Hughenden and Dignified Men

Coming back to Wendover from visiting my uncle and family in Greystones, I instantly demanded that my kind Grandpa amuse me. Well, it didn't quite go like that, but if you asked him, he would undoubtedly use those exact words.

So he took me to Hughenden Manor, the old mansion of the coolest prime minister of whom I've heard, Mr. Benjamin Disraeli. First of all unexpectedly elected during the victorian age because of his Jewish heredity (I stared blankly at the woman after she told me this. I thought the English were on the other side during that war?). But secondly he drew comics, and third, he flirted unabashedly with the queen.
He earns my respect.

We began in the garden of apple trees and herbs. I grabbed a bit of mint to chew on but left the knobbly apples. After taking a photo, a friendly English couple asked me if I was Canadian. Err..what? Was this French influence on my accent? I walked a bit indignantly back to Grandpa and we went in search of the actual manor.

Hughenden was also known for housing the RAF (Royal Air Force) during WWII. The basement was modeled after typical bomb shelters and a sweet 40s living room. I walked in and stopped, startled. With the radio going and the yellowed flowery wallpaper, I honestly felt like I had walked into the age of air raids and food rations, and half expected Churchill's booming voice to come soothingly into the room.


Grandpa waited in the sunny parlor upstairs, reading about Disraeli and doing some flirting of his own. Alright, maybe not, but I'd like to think the lady who lent him the magazine was sneakily winking a bit.


We then went walkabouts the gardens. Grandpa decided he wasn't 25 anymore and sat on a bench, waiting for me to explore the wooded area. I finally found him again quietly snuggled in a hedge. He then found a new bag and I a new cup at the giftshop, and we went cheerfully home for a cup of tea.

Isn't he sweet?