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Their was no sweet sorrow in leaving Sissinghurst. It was rotten. But I packed early, gave a round of kisses, and headed west. I was determined to make an Early Music concert in Wells on Friday night.
I made for Tenterden, Kent first. It's a darling market town--shops-inns-banks-post office--all the fixings. But I had one goal. Something I had been planning since the dark of winter. I wanted to ride on an old steam train.
Tenterden is an end station to the Kent-Sussex Steam Railway. I wanted to take it to Bodiam Castle and back. So I did. For under $20. It was a great time. The man who ran the (refreshment) trolley sang. I felt very Harry Potter-ish, and excited the way you are when happy things happen. I shared my first-class compartment (I paid an extra pound for that!) with a lovely couple who know everything about Normandy and steam trains-perfect!
His father had been one of the British soldiers at Sword Beach on D-Day. His grandfather was a Scot. He stood in the trenches of the First World War in his kilt, with water above his knees. They both made it home.
I had a perfect lunch in an ancient pub called The Wolfpack Hotel.
West of Kent is "1066 Country." The year William the Conqueror shot King Harold in the Battle of Hastings (actually north of Hastings in a town called, you can't make this stuff up, "Battle.").
Battle is lovely and sad at the same time. I moved on. And Suddenly. I was at RUDYARD KIPLING'S HOUSE. It made me tear up a little. At the front door. Where there are red and white flousy billowing climbing roses. My grandmother would have been so excited.
I'm a quiet guest. I read and walk along. Upstairs, a quiet docent asked if I was enjoying my visit. I said, "You know, when you grow up in Indiana, in the middle of the whole United States, and you read Kipling, it never really enters your mind that some day you'll be standing in his home." "You're not disappointed, then?" he asked. "No," I said. "I am not disappointed."
Lewes (Louis) was the goal. It's an ancient town of tiny streets and hills and one-way paths and I managed to hit it at rush hour. I may actually have been rush-15-minutes, but none-the-less, it scared the crap outta me. I was on the High Street, and there was a hotel, with "parking" behind. Dear God, I drove straight down and found a last parking spot in the whole place. I had to climb a million steps to get back to registration and hope they had a room for me. They had.
The White Hart Hotel had parts that were Elizabethan. My part, specifically. But a newish bathroom and very clean. Just tippy floors and funky doors and a skeleton key to get in.
I must digress just a bit. in 1787 Judith Hastings married John Hall in Norfolk., England. John Hall had become a fan of this guy Thomas Paine, who was stirring up trouble in England about freedom. Paine was about to move the The Colonies and stir up a whole lot of trouble there. Judith's father was displeased. Family legend has it that he gave them a bag of gold and told them to go to The Colonies if they felt that way. Judith and John are my 6th great-grandparents.
I was amazed to find the above plaque in the bar. The White Hart had hosted nefarious rallys by Thomas Paine. Who knows if John Hall was there those nights...
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