A Day Near Paradise

A proper good morning to you.
Sometimes people explain to me and usually in a disparaging tone of voice that I like history because of my desire “to live back then.” The best answer is to start listing all the things I would have to do without. The truth is historians know Too Much about the past to want to inhabit it. Nostalgia? Ha! I don’t even have any for the decades of my youth.
But I admit to twinges of longing for less hurry and more green, for less concrete and traffic and more stone and trees. Today I got it—for a little while.
I took the tube out to Osterley Park. For those who like to follow on the map, it’s west of London fairly near Heathrow on the Piccadilly Line. The park is open every day and is the largest open space in the western part of Greater London, and yet it is not well known. All the tourists run around Central London, and who could blame them? The attractions are spectacular, but then so is Osterley.
Osterley House and Gardens are run by the National Trust, and the opening times are limited, but the place is never crowded even on a weekend and is definitely worth seeing.
So after topping off my Oyster Card I had a straight shot from Holborn. It’s a fair walk from the tube station to the park and then from the park entrance to the house. But once one walks through the gates and starts down the tree-lined avenue, one begins to enter another world.
The traffic noise fades, and animal smells replace exhaust. A cool breeze rustles the leaves. Over in the field to the left are cows and horses. On the right is a farm stand with fresh vegetables from the farms. Walk on and lakes appear teaming with ducks, geese and swans, and when you round the curve of the drive Osterley House stands before you.
But since it was not open and would not be for a while, I walked down one of the quiet lanes. A creature that looked like a tiny weasel ran across the lane in front of me. I walked back and took more paths through meadows and along a lake. The air was fresh, and none of the waterfowl seemed troubled by the presence of humans or dogs.
I strolled back across the meadow to get my ticket to the house and gardens. It takes about an hour to go through the gardens and by that time the house will open. I was not the only one there, but the grounds are so extensive, that I felt I had them to myself especially as I walked through the woodland at the perimeter of the park. Park of the path took me past yet another lake shaded by trees. Most of the grounds are in the naturalistic English Style, but here are also a few formal flower gardens, and here and there sit Neo Classical follies. The flower gardens had a spicy scent. Just delicious!
But it's only near Paradise because it's too near Heathrow and planes fly over every twenty seconds--yes, I timed it. One gets used to it and tunes out the noise, but I have sympathy for the residents in the suburb.
The house and much of its interior was designed by Robert Adam and was also strongly influenced by Classicism. It’s very beautiful with much period decoration and furniture. The audio/visual cassette features patronizing dramatizations and rhetorical questions, but it’s free and is reasonably informative.
The house was the summer dwelling of the Child Family of bankers, and one grandchild married into the aristocracy and became Countess of Jersey. How pleasant to see what all that money could do. The annual budget for the upkeep of the place in the eighteenth century would be a million dollars in our money.
You can also count on the National Trust for a good shop and pleasant tea room, but I noticed a lot of folks carrying picnic looking bags.
Well, it’s the first day in the Alps for the Tour de France and a big test for the major contenders. I had to tear myself away and hop the tube back to real life. But the scenery on the stage is lovely, too, and tonight—World Cup Final. Paul the Octopus (way big news here) has tapped Spain, but I have some country and continent neutral Indian food. By the way, in honor of the World Cup hosts I picked up some South African wine at the local grocery. Apparently it’s widely available here but esoteric in the USA. I got some cheap Rose, which is not bad but has an odd smoky taste. Well, it may go well with my semi spicy Indian snacks, but after World Cup I’m going back to the French stuff.
Cherrio!