A Glimpse of Ickworth House

“Café first,” said 3-year-old Neve, as we arrived at Ickworth House, Park and Gardens. “You’ve trained her well,” I commented to Jo.

Approaching the house we decided we should have a quick look inside before the café. I scootered up the ramp into the Rotunda of the main house. The National Trust ladies looked dubious. They weren’t sure my tiny scooter would manage the house without damaging anything. “Would you mind transferring to a wheelchair instead?” they asked. “You can use one of ours.” I looked at my sister. “If you’re happy to push it, I’m happy to sit in it.”

The ladies guided us to the lift to go down to the servant’s quarters in the basement. It was all rock with little daylight. Neve was scared. “I want to go out.” She held onto Jo’s hand. But we had lost the lift and did an entire circuit of the basement looking for it. Through the large kitchen with its sparkling copper saucepans and the servants’ accommodation. When we found the lift, it was hidden behind a wooden door and when it arrived back at the first floor, it opened into a cupboard which, like the lift, wasn’t much bigger than the wheelchair.

Having escaped from the cupboard, we did a speedy ground floor circuit of the Rotunda, along corridors with curved floorboards. There was ornate furniture in the Drawing Room and Library, with heavy, plush curtains framing a views of the gardens. In the foreground was a manicured lawn with a backdrop of wild flowers. But we didn’t stop. Neve was still spooked from the basement and wanted to leave, so we abandoned going upstairs and headed for the café.

 

We sat at a table on the terrace in the warm sunshine and watched a family playing croquet on the lawn. After tea and cake, we explored the Italianate Gardens behind the house and came across the entrance to The Stumpery. Inside, was a magical world. Amongst the trees and ferns, upturned tree stumps were displayed like sculptures. The roots spread in wonderful patterns. They were everywhere you looked. Big stumps, small stumps. Some in small collections. Some holding their own. Sunshine peered through the branches creating patterns of light which speckled the flowers, shrubs and footpaths around them. Neve was enchanted. And so were we.

It made for a wonderful end to our glimpse of Ickworth.

What gives you the right?

I didn’t ask you to move in. You arrived unannounced and just waltzed into my life. You don’t let me waltz any more. I used to love dancing. Ballroom and Latin, and the rhythm of Reggae. You stopped all that. Now I can only watch and try not to cry.

You don’t let me walk either. For hours I wandered through hills and forests. I climbed over rocks. I looked at the scenery. Since you joined me, it’s too difficult. It takes all my concentration to stop you throwing me off balance and send me crashing to the ground. I don’t know if I can pick myself up.

What gives you the right to take over my life and control my every move? You’re with me for every second. You made me give up work and shifted my place in the world. You changed how I see myself. You dragged me to where I didn’t want to go. You’re unstoppable like a train with no brakes.

You cover me in a lead blanket of fatigue. You’re clever. I’ve no energy to fight you. You’ve numbed me all over. Fingers too fumbly to hold anything. You give me tremors, fear and uncertainty. Just how much do you think I can cope with?

And yet, despite all that you do, there is one thing you can never take from me.

Words. Words don’t need the pen I can’t hold in order to be written. Words will take me to places you can’t stop me from going to. Words create the worlds I dream of. Dreams are full of imagination and hope. And hope is all that matters.