subject: Lake District Places To See [print this page] Why is it that, especially in retrospect, we seem to derive more fun from the trivia and minutiae of life, than from any thing else? Standing that morning on the jetty I think we both realized this. I certainly did, and I know that for many years the Lake District, to me, meant quite simply, Windermere, the lake itself, messing about in boats, minnow catching and perch fishing, scrambling around the islands, and dog crawling, without modern aids beneath the surface of what was then an unpolluted lake.
Good days, free from gimmicks; days when good and lasting friendships were formed. Each of our lakes has its own particular spell to cast on those of us who are receptive, and that morning I saw Windermere's own brand of magic manifest itself by erasing acquired and care fully nurtured affectations from a politician, and a sour look from the face of a friend. No mean magic!
Now, my ploy having worked, I must ram home my advan tage. With a friend to entertain, one whose knowledge of the Lake District was limited to a hazy memory of 42 years ago, how better to achieve this than by taking him on one of my own favourite runs? But first a quick stroll around the area with which, for one week, he became familiar so long ago, to show him how sur prisingly few changes had been wrought by the passing years. The ferryboat, Drake, updated now to dieselpower and still hauling herself by her cables across the lake at regular intervals, from the Nab to the old Ferry Hotelnow the home of the Freshwater Biological Society.
Teddy's old boathouse at Cockshott Wood, still there and looking now, in another's keep ing, perhaps a bit 'twee'. The shabby old jumble of boatsheds at the south end of Bowness Bay has had a facelift, the sheds them selves now becoming showrooms and chandlery shops. The slipways and jetties, though somewhat rearranged to permit the modern 'sternon' mooring system in the marina style, are still there, evoking strong boyhood memories of pottering about in dinghies, chatting to the skilled boatbuilders, watching Segrave's Miss England being launched, and talking to the great man himself.
If commercial interests had won the day, this pleasantly shabby and very atmospheric corner of the bay would now be completely transformed, and a concrete hotel and marina com plex would be affording uneasy accommodation to ghosts of the past. Some day perhaps, if a less vigilant Planning Board holds office and there is less vociferous local opposition, such a complex will be built. I hope I am not around to see it.
Two of the graceful Windermere class racing yachts were being towed to their summer moorings between Curlew Crag and the steamer fairway as we walked along the promenade, and the sight of them prompted me to point out the new headquarters of the Royal Windermere Yacht Club, erected on the site of the old, close to the Old England Hotel. He strolled to the end of the public pier and gazed at the building across the bay, studying its immediate environment and the view up the northern reach of the lake. If I looked to him for support in my personal dislike of this structure for questions of environment are very much his concern I was disappointed.
