Eric Robson's Cockermouth...

I'm going to suggest a gentle stroll out of Cockermouth towards Lorton, in search of a gloriously peaceful place called Stanger Spa. It was one of William Wordsworth's favourite walks as a lad. It's on the map near the hamlet of Stanger, unsurprisingly. Originally called St. Anna's Spa it was a holy well that became a medicinal mineral spring. In the eighteenth century a resident doctor used to bottle the waters and sell if for 6d a dose. It was said to be particularly effective in the treatment of skin complaints and bowel irregularities. I think I'd rather put up with the scratching and the straining rather than resort to the grey slime that, to this day, oozes out of a grid in the floor of Stanger's roofless ruin. But in the whole of the Lake District you'd be hard pressed to find somewhere as gentle to rest and ruminate. And when you've ruminated enough, wander on by way of the footpaths through the fields nearby and you'll find evidence of a remarkable character who set his stamp on the district at the end of the nineteenth century. William Lancaster Alexander paid to have grand livestock watering places - slate-walled fountains - constructed at various spots through the fields - some of them in commemoration of great events such as Queen Victoria's diamond jubilee. Alexander had been a shipping agent in Liverpool, a man of independent means who retired to the area and took it to his heart. He was ahead of his time. At the turn of the twentieth century he establish a local crèche so that mothers could go to work. Another of his ways of marking Victoria's jubilee was to go round Lorton collecting everyone's debts and paying them off. Tip your hat to him as you, too, stroll down into Lorton and find yourself standing by the tree that Wordsworth made famous.

                                     There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale,
                                  Which to this day stands single, in the midst
                                      Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore:
                                    Not loathe to furnish weapons for the Bands
                                       Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched
                             To Scotland's heaths; or those that crossed the sea
                                     And drew their sounding bows at Azincour,
                                          Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers.

If taking the waters at Stanger as a boy can help nurture that sort of talent I think I'll pop back and risk the grey slime on the way home.