Sunday bird blogging

Finally, here's another one of the cygnets I saw on the grounds. Those little fuzzy wings just slay me.

Well, this was unexpected

In the midst of the furniture-paintings-knickknacks parade were these purple ice skating costumes worn by Torvill and Dean in their gold-medal winning ice dancing performance at Sarajevo in 1984. (And adding to the incongruity, Ravel's Bolero, the music they had skated to, was playing on a loop.)

This seemed a little strange, to say the least. But I hadn't realized that Newstead isn't a National Trust property; it's actually run by the city of Nottingham. And so basically anyone famous from Nottingham—like Torvill and Dean—might get an exhibit there.

This also explains why there is a bust of D.H Lawrence next to the bust of Byron in the gardens—I spent much of my time in the garden trying to figure out the connection.

Some interiors

I admit that I do get bored very quickly wandering through historic houses looking at furniture, paintings, knickknacks, furniture, paintings, knickknacks. And much of what you see in Newstead today wasn't there during Byron's time; Thomas Wildman, who had been at Harrow with Byron and bought Newstead from him in 1818, did extensive restorations.

I did enjoy the exhibit on Ada Lovelace, Byron's daughter and computing pioneer, in the library. Ada never knew her father; her parents separated when she was only a month old. Although her mother loathed her father (probably with good reason) Ada doesn't seem to have had negative feelings about him. She named her son Byron, and was buried next to her father in the Byron family vault. And though her mother was a less than ideal parent—in letters, she referred to her daughter as “it”—she did encourage her interest in mathematics as a way of avoiding the insanity she believed Ada might have inherited from her father.

The grounds

I felt a little like Elizabeth Bennet visiting Pemberley for the first time as I walked through the woods and gardens on the estate.

But while she was thinking, If I had accepted Mr. Darcy, I could be mistress of all this, I was thinking, How come I didn't have a great-uncle with a barony and no other heirs?

Saturday reflections

Reeds reflected in one of the pools in the Newstead gardens.

More Newstead Abbey

Some exterior shots of the enormous main house, plus a bust of the poet in one of the gardens.

Newstead Priory (it was never an abbey, but the owners who acquired it after Henry VIII's dissolution of the monasteries thought that an abbey sounded grander than a priory) dated from the 12th century, founded by Henry II as part of his penance for the murder of Thomas á Becket.

Boatswain

This memorial in the gardens at Newstead is for Byron's beloved dog, Boatswain, who died of rabies. Byron had wanted to be buried nearby, but when he died in 1824, he no longer owned Newstead and had been living abroad for many years because of the backlash to his scandalous lifestyle. He ended up buried in the family vault at St. Mary Magdalene Church, with a somewhat less impressive memorial than the one he had erected for Boatswain.

The inscription reads, in part:

Near this Spot

are deposited the Remains of one

who possessed Beauty Without Vanity,

Strength without Insolence,

Courage without Ferosity,

and all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.

This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery

if inscribed over Human Ashes,

is but a just tribute to the Memory of

BOATSWAIN, A DOG,

who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,

and died at Newstead Abbey Nov. 18, 1808.

Lifestyles of the Rich (or at least Titled) and Famous

Lord Byron's bed at Newstead Abbey in Nottinghamshire. Byron inherited the estate along with the title from a great-uncle when he was only ten years old, and it is impressive: a huge Gothic house, gardens, a lake where the previous Lord Byron had staged mock naval battles.

Unfortunately there was no money to maintain it and during the brief periods when Byron actually lived there, he reportedly slept with this gun next to his bed because the state of the windows and doors made the house impossible to secure and the ruffians in nearby Sherwood Forest were an ongoing threat.

More urban poetry

A sunny day in October on Tenth Avenue in Manhattan: restaurants just opening for lunch, a biker pausing to make a phone call, and a stove that has for some reason been abandoned at the curb.

Urban poetry

I loved the warning signs on this building in Windsor—not Keep Out, or Caution, but If you really must proceed, you clueless pillock, go DEAD SLOW.

I also liked that the company name on the window at the top is Junk Design. I think they've succeeded admirably.

I did see an Amazon truck pull up while I was taking pictures. The driver parked well away and made the delivery on foot.

I am still here

Sunday bird blogging

King penguins and seals at Elsehul Bay in South Georgia on New Year's Day.

I've mentioned that I've been taking many more buses this year because my bad knee keeps me from walking as much as I'm used to. I took a crowded bus down Broadway on my way home from class yesterday, and though I had a book I was too tired to look at it and watched my fellow passengers instead.

And was struck, surprisingly, by the basic decency I saw. People were jostling for standing room along with several large suitcases, a stroller, and one overloaded shopping cart, and maneuvering your way to the rear door to get off wasn't for the faint-hearted, but everyone was—nice. They tried to move out of the way where they could, and a blind man and a woman with a walker boarded and were immediately given seats.

It was a little bit of reassurance in these very dark times.