As my Grasmere Gingerbread® office sits beneath our former Church Stile family home directly oppositeThe Grasmere Gingerbread Shop, the seasons’ sights and sounds often trigger deep-rooted childhood memories.
Church Stile - Originally the village inn
Fifty years ago when the clocks ‘fell back’ in October and the afternoon sun dropped behind the valley’s mountain ridges, Grasmere was plunged into near darkness. With all the hotels, shops and cafes closed, and few street lights to guide the way, the village went to sleep. The only people you saw after about 4 o’clock were fellow locals but at least everybody knew your name…
Time stands still on our Regulator clock in the shop
From my cosy upstairs bedroom window, I stared directly onto St Oswald’s Churchyard. Moonlight shadows cast by the headstones and crosses spooked me out and my childhood imagination ran riot - particularly at Halloween. After befriending the daughters of an American academic who lived and worked in Grasmere, I was exposed to the stateside tradition of ‘trick or treating’ before it became popular in Britain.
View from my bedroom window
Every Halloween we would run VERY fast around the public outer perimeter footpath of the church - never THROUGH it as we were far too frightened - and knock on villagers’ doors. Sadly, after shouting ‘trick or treat’, we nearly always had to explain what our defiant battle cry meant. As many people still looked baffled, we left lots of front steps empty-handed; too deflated to unleash any ‘tricks’ on our neighbours.
Yew trees in a churchyard are to ward off evil
Yet today, looking across St Oswald’s Churchyard from my ground level office window, I feel the exact opposite about this hallowed ground. Instead of triggering terror, it comforts me as an eternally safe space, a shelter from the storms of life and rightly sacred.
Now, during the autumn and winter months, late afternoon customers carrying bags of Grasmere Gingerbread® happily stroll along its shadowy, winding paths.
As dusk falls, modern street lights throw off a cosy glow and shadows from those same memorials and crosses - including the headstone of Grasmere Gingerbread® inventor Sarah Nelson - create a comforting ambience in this tranquil place of worship.
Sarah, Wilfred their daughters and stepsisters at peace.
Just as my office sits beneath my former home, so our outside seating area for staff is my family’s former back garden.
Whenever I step outside to take the air or chat to team members, memories come flooding back: shrieking sibling games of hide and seek, endlessly rolling down grassy banks and contentedly playing with our pet dog, guinea pig and rabbit.
At the very bottom of the garden was a ‘dry’ compost heap of dead leaves and every November 5th we piled on fallen branches to create our own private bonfire.
Church Stile garden
As the flames licked higher, we wrapped potatoes in foil and pushed sausages onto sticks, eagerly awaiting our father to start lighting the fireworks.
In those days there were no big mass fireshow events - your parents just built home bonfires and made do with a box of fireworks from the local newsagent. I loved Roman candles and writing my name in the air with sparklers but I also remember terrifying bangers and jumping jacks that are probably banned today.
My favourite firework was the Catherine Wheel - a whizzing circle of white and orange sparks. Thankfully, I was grown up before I realised the horrific Christian martyrdom this particular firework symbolised.
Bonfire (1854) By John Dillwyn Llewelyn
Only when the crackling fire died down did we toss our potatoes and sausages into the embers to cook. It took ages (and the potatoes were always half-hard and the sausages half-burnt) but we enjoyed them with lashing of butter and tomato sauce followed by Grasmere Gingerbread®, old fashioned toffee, fudge and finally gooey toasted marshmallows that stuck to my face and hair.
Desperate to avoid bedtime, we would nudge closer to the glowing embers and plead for another few minutes beside the warmth. Afterwards, inside, it was ‘bath and bed’ as we absolutely reeked of wood smoke.
"Autumn Bonfire" by Stephen Darbishire
This Wednesday when I leave work, our old garden will be silent and dark, the only crackling from wildlife disturbing the twigs and leaves. Pulling out of our car park and looking to the left, a single street lamp will illuminate The Grasmere Gingerbread Shop - formerly the Church Cottage home of Sarah Nelson (who invented her culinary sensation here in 1854) and before that a village school.
To my right, our former family home at Church Stile will be bathed in shadow, full of history, full of memories. However, such is their familiarity, I don’t even have to look at these iconic buildings to recall sparkling childhood memories of yesteryear - I simply have to close my eyes.
Church Cottage, Grasmere.
I have dedicated this journal to my wonderful mother-in-law Betty Hunter. Unfortunately, she is no longer with us but has left us with many happy memories. Her silly sayings and doings often give the family wry smiles which can lift one’s mood on short, dark November days that drag. Her simple saying of…oh it is the dark days before Christmas is more than an acknowledgment but a message of hope that time does not stand still and this time will pass.
Thankful for those twinkly Christmas lights – maybe that is why they go up so early?
