The scene is a Sunday morning in October. My husband and I are driving from Avebury to Lacock, a quick jaunt down twisty B roads. The golden light of the morning sun filters through the low-lying mist and the dew sparkles in the hedgerows. Today is going to be magical.
We arrive at Lacock Abbey just before it opens for the day and wander about the Fox Talbot museum learning all kinds of things about the invention of photography before we head over to the house. Except for another family, my husband and I are alone. We explore the grounds and the cloisters in peaceful silence. The Harry Potter film people must have been as entranced as we are—rooms in the old monastery stood in for Hogwarts classrooms in the movies.
The house is cobbled together (and I mean that in the most magnificent way possible) with rooms flowing into one another. Go up or down a few steps and turn and suddenly you’ll be in a long gallery with portraits (including some of Charles II as a child—too adorable), a cozy bedroom, or an inviting drawing room with a table laid for tea. For a brief moment I imagine myself as Lucy Pevensie exploring the Professor’s house in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
Before we know it, we’ve seen the entire house and it’s time to brave the chill in the air and walk into Lacock village for Sunday roast in front of a crackling fire, a delicious end to an enchanting morning.