History is a novel for which the people is the aut

History is a novel for which the people is the author.
~Alfred de Vigny, Réflexions sur la Vérité dans l'Art

King Charles II (1660 - 1685)
Boscobel House and White Ladies Priory

This diary helped current historians in understanding how and why certain things happened at Boscobel's House.

Today was suppose to be a calm, sort out the remaining puppet-stuff type of day. Instead, it turned into a fantastic fun filled day at Boscobel House and White Ladies Priory. It's a place we live near and have often said that Charlotte would enjoy it* but one that we never got around to seeing. That changed today.

Michael had a few hours with the puppets then we picked him up and went to the house. We were fortunate enough to not only had a gorgeous day to see it, but also that we manage to get in on a guided tour which really brought the house alive. I've always known about the story of Charles II hiding in the oak tree as it's quite a famous tale locally. However, I never realized the house itself had a lot of hiding places, usually to hide religious people. There was a lot of interesting facts learnt today and if you're ever in the Albrighton/Wolverhampton area, I strongly recommend you spend some time there.

Afterwards, we took Charlotte's bike to White Ladies Priory which was an amazing ruins. It sad to see the state that it's in now, until you realize that it dates back from the 1200s! After learning that, I was amazed any sandstone still existed let alone the amount of structure left. Meanwhile, Charlotte had a little issue with her bike, mainly falling off in a fashion that had me in stitches (ok, I was laughing so hard I had tears) but Charlotte didn't find it funny. That kid has NO sense of humor.

We stopped at the Garden center to investigate ponds (apparently the little joke is turning into reality) before going to Stanmore Country Park for Charlotte to have a good ride on her bike. It was such a lovely day, none of us really wanted to head home. The only thing that made us was our legs giving up on us, pleading for a rest.

More pictures here.

*I've been to the house to celebrate my first birthday in England. That night, the tree was struck by a bad storm and almost completely destroyed. Many here called it the Curse of the American. What a welcoming to the new country.