Coming to Cumbria

In Scotland I've been a visitor and a student of history but as I leave Hadrian's Wall behind and drop down into the beautiful Vale of Eden in Cumbria, a mantle of dreams alights on my shoulders and the staff of destiny appears in my hand, my soul is enriched by this country for no discernible reason. I have come home in my heart.

Oh, sorry about all that waxing lyrical! But it's true! I feel like I've arrived in some familiar and comfortable place. Maybe I read too many Anglophiliac (is that a real word or some kind of disease?) books as a child. Enid Blyton, Monica Edwards, Richmal Crompton etc. etc., no one introduced me to Nan Chauncy or Ethel Turner.

Was the Eden River named so because it flows through this piece of paradise? Perhaps so, I don't know, but paradise it is. It fairly takes your breath away when you come around a bend in the road (and there's plenty of those) and there is this beautiful valley, you almost step on the brakes to take it in.

Fortunately one of those handy parking nooks appears and you can duck in and start snapping away with the camera, but it's no good, you can't capture it on film. Perhaps in wide-angle but not with my little Cannon digital. But as Wordsworth observed, it will 'flash upon that inward eye, that is the bliss of solitude'.

This euphoric mood is reduced to rubble when I decide to venture into Penrith for some supplies, not knowing how the land lies re food in Appleby. It's now late on a Friday afternoon and all the citizens of Penrith and surrounding districts are evidently having friends over for the weekend and are stocking up for the event. I finally make it out the door with a bag of essentials and some time later I manage to get out of the car park and eventually I'm on the road to Appleby-in-Westmoreland.

After slogging through the endless traffic I drive around yet another bend and arrive … in a train set! You know those villages that you see if you go to the Model Railway Club's annual exhibition? Well they're all modelled on Appleby!

I pull into the narrow driveway of two attached cottages, Pine Cottage and Oak Cottage, the former belonging to my hosts and the latter to me for the week. My host comes out to greet me and deliver the key. He hopes I won't find Oak Cottage too small.

I enter with the first load of stuff and find that it's perfect. In every way. It's so clean I can scarcely believe it's ever been occupied. Downstairs there is a spacious bedroom, a large dressing-room and a bathroom. Up stairs is the small but well appointed kitchen, lounge/dining area. A bowl in the window recess is filled with fresh Sweet-peas and their fragrance drifts in the air. For some reason today I have been thinking of Sweet-peas.

The old house, built around 1800, has been beautiful and tastefully refurbished. I compliment the lady of the house when I see her the next morning. I won't want to leave this one. The accommodation bar has been elevated to such a height that I fear the peak may have been reached.

Our cottages are situated at he top of the main street, Boroughgate, near the High Market Cross and a few steps away from the gates of the castle (now closed due to a dispute with English Heritage) which look straight down the street. As you descend the hill the houses and then shops are all out of a story book. The Low Market Cross is at the bottom of the street along with the Moot Hall, now the Tourist Info Centre, built in 1596, and St Lawrence's Church closes off the street end.

Turn right and cross the River Eden over the arched bridge and up the hill to the station which is part of the famous Settle to Carlisle Railway, running steam trains for tourists to enjoy. It's also a regular stop for the commuter trains. The station has been dipped in 1920s aspic (sorry Lonely Planet, had to borrow that catchy description) and is the show piece of this train set village.

Appleby is well known in these part as the venue for the annual Gypsy Horse Fair. The Romany and Travelling People come, during the second week of June, to trade horses, meet relatives and friends and provide fair-ground activities. The town is besieged by thousands of tourists as well, all come to enjoy the fun of the fair.

I am reliably inform by a kindly local, who takes me home for coffee, that this seemingly romantic event is rather a nightmare for the residents of Appleby who have to lock up their daughters (and possibly their wives?) and other possessions during this week each year as there is a noticeable spike in the crime rate.

He tells me that some of the local publicans shut up shop and take their annual holidays to avoid the trouble which is destined to occur. To be fair though, says he, petty thieves from other areas have been known to target the town at this time knowing that any criminal activity will be blamed on the Gipsies.

All that aside, horse fairs have been around since ancient times, and you have to admit that a Gypsy Horse Fair is pretty romantic.

You'll have to excuse me now while I just slip off and buff up my rose-coloured glasses.