House Style at Chatsworth

With meetings finished for the week, we decided to head north, rather than south, for the weekend.  Trees and flowers are blooming later in Derbyshire than in Dorset, but there was a hint of spring warmth and likely only light numbers of visitors to the Peak District.

Chatsworth House, towards the southeast corner of the Park, is one of the enormous stately homes beloved by the British.  It was established by the Cavendish family in the 1500s, located in the Derwent River valley half way between Bakewell (of the  Frosted Tart) and Chesterfield (of the Twisted Steeple).

The home is an enormous beige Tudor block, set in lovely green rolling gardens: the current Duke and Duchess host tours and rotating exhibitions.  Currently, ‘500 Years of Fashion’ are on view, a well-composed collection that rambles through two floors of the House.

  

The Cavendish family has been prominent in British politics, culture, and diplomacy for eleven generations, and  the assembled photographs and ballgowns reflect their evolution and influence across the centuries.

 

Exhibits range from banal embroidered t-shirts to wispy wedding and christening gowns, from peacock –feathered costume parties to formal corseted state affairs.  ‘Fashion’ is almost exclusively women’s clothes throughout: men favour jackets and trousers with only the ties tracking the trends.

     

The interiors are occupied and composed, with none of the feel of an attic on display that some Homes have.  Here, rooms reflect everyday life: Writing desks are laid with diaries and letters, the formal dining room is ready for a dinner like I have never attended.

  

The size of the table would only allow for conversation with nearest neighbors sitting alongside: did people mingle or rotate between courses? 

Similarly, how would daily life flow through so many rooms: there had to be many fewer social and family interactions in the House than would be the case in a Home today. 

 

Every room seems to be a stage, decorated and lit to impress, even those unlikely to ever have seen a visitor. 

I suppose it was a reminder to them, as it would be today, of their heritage, position, responsibility, and wealth.  In a time of Brexit, it is a preservation of how British exceptionalism was defined for centuries.

At the same time, in our populist age,  the Chatsworth is both egalitarian and voyeuristic.  The parade of ordinary people gaping at their stately rooms and taking selfies with poised dresses is leveling and polarising: they are so like us, but really not like us.

That time of the season

‘back in Poole, the weather unsettled, but nice to be off the road for the weekend.  We’re in the middle of device testing, formal validations that provide necessary evidence of safety and efficacy to satisfy our regulators that our device is ready for market.  Its a risky time: a negative finding, a major non-conformance, could set us back months.

All the more important to keep some balance in life outside of work.  ‘time apart with mijn wezen, regular attendance at BodyPump, escaping into a novel or  Westworld: looking to my short and long term future.

Black Friday marks an abrupt start to the Christmas season in the United States.   The Dutch, in contrast, start early and end early.  They exchange presents and poems around December 5-6 (North and South Netherlands, respectively), preceded by the appearance of Sinterklaas. (and Zwarte Piet) in store windows.  In the UK, things proceed more gradually, with a progression of Christmas Markets.  It grows from small community affairs in November to larger city celebrations in December.

WhatsOnDorset suggested two events for the weekend, one at the local Anglican church / school, and another at the Lighthouse, the arts venue for the city.

 

The Vine Church was first out of the gate.  One pound granted access to 30 stalls, mostly crafts made by local members.  It leans heavily towards small antiques, baked goods, and trifle crafts.  A charming elf pointed the way to a small tea and cake room; choir members belted out seasonal melodies in the nave.

    

I tried to think of comparable events in the US: PTA fundraisers for school and church bazaars may be the closest.  Very local, one-day, everyone is friends with everyone else sort of an affair.

The Lighthouse boasted over one hundred stalls (plus a reindeer and and double the entry fee), but was much the same inside: crafts, antiques, charities, and baked goods.  There was even the same musty mothball aroma.  I was hoping for some local Dorset artists, bespoke paintings and sculpture, but this wasn’t their event.

 

 

    

I like the intimacy and eccentricity of the events, staid and placid against the manic frenzy of Black Friday and Cyber Monday. I didn’t buy much, but appreciated it all: ‘mostly retired and home-centered crafts that come out yearly.  Its marked contrast to the our pursuit of wide-screen electronics and designer fashions, more county fair than mass marketing.

and, perhaps, more in the spirit of the coming season.

At the Hastings Herring Fair

This is Bonfire Weekend across the UK, celebrations of Guy Fawkes night held in communities and fireworks lasting towards morning.  We spent it in the seaside fishing town of Hastings, along the East Sussex coast between Brighton and Dover.

The town is famous for the Battle of Hastings in 1066, the tart of the Norman Conquest of England.  The battle between William, Duke of Normandy and King Godwinson of England was lost n October 14, and the town celebrates with historical reenactments and bonfires two weeks ahead of Guy Fawkes night.  So, the town was quiet, the nearest celebrations over an hour away.

However, luck on our side, Hastings was holding its annual Herring Fair. 

   

A celebration of all things fishy, there were local deep-fried fish dishes, craft beers, and sea shantys sung throughout the day.  I avoided the cooking classes in favour of enjoying the music, the docks, and a few conversations with the locals.

  

A few London-name acts appeared, but were mostly late and unenthusiastic compared to the town-based musicians.  The smoked fish was excellent (my w.wezen gave me my first taste of milk-poached kippers and mackerels were prepared back at home the next day –actually a joy despite my suspicion of fish and egg combination breakfast), and the beers were pleasingly strong (especially when compared to the watery brews offered in Chicago’s pubs).