This photo hangs on the wall in my living room and is very special to me in several ways. Firstly, it’s the place it shows. I went to the Lake District on holiday every year with my family from the age of eleven. For quite a few of those years our first walk on each trip was up the fell you can see in the centre of the photograph: Place Fell. It was our warm up walk and we knew the route well but it gave us views from the top of all the other fells we would climb during our time there and we could plan what we wanted to do together, arguing about it as we walked and as only children in a large family can do. I was the eldest of four with three younger brothers and the only girl. A very privileged position I realise now as an adult. I was special because I was the only girl but had all these playmates to boss around.
Our route each year would take us steeply up out of the valley from Patterdale where we rented a wooden chalet, through a farmyard where we got our first puppy and on steeply up to the top. We stopped frequently to admire the views when we ran out of puff – we could see Brothers Water, Ullswater, Helvellyn, High Street, the Fairfield horseshoe. So many names and such special places and my father who had spent every summer of his boyhood there knew them all. The top went on a long way grassy with various small tarns and abandoned stone sheep pens and a few other ruined buildings and then we would drop down towards Ullswater past a small abandoned quarry and come along the rocky lakeside path. This wound its way through woods and over rocky outcrops until we came to Silver Bay. Here we would picnic on the shingly beach and mess about in the streams and lake before wending our way back to base to have supper.
The second reason that this photo is so special is that it shows the place where my parents’ ashes are scattered. Chosen because of these memories and because my parents had decided they would like their ashes to be scattered in the Lake District. Somehow my mother had imagined that they would both die at the same time, they would be cremated together and their ashes would be scattered together. As you might imagine this didn’t happen and my mother outlived my father for just over a year. For a while I looked after my Dad’s ashes at home but after six months or so I decided that I couldn’t bear to host them any more – it just seemed so sad that Dad wasn’t in his final resting place and it felt as though he was in limbo. So I asked my brothers and mother what we should do and we came to the conclusion that the top of Place Fell should be the place. We fixed a date but in the end my youngest brother and I were the only ones who could make trip. We went up and stayed overnight in a hotel on the side of the lake and managed a walk in sunshine when we arrived. We had dinner and went to bed before getting up the next day to a day of drizzle and low cloud. To add to the rather bleak picture, I had had a bad stomach in the night so only managed to eat a slice of toast and black tea but Colin managed a full English and we set off rather slowly as I was a bit wobbly but determined.
It seemed absolutely right that the weather should be so typical of the area and we climbed to the top in our waterproofs trudging through the wind and drizzle. We found a spot just off the main path and, we hoped, overlooking the lake. It was blowing a gale and Dad was scattered over a fair area with some ashes blowing back at us so I think we took the odd fragment home too. Colin and I were both in tears and struggling with our goodbyes to our much loved father in a way that was much more real and raw than his funeral had been. Just as we had emptied the cannister, the sun broke through the clouds with one of those shafts that you see in photographs with biblical texts on them and showed us the valley and lake below – we had a perfect view of the chalets where we had stayed as children as well as all our favourite fells and the lake. It couldn’t have been better. So we walked back with happy hearts. We had done what we set out to do and could tell Mum all about it. She could be assured that we would do the same for her when the time came. And her time came the following year when I was doing the same walk with some friends. I knew in my heart that I wouldn’t see her again before I set off on my trip. How appropriate that I should be in my Dad’s final resting place when I had the call to say she had passed away.
And now my last and final reason. This is the story of how I found the photograph. On our way to my Mum’s funeral, Tony, my husband, and I were early and so we stopped off at the gardens at Wisley to get a coffee because we were close enough to the venue by then to take the risk. We happened to coincide with a craft fair and had a bit of time to look round. We walked in to the marquee and saw this photo and I had to buy it. Again such a perfect coincidence. I also bought myself a navy boiled wool coat – I wasn’t happy with the coat I was wearing and I knew Mum would have approved. Fancy shopping on your way to your Mum’s funeral!
A month or so later, I was able to go with all three of my brothers to scatter Mum’s ashes and this time we had a perfect day with clear blue skies and skylarks singing overhead. We walked up chatting about past times and enjoying the rare occasion as adults of being just the four of us together. It was magical and very special to be together for this final farewell to our parents. So every year now in late June, as many of us as are able, make the trip and do our walk for Mum and Dad enjoying the time to reminisce and reconnect as siblings with each other and our more extended families. This year we have had to postpone it because of the virus lockdown but let’s hope we can keep up the tradition in the new normal. A special place for me and a special photograph.
Jenni Back, August 2020
Photograph of Place Fell: Andy Small
The Imaginarium 