National Geographic : 1956 Apr
thousands of spectators sat beneath umbrellas and waterproof sheets, and a brass band played "The Gondoliers." My memories of the Grasmere Sports are of wet feet and of rain dripping down my neck, of the sweet smell of churned-up turf, of pork pie and a slice of gingerbread eaten in a damp marquee, of giant wrestlers in tights hugging one another like grizzly bears, and of undaunted spectators in gum boots sitting beneath umbrellas and enjoying every moment of it. This is, of course, the lesson of Lake land: one never lets weather interfere with anything. Now and again, of course, one may be surprised. In a day or two the sun shone. I glanced from my window in the morning, astonished by the transition. The day, like a sobbing beauty who dries her eyes at the sight of a diamond wrist watch, was all smiles. Thrushes were singing, the sky was blue, and I could see the fells to the very summits.