drive (about a mile and a half long) to the actual Abbey and home itself.

The weather was a bit grey looking but it was pleasant enough strolling through the countryside. There were woods and bracken either side of the road and massive rhododendron bushes not yet in flower. The air was filled with the songs and calls of thrushes and wood pigeons, blackbirds and wrens; all chattering delightfully away in the trees. I felt like I was back in the Boy Scouts taking a nice hike in the country, sans Kendal Mint cake, an ordinance survey map and a compass. At one point I thought I saw a distant fox pause in the road and then scarper into the undergrowth. I also stopped further along and stood very still as a grey squirrel dodged about in the crisp fallen leaves. As soon as I moved again it shot up a tree.

I had been to this location before a few times in the past but that was in a car and distances can be deceptive when driving compared to walking the self same distance. So when I eventually did arrive at the West Front of Newstead Abbey I was ready for a brief wander around the formal gardens and my favourite, the Japanese Gardens. The gardens and parkland at Newstead encompasses more than 300 acres. I certainly didn’t intend to cover all of that in half a day and I was keen to return soon for a cuppa with Lord Byron.

I wasn’t alone in my adventures as their were a few families with young children taking part in the Easter Egg hunt and later on a tour bus full of German speaking people arrived all beaming and laden with cameras. The peacocks that are resident at Newstead were letting out their shrill cries periodically but alas not one showed the display of feathers that look so spectacular. I probably spent an hour walking slowly through the gardens and taking photographs and then went back to the house for a cuppa and piece of cake. Just before I went there I stopped at a stone rotunda by the maze and read Byron’s poetic elegy to his Newfoundland dog Boatswain or Bos’un. It was full of praise for the dog’s ceaseless love and faithfulness to man and yet full of distain for humankind for a variety of bad qualities inherent in our nature.

The indoors teashop was modern and pretty full when I arrived but the courtyard outside was empty apart from one member of staff phoning her boyfriend. I ordered myself a pot of Earl Grey and had a nice bit of fruit cake. The cake was sticky and moist and as fruit cakes go – pretty fruity.

As I sat drinking my tea and taking this silly picture, a young boy (about twelve years old) and his mum and dad and another lady in her forties all arrived in the courtyard. The mum to (my name for him) Childe Harold, a precocious little shit if there ever was one, was asking the boy if he wanted a drink. Childe Harold craned his neck towards his mother and spat out an elongated version of the word “No” to her. Like he had told her this a thousand times before and now she was just getting on his nerves.The look on his pale face was one of utter distain for his long suffering mother.

A few minutes later he was asked again whether he was sure he didn’t want a drink. This time the wan Childe Harold turned on his best Margaret Thatcher withering look and actually said (to his mother no-less) “What part of No don’t you understand?” Now I am not a violent man but I would have killed the little f*cker! His mother just went. “OK, I only asked.” Childe Harold went into a dark eyed mardy sulk and sat slumped in his metal garden furniture chair. I finished my tea and went for a tour around the house.

It was very impressive and probably rather spooky in the darkness of night There was even an opportunity to try on some replicas of Lord Byron’s romantic clothes if one wanted. Er, no I didn’t but I did read some poetry in the courtyard.

I didn’t take in a lot about the history but did feel inspired to read further about Byron’s life and that of the Romantics at a future juncture. I was just enjoying the stroll and the opportunity to take some nice photos. You can see my day’s photography efforts on this link - Newstead Abbey

After my tour around the house I went back around some of the gardens and the lake and spent a short while sitting chatting encouragingly to a peacock and hoping it was going to fan out its tail for me and my every ready camera. It didn’t, so I nipped to the loo and made my way slowly back up the long curving drive to the bus stop on Mansfield Road. On the way there was a lovely smell of wood smoke and once again I was transported back to my Scouting days and camping and cooking outdoors on an altar fire at Drum Hill in Derbyshire.

Did I ever see the very rude Childe Harold again? I believe he is now buried alive in a pit full of vipers and red ants. Not saying where. (Evil laugh!)

For a reasonably cheap day out in historical Nottinghamshire I would definitely recommend a visit to Newstead Abbey. I went on a normal Monday but I imagine it can get quite busy at the Weekend. For more info see www.newsteadabbey.org.uk.