Upon our arrival in England in the evening, we were met by the Deans of Harlaxton College. A tired, hungry, and excited mass of 20-somethings, we were boarded into a bus - coach - and began the long drive north out of London toward the village of Harlaxton. The excited meet-and-greet chatter soon subsided to sleep; it was, after all, well past midnight. Yet, some of us dared not succumb to our heavy lids; there was far too much to see as we drove through the dark countryside. Some three hours later, the excited chatter began again as those who did not sleep were awarded the sight of Harlaxton Manor, our home for the next four months coming into view.
Through the early morning mist, the Ancaster stone gatehouse came into view; beyond it, the many turrets and spires of the manor rising out of the surrounding forest like a fairytale castle. This moment was our first impression of our semester, and Anthony Salvin's architectural masterpiece made quite the impression. So much so that the image of the manor shrouded in morning light and fog is the only clear memory I have of the first sleepless day on the grounds. No doubt I explored the grounds, but I don't recall where I wandered. Yet, it doesn't matter much what happened the first day as many followed.
January 6th, 2009
Our second morning at Harlaxton began with breakfast in the Refectory. Thankfully, we all remembered where it was after our tiring arrival the previous day. Of course, if you want a college student to remember where something is, all you need do is tell them food is served there. Granted, later we would tire of the repetition of potato dishes.
Next up, our British Studies professors introduced us to the manor with a tour of some of the 144 rooms, plus a few of the secret passages. Though we didn't necessarily absorb much of the detailed history of the building, we did absorb everything else -- the earthy scent of the cedar staircase, the painted ceiling and gold walls of the aptly named Gold Room, and the scenes from the manor windows of that particularly Romantic English countryside. You couldn't help but imagine all those scenes from British literature looking out those windows: the moors from Wuthering Heights (though perhaps with fewer ghosts of Catherine); the fields, hills, and estates of Pride and Prejudice; the Hogwarts Express rolling along the track; even the faces of forgotten women peering out from top-most windows of Thornfield Hall (but, perhaps, without the questionably murderous estate owner). Somehow, the scenery of Harlaxton always makes one feel as if in his or her own novel.
Our tour over, we were free to explore on our own. We found the friends we arrived with and the friends we had just met and left the walls of the manor-house armed with cameras. I found Jiffy, Shannon, and Abbey at the front entrance bundled up for the damp, cold weather, which my art teacher would later call "atmosphere." We began our exploration at the front circle, shutters clicking as we tried to capture the grandeur of the facades. To one side of the front circle stood a wrought iron gate, much smaller than the intricate front gates, but no less impressive, which led out onto a large grassy space and the canal. Undoubtedly this grassy space looked much nicer green and in the sun than brown under gray skies, but our eyes were not on our feet. Instead, they were on the canal where, though it was winter, floated a lone trumpeter swan. Shannon, who had heard all about the magic of Harlaxton from the upperclassmen in the UE Christian Students chapter, told us the swan's name was Peter and that he had lived at the manor for quite some time. Apparently, in his younger swan days, he suffered a broken wing and now could not fly, and so the canal had become his permanent residence. We watched Peter for a time and thought about continuing our exploration of the vast grounds, but, feeling the cold air sinking into our bones, we decided to turn back get ready for the welcome dinner in the Gold Room. As we turned to head back inside, we were struck once more by the scenery of hills rolling into the low-lying clouds. I wondered briefly if I would ever get used to the Romance of it all or whether this term would always seem somehow surreal.
The adventures in exploration concluded with a celebratory welcome dinner in the Gold Room with our British Studies professors. The Gold Room is one of the most impressive rooms in the whole manor. Large white doors ordained with gold motifs of musical instruments welcomed us into a hall whose walls were gold and whose ceiling depicted a scene of angels among the clouds -- rather reminiscent of those found on the ceiling of so many baroque palaces and cathedrals. The scene depicted on the Gold Room's ceiling, in particular, reminded me of Jean Baptiste de Champaigne's work in the King's State Apartment at the Palace of Versailles. Given that Gregory Gregory, the original owner of the manor, wanted his house to rival some of the manors being built in France, this reference seems rather intentional. Indeed, the whole hall, though much smaller, resembled to me - who had never been to Versailles - the famed Hall of Mirrors, minus the mirrors. Just as the Hall of Mirrors was used to welcome and impress guests, so too was the Gold Room; we only gathered here for an occasional joint British Studies class or a ceremonial assembly.
