THE WHISPER OF FAIRIES AND CARPETS OF SNOWDROPS
I caught the 17-15 train to Meldreth. If we had been in Paris, the train would have been crammed full but here I had two seats to myself and could start browsing the Picasso catalogue. Too much text of course but it is easier to study the pictures and periods this way, so I enjoy the pictures over and over again.
Meldreth and «The Cottage» was waiting for me. The cosy salon with its fire and of course the glass of Australian sparkling wine awaited. There was a lot to catch up on.
The following day dawned grey and forbidding but no way we would stay inside. We were to visit the snowdrops in Anglesey Abbey. (In Cambridgeshire). I had not been there since we visited it all together with my Mother in the summer months, what must be well over ten years ago. It’s a Jacobean-style house with 46 hectares of grounds and even a working watermill.
What I found fascinating is that at a very young age, around 30, the future Lord Fairhaven began to create his own home. This was between 1930 and until he died in 1960. Then it was handed over to The National Trust. Apart from a very luxurious house, he created spectacular gardens one of which was the winter garden we planned to visit.
When Borgy and Pierrette had told me we were to see snowdrops, I imagined that that was all we would see. There may not be a Snowdrop festival in France as far as I know, but there is at Anglesey Abbey between the 23rd January and the 26th February. With the wintery conditions, would there be any left? I am sure you didn’t know that there are over 2000 varieties of snowdrops and in the winter garden alone there are over 250. Not all visible or showing their pretty heads I would think.
The winter garden is a joy. A splash of colours and tree trunks which feel like mahogany to the touch.
Turning a corner you fall on a forest of Himalayan birch trees which is silvery white. Fairies have been there and are protecting those fragile branches which didn’t even sway in the breeze. Are there gremlins hiding in the bare branches? Like the songs of birds coming from trees. Birds you cannot see and yet Borgy and Pierrette can identify the song in a whistle.
It’s a short walk through the winter garden. Then alongside the watermill to discover further gardens closed off for the winter months and where the grass will grow strong for visitors to cross later in the year. Mythological statues seem to follow us with their gaze as we pass. There was the tree where we had taken Mother’s photo. Towering over us, close to the Abbey but without her summer glory, she was difficult for me to remember.
Days like that reconcile me with the country. But then I would need to have belonged to the Fairhaven family to live in such surroundings. Paco Rabanne (I worked with him light years ago) told me that I was only 5000 years old but in one of my «former lives» I had been a scullery maid for a Count. Another way of keeping warm?
Meldreth and «The Cottage» was waiting for me. The cosy salon with its fire and of course the glass of Australian sparkling wine awaited. There was a lot to catch up on.
The following day dawned grey and forbidding but no way we would stay inside. We were to visit the snowdrops in Anglesey Abbey. (In Cambridgeshire). I had not been there since we visited it all together with my Mother in the summer months, what must be well over ten years ago. It’s a Jacobean-style house with 46 hectares of grounds and even a working watermill.
What I found fascinating is that at a very young age, around 30, the future Lord Fairhaven began to create his own home. This was between 1930 and until he died in 1960. Then it was handed over to The National Trust. Apart from a very luxurious house, he created spectacular gardens one of which was the winter garden we planned to visit.
When Borgy and Pierrette had told me we were to see snowdrops, I imagined that that was all we would see. There may not be a Snowdrop festival in France as far as I know, but there is at Anglesey Abbey between the 23rd January and the 26th February. With the wintery conditions, would there be any left? I am sure you didn’t know that there are over 2000 varieties of snowdrops and in the winter garden alone there are over 250. Not all visible or showing their pretty heads I would think.
The winter garden is a joy. A splash of colours and tree trunks which feel like mahogany to the touch.
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| Borgy and Pierrette of course |
It’s a short walk through the winter garden. Then alongside the watermill to discover further gardens closed off for the winter months and where the grass will grow strong for visitors to cross later in the year. Mythological statues seem to follow us with their gaze as we pass. There was the tree where we had taken Mother’s photo. Towering over us, close to the Abbey but without her summer glory, she was difficult for me to remember.
Days like that reconcile me with the country. But then I would need to have belonged to the Fairhaven family to live in such surroundings. Paco Rabanne (I worked with him light years ago) told me that I was only 5000 years old but in one of my «former lives» I had been a scullery maid for a Count. Another way of keeping warm?
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