Memories of Alnwick
Neil Lageson ’02, Savage, Minn., 1976-77 Alnwick
program
The hard part about writing my Alnwick story is that it
is impossible to condense it into one page or less. The
easy part is choosing the Alnwick moment I enjoyed the most,
which came on a return visit to the Castle with my wife
Connie in February 2004, to visit our daughter who was studying
there during the winter 2004 semester. For the sake of getting
this in on time, I am sending what I would consider a draft.
Please feel free to edit and excerpt and use whatever you
want. I plan on expanding even further on what you have
got me started on, and will be happy to share the result
with you or anyone who might have an interest.
 My Alnwick story started one afternoon in Harpo's room
in Holes Hall. It was spring 1975, near the end of our freshman
year. John Wood, an upper classman, had just returned from
Balls Park College in England and was telling us stories
about his experience. I was hooked, and the next year I
applied for the exchange program. I was told by someone
at International Studies that it was extremely difficult
to get selected for Balls Park, but because so many students
had expressed an interest in England, a program had been
set up in a castle in Northumberland for 50 students, on
a first-come basis. The bad news was that 52 had already
signed up. I was put on a waiting list, two people cancelled,
and in late August 1976 I found myself in a departure lounge
with 50 other SCSU students saying our goodbyes to family
and friends. I was pleasantly surprised to see Harpo there,
because we hadn't been in contact much our sophomore year.
I recognized a few faces from various classes, maybe knew
a name or two. That changed a lot over the next eight hours.
By the time we touched down in Copenhagen, it seemed like
everyone on the SAS DC-8 knew everyone else. None of us
could even imagine what the next nine months of our lives
would be like, and how the experience would shape us and
change us. It was the beginning of what could be considered
"the Alnwick Experiment". Happily for me it continues
with decades long friendships both here and in Alnwick.
Besides those of us from St. Cloud, there were still the
third-year teachers training college students studying in
Alnwick. Most of the students were young women. One in particular
caught my eye, JoAnne Sturman, from Kent. A whirlwind relationship
ensued, beginning in late October when the SCSU students
decided to dress up for Halloween and do a pub crawl. I
saw Jo and some of her mates in the Black Swan, then caught
up with them again at the Hotspur, where I joined them.
Within weeks I had met all of her family. Returning from
the south one night in November, in an old Triumph Herald
we had bought, we were in an accident. Jo spent ten days
in hospital and was on crutches until Christmas. I celebrated
Christmas early at her mum's house in Kent, then set off
by myself for 30 days on the continent with just my backpack,
a rail pass, and $500.
The only solid plan I had for the next month was to spend
Christmas in Germany with a friend from my hometown who
was in the Army. There were some loose plans for a few of
us to meet up in Roma for a New Year’s Eve party.
I really wasn't sure what to expect, but what I didn't expect
was to run into people I recognized. It started on the late
night ferry trip across the Channel. I saw two guys who
looked familiar, and when I approached them, I realized
they were high school friends of my freshman roommate from
Fairmont. We talked and traveled on together by train to
Paris, where we split up. It was early morning, so I looked
around the station for some place to get breakfast, and
on the platform was a girl I recognized. She was an American
going to school in Bristol, but had visited friends in Alnwick.
We ended up spending the day walking around Paris together,
taking pictures of each other in the Notre Dame. The next
day I traveled alone to Germany where I had a pleasant Christmas
with my friend Rod. When I returned Paris I had a very different
experience. Someone I had plans to meet I was unable to
find. John Larson, another SCSU student, was supposed to
tour the Louvre with me. (note: the Louvre is closed on
Tuesdays). I gave up and left Paris for the south of France,
for what would be another chance meeting.
Walking alone on the black stone beach of Nice, in the
south of France, I saw two guys about 100 meters in front
of me. As I approached them, I started talking to them in
English. They seemed surprised that I knew they were American.
But within a minute or so I told them I could tell by the
way they looked and their "accent" that they had
only been in Europe a short while, and that they were from
either Minnesota or Wisconsin. I told them was going to
school in a castle in the north of England, and that I was
working my way towards Roma, to try and meet some friends
there for a New Years Eve party. At this the two dumbfounded
students from Wisconsin, who had only been in Europe for
two days, looked at each other in amazement. They told me
that the night before they had talked to another American
student who was living in a castle and on his way to Roma.
I started to describe Bob, and they confirmed it was him
they had met. By now these two guys think I'm psychic or
something. No time to explain, I had to catch the overnight
train south to Roma.
When we planned our meeting in Roma, none of us had ever
been there before. We decided we would meet at the train
station the morning of 31 December. London and Paris have
a number of train stations, luckily Roma seemed to only
have one. I think I was the first to arrive. I went to the
cafeteria to sit and wait and stay warm. Of course, I had
to order something if I wanted to stay, but I didn't speak
Italian and the waitress didn't understand English. Knowing
that Italian was close to the Spanish I had taken in grade
school, I ordered "leche". The waitress asked
"calde?" (sounds like "cold", which
is what I wanted), and I proudly replied "si".
When she returned with a steaming mug I remembered that
"calde" is "hot" in Spanish and Italian.
With lots of sugar it wasn't that bad. While sitting there,
I saw Jim and Sheri walk by. I waved at them, and the group
slowly assembled. Ian, Chris, Lori and Charlie, who were
traveling together, Bob Parker, Tom Horn...by evening there
were twelve of us in all. Lots of cheap red wine. Me leaning
out the third or fourth floor widow of the pension yelling
"bona feste!" Someone using the washing machine,
which resulted in knee deep suds on the floor.
Most of us stayed over the weekend to see the Sistine Chapel,
then were unable to get on the standing room only train
which would get us on our way to our next destination, Torremolinos,
Spain. Since we had rail passes, we could take any train.
Rather than pay to spend another night in a hotel, we took
a train north through Innsbruck, and on to Munchen. The
trains usually had compartments for six people. The seats
folded down and we slept quite comfortably, awaking in Germany.
We had lunch at the Hofbrauhaus, then another overnight
train. This time, the Orient Express to Paris, where we
only changed trains and continued on to Spain. Border crossings
on our journey from Italy, through Austria, into Germany
and then France went almost unnoticed. The train would stop
at the border, men in uniform asked to see passports, and
the train continued on. The border crossing into Spain was
a much different experience. It was the end of the line
for the modern French trains at a remote outpost in the
Pyrenees. Before we could board the Spanish train, the border
guards questioned us and searched our backpacks. We had
a tense moment when they asked Bob about the two small wooden
clubs attached by a short piece of rope. He smiled and calmly
said "oh, those are nunchucks". They were given
back to him and we continued on to Barcelona.
We had not planned it, but we ended up in Barcelona on
6 January, and got to see the parades for the feast of the
Three Kings, Epiphany, which is their day for exchanging
gifts. In sunny Torremolinos, where January is considered
off season, we got rooms in a hotel on the beach for something
like 120 Pesetas (about $2). We would spend a week there,
and hoped to go across to Morocco, but were a little scared
by some of the stories we had been told. Then one evening
in Tina's bar, a place made famous by a Hemmingway novel,
a Moroccan man, Jimi, offered to by me a drink. Not sure
of his intent I made it clear I was with a group of friends.
He offered to buy a round, and asked to join us. He quickly
made us a proposition. He told us he had a small shop in
the bazaar where he sold items from Morocco. He said he
would be our guide for the weekend in Tangier, and in return
we would all carry back some goods for his shop. This would
save him having to pay duty. We took him up on his offer
and spent the weekend in Morocco, which included a camel
ride, and shopping in the Casbah.
Random Recollections
- Even after several months in Alnwick, I was still in
awe every time every time I rounded the corner from Narrowgate
and approached the barbican. More impressive yet was the
view from the lion bridge at night, it just didn't seem
real.
- Drug-sniffing dogs with the Newcastle drug squad visiting
because of rumors from the locals - of course they found
nothing.
- Me missing the Oktoberfest fun in Munchen, including
drinking litres of bier at the Hofbrauhaus and a Paul
McCartney concert, because I didn't think I could afford
the trip. Then, being about the only SCSU student left
in the Castle, had an accidental close encounter with
Prince Charles.
- Being mistaken for one of the Duke's sons by tourists
one Sunday morning on my way to Mass at St. Mary's.
- Getting married to JoAnne Sturman, a teaching student
from Kent. Wedding at St. Mary's, reception with
her immediate family and mine at the Hotspur Hotel. (Sadly
the marriage ended after four years. She lives in Missouri,
as does our 26-year-old daughter Fiona, and our grandson
Colin.)
- The student Union. Bottles of Guinness for 18p.
- Impromptu jam sessions from some very talented musicians
among us.
- The pubs, especially the Black Swan and "the Bottles",
where we enjoyed many pints of Dryborough's Keg Heavy
and Newcastle Exhibition Ale.
- The locals who dared to befriend us. Kenny Bamburough,
Sandra and Bobsa, Cass, and others whose names I can't
remember.
- The Alnwick - St. Cloud football club, of which I was
proudly a member. We won some matches. Ed breaking his
leg.
- My first return in September of 1999 with my wife Connie,
who immediately fell in love with this place that she
had thought of more like a place in a fairy tale than
a real place with real people. The SCSU students asked
when I had been there. They seemed in awe when they heard
I was one of the "black and whites". All of
the groups have colour photos on the cafeteria wall. Our
group was not included in the gallery until one of us
visited and was angry that we weren't included. She found
a copy of the 8"x10" black and white photo that
Steve Dosdahl had taken and so we have become known as
the black and whites, the stuff legends are made of. (upper
left in photo of picture wall)
- Locals remembering me as the American student who got
married there.
- Discovering the Bird and Bush, which is now gone. Walking
into a shop in the market square and discovering the owner
was Cass (David Castle), one of the locals who played
with us on the football club.
- Our return in February 2004 to visit Meghan. (photo
of Connie in Alnwick Books with Cass and his older brother
who is Lord Mayor of Alnwick) Our trip to Edinburgh where
we made new friends. Then on through the Highlands by
train, and ferry to the magical Isle of Skye. (photo of
me hiking with Meghan and her boyfriend nick). Supper
with Meghan's homestay family. (photo)
- Cass and Yvonne insisting we come back to visit them
in July 2004, when we had only planned on going to Ireland
and Wales. Yvonne picked us up at the Newcastle airport
and they put us up in their home for three days.
So for me, my Alnwick story is ongoing. I am certain we
will return again some time soon.
< Return to Alnwick Memories
Home
|
