Two Years in England

I had a delightfully English experience as I washed the dishes the other night. I was rewatching the final episode of season five of Downton Abbey, where the Crawleys attend a shooting party at the fictional Brancaster Castle. I was scrubbing a frying pan and suddenly had to lean in to get a closer look at my phone, because on the screen was a decorative wall chock-full of several-hundred-year-old pistols and swords arranged in swirling patterns at the entrance to the castle. You know, just your average wall of weapons to welcome your guests to your home. As you do in England. 

Downton cast in the Alnwick Castle library

Except that this was no mere set for a TV show–I had seen this very same wall only a few hours before when we visited Alnwick Castle in Northumberland. Built in the 11th century, Alnwick (pronounced “Annick”) Castle is the second largest inhabited castle in England after Windsor Castle, where the Queen’s family lives. The Duke of Northumberland and his family live at Alnwick, and it’s very strange to see current family photos and squashy bean bag chairs around a flat-screen TV juxtaposed with the centuries-old portraits and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the library. The castle was also used as the Hogwarts castle in the first two Harry Potter films, so go back and re-watch those if you want a sense of the grandeur of the place.

Castle visitors taking a broomstick flying lesson

Back to Downton Abbey. As the Crawleys walked up the stairs from the weapons wall and into another lavishly decorated room, I recognized two black and gold cabinets that Rory had pointed out to me earlier that morning. He told me that the absurdly ornate cabinets were purchased for the castle a few hundred years before from the palace at Versailles; they were apparently considered tacky and out-of-date, which is why the French royalty were keen to sell. Naturally, an English aristocrat bought them. I would have loved to delve further into the fascinating history of the castle and its many curiosities, but our tour through the place was at a very brisk pace, owing to the need to keep toddler hands off of priceless works of art.

Little bulldozer enjoying the castle grounds

It is experiences like these that highlight one of the many charms of living in the UK. Namely, that history is at our fingertips. One need only drive a few miles before a medieval castle pops up. And closer to home, the house that we bought in December is one hundred years old, which is fairly typical here. We were amused to find that in the original deed to the house, it said we weren’t allowed to build stables in the back garden or there would be a five pound penalty, which really dashed our hopes of opening a ranch. And a little ways down the street from us is part of Hadrian’s Wall, which was built by the Romans nearly two thousand years ago. We haven’t stopped to look at it properly yet, as it’s next to a busy road near the highway. And also, it’s just a pile of rocks. Historically significant, sure, but not all that interesting. Nonetheless, living in England gives us the opportunity to engage with history, even ancient history, in a very real way that wasn’t part of my upbringing in America. 

Speaking of ancient history, it has already been more than two years since Rory and I moved our family from Hawaii to England. The anniversary of our early-pandemic 7,000 mile journey came and went without me even noticing it this year, perhaps because I’ve grown so accustomed to living here, or more likely I just forgot due to my motherhood-induced brain fog. But now that this country is coming out of the pandemic, I’m beginning to see it in a new light. We’re able to travel around more and visit fascinating places, and we’re finally getting to know our neighbors and make lasting friendships, all of which make this foreign land feel a bit more like home.

In less than a week, however, I’ll actually be going home. We’ll be making the trek back to the United States to visit my family in Washington and Oregon, most of whom I haven’t seen in three years. It will be our toddler son’s first transatlantic flight and his first time meeting his aunts, uncles, and cousins in person. And our nearly six-year-old daughter has been in England so long that she has no memory of America, so I can’t wait to see what she thinks of the place. Fingers crossed for a smooth and joyful trip back to the land of the free.