heâd certainly done exactly that. As a final touch, he added, âI hope you wonât consider my opinions as if they were those of a mere child, nor my desire as senseless romantic impulses only.â
By now, John Sr. knew better. He simply gave his blessing. He even agreed to provide Fred with an amount of money sufficient to take a walking tourâa budget walking tour. (Heâd earlier agreed to pay for Johnâs trip as well.)
On April 27, 1850, the Olmsted brothers and Charley Brace were prepared to embark for England aboard the Henry Clay . But the ship failed to sail, despite this being the advertised day of departure. Upon examining their cabin, they discovered yet another problem. The room was half filled up with bales of cotton, bound for England to be sold.
This was billed as a passenger ship, not a merchant ship, but it was shades of the overloaded Ronaldson . The Olmsteds and Brace were also informed that they would need to share their cabin with another passenger. They were joined by a young Irish surgeon headed home. Such were the conditions of budget travel. The Atlantic passage was costing them $12 apiece. Three days later the Henry Clay finally departed, and three weeks later it arrived in Liverpool.
Fred, John, and Charley spent a little time kicking around Liverpool. On the morning they planned to depart, a baker who was preparing their
breakfast rolls told them that, before leaving town, they simply had to see Birkenhead Park. It had opened only three years before and was the very first park in Britain built with public funds. The park was the pride of Liverpool. The designer was a man named Joseph Paxton. Olmsted had never heard of Paxton, knew nothing of this park, but he was taken by the placeâs winding paths and broad meadows. He was especially impressed to note that people of all classes were mingling in a city park. But soon the three travelers were eager to get going. They took a train a little ways out of Liverpool, threw on their knapsacks, and set out walking.
Olmstedâs first brush with the English countryside did not disappoint. From a winding lane, he could see over the tops of little thatched-roof houses to a church spire rising in the distance. It was spring, and the hawthorn hedges were all in bloom. Bees were buzzing, and he could hear a cow munching on grass. His overarching impression was one of greenness, incredible greenness. And everything was softened by a watery mist.
Nothing was really unusual about this scene, Olmsted later noted, yet it had a quiet drama that he found enrapturing. He also experienced a feeling of déjà vu. Here he was at last in countryside heâd read about in the esoteric books of William Gilpin and Uvedale Price at the Hartford Library as a little boy. This was also the land of his forebears. As often happens to American travelers in England, he had the strange and distinct sensation of coming home.
Because they were on a tight budget, Olmsted and his companions were forced to stay in the most modest accommodations imaginable. Theirs was a walking tour, not a grand tour. But this had an unintended benefit. The travelers came in contact with the regular people of England.
This certainly served Braceâs purposes. He was deeply committed to the idea of leading a life of service to others. But he hadnât yet figured out how best to accomplish his goal. He was as restless as Olmsted, in his own way. Brace visited a prison at one point in the journey and visited a school for poor children at another. His practice was to split off from Fred and John for these sidelines, planning to rejoin them up the road apiece.
Olmsted also split off from the others frequently, but his stated purpose was to visit farms. Largely on account of Englandâs being an older country than America, at the time of Olmstedâs walking tour, it was well
ahead of the United States in the critical area of agricultural technology. Back in
By now, John Sr. knew better. He simply gave his blessing. He even agreed to provide Fred with an amount of money sufficient to take a walking tourâa budget walking tour. (Heâd earlier agreed to pay for Johnâs trip as well.)
On April 27, 1850, the Olmsted brothers and Charley Brace were prepared to embark for England aboard the Henry Clay . But the ship failed to sail, despite this being the advertised day of departure. Upon examining their cabin, they discovered yet another problem. The room was half filled up with bales of cotton, bound for England to be sold.
This was billed as a passenger ship, not a merchant ship, but it was shades of the overloaded Ronaldson . The Olmsteds and Brace were also informed that they would need to share their cabin with another passenger. They were joined by a young Irish surgeon headed home. Such were the conditions of budget travel. The Atlantic passage was costing them $12 apiece. Three days later the Henry Clay finally departed, and three weeks later it arrived in Liverpool.
Fred, John, and Charley spent a little time kicking around Liverpool. On the morning they planned to depart, a baker who was preparing their
breakfast rolls told them that, before leaving town, they simply had to see Birkenhead Park. It had opened only three years before and was the very first park in Britain built with public funds. The park was the pride of Liverpool. The designer was a man named Joseph Paxton. Olmsted had never heard of Paxton, knew nothing of this park, but he was taken by the placeâs winding paths and broad meadows. He was especially impressed to note that people of all classes were mingling in a city park. But soon the three travelers were eager to get going. They took a train a little ways out of Liverpool, threw on their knapsacks, and set out walking.
Olmstedâs first brush with the English countryside did not disappoint. From a winding lane, he could see over the tops of little thatched-roof houses to a church spire rising in the distance. It was spring, and the hawthorn hedges were all in bloom. Bees were buzzing, and he could hear a cow munching on grass. His overarching impression was one of greenness, incredible greenness. And everything was softened by a watery mist.
Nothing was really unusual about this scene, Olmsted later noted, yet it had a quiet drama that he found enrapturing. He also experienced a feeling of déjà vu. Here he was at last in countryside heâd read about in the esoteric books of William Gilpin and Uvedale Price at the Hartford Library as a little boy. This was also the land of his forebears. As often happens to American travelers in England, he had the strange and distinct sensation of coming home.
Because they were on a tight budget, Olmsted and his companions were forced to stay in the most modest accommodations imaginable. Theirs was a walking tour, not a grand tour. But this had an unintended benefit. The travelers came in contact with the regular people of England.
This certainly served Braceâs purposes. He was deeply committed to the idea of leading a life of service to others. But he hadnât yet figured out how best to accomplish his goal. He was as restless as Olmsted, in his own way. Brace visited a prison at one point in the journey and visited a school for poor children at another. His practice was to split off from Fred and John for these sidelines, planning to rejoin them up the road apiece.
Olmsted also split off from the others frequently, but his stated purpose was to visit farms. Largely on account of Englandâs being an older country than America, at the time of Olmstedâs walking tour, it was well
ahead of the United States in the critical area of agricultural technology. Back in
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