Newstead Abbey & Gardens

A few weekends back I had the chance to visit Newstead Abbey. Or, rather, I should say I happened upon that place by chance on the way somewhere else. The Abbey and the Gardens around it looked so wonderful though, that I took the time to look around and discover that new terrain. Apparently, I learned later, it is a relatively well known place in England, and there definitely were many visitors when I was there. I suppose that its central location between Nottingham and Mansfield would guarantee that it is relatively close to a few population centres…

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Anyways, the more important bit than the Abbey itself was the Abbey Gardens. These were a truly magnificent site, and I would very much enjoy a return visit. What was maybe most interesting about that was how it had been organised — the entire site operated based on a plan, and the sections were all styled differently. The gardens were also appropriately named; thus there existed a Japense Garden, an American Garden, a French Garden, a Spanish Garden, and so forth. One of my favourites, most assuredly, was the Japanese Garden — it did make me think of a more typical Japanese garden, and it was very well styled.

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The lake that made up half of the property border was also most considerable. I can imagine many Lords, still while the entire House and Garden were in process of construction, walking by it and trying to visualise the result that was so clear in their minds. There are a few more pictures, I would add, some of which show the House (Abbey, as it stands now) and others the gardens behind it, designed quite separate from the rest of the domain.

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Also, it is worth mentioning that this house has its position in the literary history of Britain, for it was the ancestral home of the poet to become Lord Byron. The place never looked as good when he was there, from what I was made to believe, but soon afterwards (early 19th century) it was restored and built back on a far grander scale. The place also seems to have been open to public from an early day (mid-19th century) when people could enter and take a look around for a small sum.

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I am looking forward to when I can visit the place again.

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On Where People Live

For I had a discussion yesterday… and that discussion centered itself around the question of what would the place have to be so that I would want to live there. It is in itself an interesting question, and not quite how we posed it in our conversation, but that is probably how I tried to answer it.

Now, there were two points: my friend said that the sea, or the ocean, whichever one we specify, is important. It has to be there. There is no other way. I said that a river would do. There is no need for my mind to witness the torrents of the sea while it could be the small turbulences of a river that could give me all the comforts that my mind could want.

The argument here was that the other person thought that the wilderness of the sea was something that was important in itself. That this was the important part to her, and that she longed for it where she presently lived. I can see that, and yet I cannot. The sea is everywhere, and if it is in your soul, it will be there a thousand miles from the coast. And I think that might be the worst part about it — it is there and it can be sensed, but not touched. Not smelt. Nor felt.

But me? Why did I say what I did? I think it is that I would much prefer to have a small garden by a quietly flowing river. It would give so much more opportunity to think. It is not that I don’t want the sea, but I can live with the sea being further away. It is there. It won’t go anywhere. What I want from where I live is a water that doesn’t move as fast, a water that would allow itself to be shaped into a garden of peace and tranquility. And if that is not possible, then a gently sloping river through my lands will do just fine.

But probably, in my mind’s eye, I see something much like one of those gardens where the stones are arranged in a set order and water flows around them. And where one can sit down and close the eyes that otherwise need to see things. For in my garden, seeing would be a hindrance to experiencing beauty.

Which is probably why I would not want the sea to be in my garden but rather a short walk away. I can stand the walk if I want to see the sea and talk to the waves, but I don’t think I would kindly take to them talking to me when I would prefer to listen to quiet sounds of running water…