Across seas and even centuries, there are similarities. In the American midwest, we’ve got our porches, rocking chairs, bug screens and mugs. Ten minutes outside of Grantham, England, sits a Victorian manor. But, sitting on its steps at sunset on a school night, the foreign sense of grandeur becomes comfortable. Soon, I’m no longer out of place. Harlaxton Manor has simply become my very, very large house.
In April of 2025, I enrolled to study abroad in England having no idea that I would come to be as comfortable in a Victorian manor as I was in my own home. I had never left America, let alone lived in an environment older than 1980. By all accounts, 1880 was a bit of a jump. Drafty, moldy, cold at night and an awful long walk to the kitchen is what might come to mind alongside opulent, fantastical and historic.
Just over half of these things were correct in my experience. It is opulent, fantastical and historic. It is also an awful long walk to the kitchen.
Getting To Know the House
Harlaxton Manor is situated on a 300 acre estate, accompanied by scrupulously maintained gardens, a carriage house, and the Serpentine River running under a bridge on the mile-long driveway up to the house. The manor holds over 200 rooms, has five main levels, and many, many stairs.
I became good friends with these stairs. I lived on the fifth floor, in a room facing the back gardens.
Mealtimes were immovable objects, events to plan your day around. From my room, I would descend five flights of stairs to reach the refectory (kitchen, cafeteria, dining hall) with a quick step to get ahold of hashbrowns before they disappeared. Some days, I was quick enough. Others, I went hashbrownless.
At night, I would take long walks around the estate, wandering the gardens catching sight of shooting stars every so often. In the distance, the manor cast tall shadows, windows glowing yellow and orange even from afar. There was a bar two miles away that was easily trekked to, and watching the manor rise up out of darkness on the walk back was surreal.
Settling In (& Out Again)
At first, the surreality was harsh. To be a foreign student in a new country is jarring enough, but to time travel on the walk back from the bar was even more disorienting. With time, seeing the manor loom ahead became a warm comfort.
“Ah, yes. There’s the house. We’re almost home.”
When I returned to American porches, rocking chairs, bug screens and mugs, I found that my semester abroad in a Victorian manor— as opulent and fantastical as it had been— had also become an extension of home. Whether in American prairie or English woods, I was watching sunsets, stars, reading books and drinking tea. For these reasons, I like to think not only that we’re not much different across continents, but not much different across centuries, too.
-Macy
Captured it well!