We arrived at last, in style, and one hour early thanks to Virgin Atlantic, after a six-hour layover in Hong Kong that had Peter scouring the airport for more medicine for my ‘flu symptoms. I’d finished my antibiotics, but being cooped up from Brisbane in an air conditioned tube did little to alleviate the misery. However, once on the onward flight, and after a little brow-soothing from the flight attendants, I was surprisingly fit after the long leg to London’s Heathrow airport where we were met at dawn by our good friend who whisked us away to Hampshire on almost-deserted roads.
The sun was shining and the not-so-familiar English countryside was looking dry, for rain had not fallen in any useful amounts for more than a month. We holed up for two days, sinking into slumber from time to time to combat the jet-lag, and forayed to Winchester to see friends for lunch before our appreciative thanks and temporary goodbyes, as Cornwall was calling loudly.
Advice came rolling in. ‘Don’t take that road, there’s roadworks…’ ‘We’d NEVER think of driving to Cornwall on a Saturday…’ ‘If you leave early, you might make it by the afternoon…’ So there we were, itinerary in hand to be obeyed, and we’re hitting one of the worst holiday traffic days of the year – the last week of school holidays, and ‘changeover’ day in Cornwall! There are just two roads into and out of the county, but as it happened, the journey went without incident, and it was with joy that we stopped for tea with my brother – and to make arrangements for later, too – and headed much deeper west into the pointy bit on the map, to stay with dear old friends in their newly-renovated beautiful home by the sea, just a short stroll down the lane to the coast path, the village church and its ancient churchyard.
We went into Falmouth and took a ferry across to the other side of the Fal estuary, and went to a famous old pub near to Land’s End with other Cornish friends for a birthday lunch, where Red Bear insisted on getting up close and personal with the local cows. The sun still shone and it was getting hotter every day. The ‘UK’ suitcase I packed bore clothes too warm, so I found myself having to open the one saved for our cruise in the tropics, to find cooler, lighter clothes to wear. Three days later we said our sad and reluctant farewells, with a tear in our eyes, and with just two more stops in Cornwall to visit our long lost neighbours, and an overnight with my brother, we Crossed the famous Tamar bridge, proudly and boldly signed with Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s date of 1859 and still in use as a railway bridge today, linking Devon and Cornwall (or, as the Cornish will have it, Cornwall to England!)
After an overnight with ex-Noosa friends and one of my ex-writing colleagues (who’s just finished her novel at 170,000 words or thereabouts and puts mine in the shade!) we drove to our final destination in rural Essex – an old cottage in the grounds of an even older rectory where we were met with exuberance by the owner. We have the run of the abundant vegetable gardens, greenhouse, swimming pool and tennis court. All of the above compensates for the ‘rusticity’ of the converted stables where we’re living. The grandchildren have been to visit many times, we’ve had a BBQ and shopped for all of our favourite food, and yesterday we did the local town centre shops in Colchester – one of the oldest cities, if not THE oldest city, in England. We’ve found the best Gastro Pubs and met the landlords and some of the locals. We have the owner’s dogs wander in an out of our cottage at will, to say hello. Still no sign of rain, and the walks down ‘our’ lane reveal hedgerows with millions of plump ripening blackberries – just right to go with the apples in the garden.
I can feel a blackberry and apple pie coming on!
