It poured with rain last night ~ I could hear it pattering on my slightly open window through my sleep ~ so instead of going to Weald & Downland today, I went to Petworth House.
First of all, I visited the village of Petworth, because I have run out of hairspray. After doing a horrible job of parking the car in a free spot near the town center ~ it looked like it had been parked by a man ~ I turned two right corners and found the Pharmacy on my right? But why did I have no idea where I was going? Because the Wi-Fi wouldn’t work, and so I couldn’t get Google Maps to give me directions.
Eventually, I found the pharmacy, made my purchase, returned to the car and left. Lizzie, my landlady at the B & B, had told me that Petworth village was a quirky place, and it sounded like she loved shopping there. But on that Wednesday (admittedly around 10:15 in the morning) it seemed very quiet, almost dead. The only shop that appeared to be open was the pharmacy.
I got back in the car and drove to Petworth House. To my dismay, a horde of people showed up, snagging all the parking spots in the first car park, and so I had to drive around to the second. Given that unpleasant surprise, I decided to have an early lunch at 11, so that I could get into the cafe before the hordes arrived. Imagine my surprise when they all showed up at 11:10. I had no idea why, having forgotten British people’s propensity for elevenses. Because that was what it was. They’d packed the cafe to the rafters, but were only having tea (or coffee) and biscuits. I, however, did manage to find a table, so I ordered a double lunch ~ two sandwiches, two cans of wine, two flapjacks and one cappuccino. (The reason for this is because the other “lunch” can be eaten this evening for dinner.)
As I sat munching away at my Egg Salad Sandwich, and sipping a filmy glass of white wine, the cafe became more and more packed, with a huge queue forming. A woman appeared, looking flustered, and so I told her she was welcome to sit at my table, where there were two empty spaces. “But there are three people,” she said. She quickly conferred with another woman, and it was clear they were in a bind. So I hefted my backpack from the chair it was sitting on, telling the women that actually there were three spaces. They were very pleased. Soon we were chatting away about Donald Trump (naturally.) I told them that most Americans were very poor, living from paycheck to paychek. That they may have glorious views living in the Appalachians Mountains of West Virginia. But they were living in unincorporated townships with no trash pickups, no running water, and were living in shacks. Told them that cutting Social Security and Medicare would be a disaster for millions of people. We talked about Racism in America, and I said it continued to be a painful wound. Then I asked about Class Conflict in Britain, and they said it was still going on. When I asked about my accent, and if I sounded too posh, they said no. The first woman I met said my speech was very clear and I pronounced all of my “th”s properly. But they didn’t think I was a snob. After all, I had invited all three of them to sit down at my table. I hadn’t looked them up and down and said ‘No.”
After that, we parted. I visited the Servants Quarters (very interesting) and then went into the house. Although Lizzie said it was beautiful, I have to say that Petworth House is one of the ugliest houses I’ve ever been to. Outside, it’s just a pile of masonry without any redeeming features. Inside, it is gloomy.
I dutifully went through all the rooms (it was free for me, as I am a National Trust member), but thankfully it came to an end. So I decided to walk in the deer park.
With my back to the house, I walked a “path” that had been mown into the grass and soon found myself at a large lake. To my right, was a hill, which I climbed. This gave me a much better view of the surrounding countryside. Spotting some people on another hill, I made for it, only to find another lake. By this point I had a good view of the road that runs alongside the boundary of the estate, the A283. How glad I was of my puff jacket, for despite the fact that temps were in the 50s, there was a cold wind.
As I walked, I realized how unusual it was to walk in the countryside like this, without being forced to deal with the 21st Century in the form of roads, or buildings. There was nothing there but trees, grass, and the rolling Sussex hills. True, anytime you walk in the countryside, you have to reckon with the fact that you are walking through an open lavatory, as animals crap all over the place. But at least I didn’t have to deal with huge cow turds. These were small turds made my deer, rabbits, mice, and god knows what else.
After getting some good shots of the estate, I turned back the way I’d come as I knew I had to get through that Tijou Gate in order to get out of the Deer Park. The Tijou who designed that gate at Petworth, was the same Jean Tijou who began working in 1689 under William and Mary, and died in 1712 in the reign of Queen Anne. He was a French Hugenot iron worker, known for his gates at Hampton Court Palace, Kensington Palace and St Paul’s Cathedral.
After going through it I walked back in the direction of the car park. The flowers, the bluebells in particular, were lovely. Getting into my car, I programmed it to take me back to the Charlton B & B. It had been a very satisfying day.
