|Laramie's Carnegie Library is still standing.|
|You can watch thunderstorms approach |
Laramie across the vast Great Plains.
With each book, I became more entranced with the English countryside, learned what a 'herbaceous border' was, and decided afternoon tea was just my cup of tea. It was a world of gardens, and trains, and little village post offices. Where people had hushed conversations and lightly brushed scone crumbs off their laps; where sensible shoes and gloves were essential, and you could post a letter in the morning which would be received that same afternoon.
|A village 'fete'.|
By August I no longer fit into my clothes and I was officially an Anglophile. I wanted to grow hollyhocks in my herbaceous border, meet my friends for afternoon tea, and have supper in a little village pub. I wanted to live in a thatched cottage, be married to a village vicar (sorry husband No. 1), and ride the train wearing gloves and a hat. Most of all I just wanted to go to England because I knew, just knew, it was where I belonged. I knew I'd fit into a place where gardens, and dogs, and country walks are what constitutes a happy life. I knew that the people who created the Victoria Sponge cake and took time out from gardening to have a mug of tea were my kind of people.
It took two more babies after my first baby, and 16 more years before I finally realized my dream, my daily/nightly/constant dream of 'going to England'. It was 1994 and I'm happy to say England didn't disappoint. It was everything I dreamed it would be back in the old library in Laramie, and it changed my life. From the day I first stepped foot in England I've never looked back. Of course since it isn't 1954, I don't ride the train wearing gloves and a hat and we don't sit by the wireless at night; and perhaps more importantly I've never witnessed a murder at a vicarage.