The Manor Inn

Nestled away at the top of Battle Avenue, in Castine Maine, I work sitting at the front desk checking people in at The Manor Inn. The job is straightforward and the Innkeepers hard-working, honest people interested in bringing this traditional place to life. The inn once housed boarders in the 1940’s; it served as Martha Stern’s refuge in the 20’s and 30’s, and originally stood tall touting Victorian style turrets and shingled siding the building itself surrounded by 200 acres of carriage trails. The original owner hailed from the South Boston Yacht Club, Commodore Fuller was his name and he kept the inn for five years. After his wife passed away it was sold to the McClintock family who remodeled it and then later sold it to the Sterns family. For Martha Sterns, The Manor was her refuge. In 1912, Martha, then one of the Eustis sisters, was one of the many passengers aboard the Titanic when it sank. She also happened to be staying at the Fairmont Hotel when the fire and earthquake hit in 1906. One can only imagine how serene Castine must have seemed to her during those days when horse and carriage trails still were the main means of transportation.
In the dining room today sits a Grand piano that one of Innkeepers summer workers often plays. One of the songs that he plays happens to be from the Titanic soundtrack; what an interesting coincidence. When asked if he knew of the inn’s history, the Innkeeper thought that he didn’t. This particular worker is from Romania, he and his girlfriend work doing odds and ends around the house in exchange for a place to stay and of course a stipend. In essence, they are boarders like the people who came to stay in the 40’s only of a different kind. Of course the Inn has been restored since then, and our guests here enjoy a unique mixture of past history and modern comfort. On a usual day here, I sit by the phone taking reservations, mailing out confirmations and generally watching over the place. Weddings are often held here and they can be a lot of fun. Generally speaking, they have a certain rhythm to them, clicking in time with the old grandfather clock here that chimes on the hour. Wedding parties are encouraged to serve cocktails first and then proceed with their own wedding plans.
All this being said, by about mid-July, I began to feel at home with the rhythm of the place. Perhaps, this is why I found it particularly amusing when my assignment to write about a concert seemed to come right to me. I arrived at work at twelve thirty and like any other day I prepared to check people in. I knew that a wedding party was coming; but knew little about the group. I couldn’t believe my eyes when the first guest checked in dressed up in a pirate costume. I kid you not, he was decked out and looked a lot like Blackbeard complete with the hemp pieces tied into his beard. Out at sea, the real Blackbeard used to light those on fire to scare those salty individuals he planned to conquer.
“Argh,” he said with a twinkle in his eye as he checked in.
Then sure enough, one by one, two by two they all began to check in. Some in costume, some in a rush to get into costume in time for the scavenger hunt they had planned for the evening. They wore bright colors matching their boisterous personalities. The women wore a lot of red and black. It was difficult to figure out at first who the bride was to be would be because she was dressed up like the rest of them. Then, in addition to all the clatter in waltzed a band to accompany them in the living room. The band consisted of a couple of fiddle players and a couple of violinists. These string instruments the backbone of the mini orchestra, singing out bold sea shanties and ballads. These were the instruments that were once found aboard Navy ships in the 16th century; tonight they bring history to life. Sea shanties are old work songs played aboard sailing vessels as the sailors work away hauling in lines. More often than not, the lyrics are chanted out loud rather than sung in harmony. The group of ‘pirate’ folk were not singing along with the musicians, rather they chose to clap occasionally, in between fierce belly laughs loud enough to rumble their way up the stairwell alerting the other guests that something rather unusual was going on in the living room. On man came down in a suit and tie and asked me politely how long I thought these pirate folk would be playing for. At the root of his question rested a certain leeriness that deserved an immediate answer. Perhaps he drove a great distance in hopes of securing a quiet little room of his own tucked away here at this historic Inn. I told him that they would be leaving for the scavenger hunt soon.
“Not to worry,” I said with a smile, as I spoke to the man, a child’s voice could be heard rising up over the music, then the voice of a crooning mother. The two are playing some sort of game involving knocking down a set of wooden dowels. The mother is encouraging the others in the group to head down to Fort Madison where the scavenger hunt is to begin. The clock quivers as it prepares to chime out the hour. A camera is left sitting alone on the table as these rascals file out, their voices muffled now as they move away, what a motley crew. The doors creaks open and slams several times. They are gone now and their music spins me closer to a place and time long past, or has it really?
Delicate sounds climb effortlessly now up the stairwell, soft mumblings and the ticking of the clock. As these soft sounds dissolve like mist hovering over the horizon line, the sun sinks lower and lower now as evening sets in.