XII 



HUTTON JOHN, CUMBERLAND 



EXQUISITE glimpses of hill and dale can be 

 seen on the way to Hutton John, which lies 

 up the valley of Dacre, not far from Wordsworth's 

 country. The old house stands in the Garden like 

 a grim giant, with a shower of flowers at his feet. 

 These brilliant blossoms at first strike the beholder 

 as incongruous, near this typical border manor 

 house, with its beautiful Pele tower. But the 

 flowers are so carefully blended, so tenderly 

 arranged, that they must be admired, though 

 perhaps without them the grey walls, grass Ter- 

 races, and stately Yews would have been simpler 

 and more in keeping with the character of the 

 place. For it must be remembered that Hutton 

 John is one of a chain of border towers, from 

 which, in early days, war was waged, not only with 

 the Scot over the border, but with near neighbours. 

 In those days and in those parts the great aim of 

 life was to gain some one else's cattle or posses- 



