Newfield Hall also plays host to special interest groups and on the third day we were to be joined by a party of train spotters. I was detailed to explain this arcane activity to the Americans who found the concept incomprehensible and would probably have accepted bear baiting more readily. I explained that this subspecies would be instantly identifiable since not only would they invariably be white, male and middle aged and but also uniquely attired, hence, I added, the metonymy 'anorak', hastening to caution that the politically correct nomenclature is 'railway enthusiasts'. We chuckled hugely over the impending arrival of these outlandish creatures.
Monday is the changeover day when the three day breaks end and the four day holidays start, so as well as the train huggers, a dozen additional walkers were expected and there was an atmosphere of anticipation as everyone gathered in the lounge for the predinner briefing. After the house manager had explained the domestic arrangements, the railway enthusiasts were invited to move to another room where they would be briefed about their activities for the following day. Five people stood up to leave. Three were women, all smartly dressed, while the men's apparel was indistinguishable from that of the walkers remaining in the lounge. I caught one of the Americans' eye. Clearly he was not impressed by my stereotyping.
HF evening activities are pitched somewhere between children's party entertainments and Victorian Christmas games. By and large I found them eminently resistible but on quiz night, emboldened by years of practice with the Radio Times weekly 'Eggheads', I considered it selfish to deprive the company of my expertise. The competition operates at two levels. Members of the winning team each receive a small prize, then the best score from each HF house is forwarded to central command and the overall winning team bags a bottle of champagne. Conventionally the prelude to all quizzes is the selection of names, ideally reflecting some pertinent feature or shared experience. We'll be 'The Anoraks', hissed one of the Americans. Compared to the other team names, it turned out that this was in good taste, but a witty handle did not guarantee competitive success. We led the first round but collapsed in the sports and TV sections, finishing in a creditable but unrewarded second place.
On the last day, I volunteered as back marker. The final event, an ascent of Ingleborough, the second highest peak in the Dales had a cachet which tempted extra participants so a more organised approach to managing the group was required. Lingering at the back suited me. I was wrapped in my own thoughts when, to my surprise, the taciturn Dutchman joined me. He expressed pleasure at the landscape, having expected moorland to be rough and boggy. I decided it was impolitic to voice my own views about moors, which after a day or two of enjoying the open space, I find desolate and depressing. Instead I asked whether he'd been to the Lake District. He had, and moreover had been planning to do the Coast to Coast walk this summer. What had intervened I enquired, innocently. My wife left me, was the reply. I murmured sympathy. We'd been looking forward to the Coast to Coast for years, he said. What sadness was freighted in that simple sentence.
The week ended with the customary promises to keep in touch, most of which will be more honoured in the breach, I expect. But for me the holiday was a success and I will be honing my general knowledge and hoping to be part of the winning team at the next HF houseparty.
© David Thompson 2015
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