Friday 30th August: Arriving at Our Cottage
We took the train from Waterloo, past the dreary grey of South London tower blocks and out into the fresh, golden fields of English countryside. Once we'd arrived in Chawton, we shopped for our dinners for the next two days and took a taxi to the cottage. It wasn’t hard to find and was enclosed between two neighbouring cottages, a kind-looking man watering pots of roses, fuchsias, and geraniums at its front. As we approached, he turned to greet us. He had an intense gaze and a calm manner. He showed us into the cottage. We first walked into a small modern-style kitchen but past wooden doors was a step into another time; Tudor-style, with beams across the walls and ceilings, two window seats looking out onto the flowers out front, and shelves of books, mostly Jane Austen. The wooden dining table had a vase of blooming, pink roses and the sofas were directed towards a log burner. Up a narrow staircase that made a comforting creak every step we took were two cosy-looking bedrooms with low windows and oak doors, large beds bursting with soft duvets and pillows. Overall, the house was girl-sized, our very own little doll house for the next two days.
We walked ten minutes down the road, the less dreamy part of the Jane Austen walk, through a tunnel and next to a motorway, yet you couldn’t help but notice the wild nature that persisted aside of the roads. My friends looked on in horror as I plucked a blackberry from a bush and ate it, its sour juices filling my mouth and tasting like a summer mixed with cloud, rain, and dashes of sunlight. After they'd made sure I wasn’t going to keel over and die, we made our way to the pub, a small, quintessentially English pub where the two old men sitting at the bar stared at us, expressionless, knowing we didn’t come from here nor did we belong. Opting to sit outside to avoid the relentless gazes, we enjoyed the last of the evening sun, a fresh breeze welcoming the night in. Once back at the cottage, we cooked a delicious dinner of prawn risotto, listening to music and dancing as we worked, three little witches living with each other. We sat down to eat over candlelight, catching up with each other, talking about families, and laughing so much. After dinner, we each took turns to shower and enjoyed some time of respite, twilight fully enveloping the skies outside, a cerulean blue filling the cottage and mixing with the warm lamp lights. My friend then made us hot chocolate, the most delicious I have ever had! We sat and watched television, Ru Paul’s Drag Race, which I’d never seen. After two episodes, we went upstairs, sharing our favourite perfumes and our dreams. At about half twelve, we retreated to our beds, and fell asleep to the sound of silence.
Saturday 31st August: Jane Austen's House
Waking up in the morning, after sleeping on pillows that were more cloud than cotton, we ventured downstairs and into the garden to enjoy a breakfast made by my friend of strawberries, blueberries, kiwi, and vanilla flavoured-yoghurt, sprinkled with chia seeds. The rose bushes in the back of the garden emitted the most glorious scent and despite the overcast weather, I knew today would be beautiful. After getting ready together, each of us in delicate whites, pinks, and blues, with light blush on our faces, we sauntered five minutes down the road to quickly come upon Jane Austen’s House. It was a medium sized manor house, with a charming exterior, regency-style dresses hanging up on a washing line outside, and pots of hydrangeas and lavender up for sale. Climbing along the walls surrounding the entrance of the house were pale pink
China roses that we leant in to smell just before we entered. The inside of the house was a recreation of what it would’ve been like when Jane lived there, with information posted in each room about her, her books, and members of her family. Notably, her elder sister, Cassandra who, along with Jane, was accused of being
a spinster for never marrying. The two of them would hilariously play up to this reputation by dressing older than they were and wearing caps earlier than other unmarried women. Cassandra would care for Jane when she grew ill in 1817. When Jane sadly died not long after, at the age of only 41, Cassandra would destroy many of her letters, an act that caused much disgruntlement but one that was out of respect, protection, and love for her younger sister. One of the favourite things I saw was Jane’s writing desk, a small and modest, round table that Jane was said to have carried around in order to get the best light from various windows (she, like me, had poor eyesight!). Other notable artefacts were early illustrations of Pride & Prejudice (initially titled First Impressions), ancestry of the Austen family, and a room dedicated to debate about her arguably most controversial novel Mansfield Park. Once we’d finished exploring, and then spending way too long in the gift shop (where we all decided on some irresistible jasmine-scented soap), we decided to have lunch in the café just opposite, aptly named ‘Cassandra’s Cup’.
A pot of tea and a bacon roll later, we were back off to our cottage, looking forward to an cosy evening indoors. This time, we cooked a divine tomato and chicken pasta, and once again, sat around our dining room table, exchanging stories, musings, and jokes. As I waited for my friends to shower, I sat at one of the window seats, watching the sky warm to a deep twilight blue and reading. After we were all clean and snug, we decided to paint. My friend had brought a set of paints and I had mini canvases so we settled down, a scented candle burning, and spent the late evening painting to the soundtrack of Barbie and ballet music from our childhood, reminiscing on the days of innocence. In my mind though, I knew what comfort this setting would’ve brought the younger me, knowing I would be so happy that I’d found girls like this to make life this lovely. After we’d finished (I’d painted a frog looking up in wonder at a bluebell glowing under the moonlight, as you do), my friend did our birth charts. I found out that pretty much all of my planets were in retrograde, so I was likely to go through struggle but come out the other side rich… I’ll take it! By this point, it was about 2am and we were tired but wanted to make the most of our final night. We quickly put on face masks and watched a couple of episodes of Ru Paul’s Drag Race and it was then time for bed. Reluctantly, we climbed upstairs and I fell asleep pretty much straight away.
Remembering Why We Create
It is days and nights like this that remind me how deeply I can feel. The weekend felt like being immersed in a rose-scented bubble bath of creativity, femininity, and wonder. The end of summer is always an inspiring time, a transitional period from living life actively to a more reflective phase, a time to harvest my thoughts and words. Spending two days with creative women who each have their own mediums of artistry was truly inspiring and healing. Slowing down the pace of life and indulging in awe and admiration is something we all must do. If you make the time to stop and stare at the natural world, it unwinds and unfolds before you, an illusion revealing more and more the longer you choose to concentrate. This autumn I intend to do this more, to create space and time for my words and my love of the Universe.
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