Chapter Sixty Two – “One Year On: Back in Polruan (Part 1)”

Day 1 – Saturday, 6^th May 2017

                Looking back over the day, it has been a good start to the holiday, although the grey weather left something to be desired! As I write this, I am sat at the dining table at Hoe Cottage, with the dog at my feet. Let me reflect on how I got here.

                After an early rise at seven, I finished packing for my Cornish holiday. I had an extra bag to carry, with the graduation photo and frame for my parents, making the total up to four bags – I’ve never found it easy to pack light! At nine I started for the station, somehow managing to drag all my luggage along with me; I maintain that it’s the initial walk to the station that’s the hardest part of the whole journey. I was happier when I was well on my way to Paddington, and I could begin to rest.

                At about quarter to eleven I boarded the Plymouth train. After leaving my larger bags in the rack by the carriage door (out of sight – something that always makes me slightly uneasy) I found my seat, D24. I wondered who would be sitting next to me, and hoped a pleasant conversation might ensue (as has happened in the past). However, my companion was not a pretty young lady (as I had secretly hoped) or a kind, motherly figure, but a large, bald, heavyset man with the build of a rugby player/nightclub bouncer. He seemed to be something of a slave to his smartphone, checking his messages every few minutes, and as such, conversation was not forthcoming. However, I realised I was hardly one to judge, as Mum called to offer me a new phone (I recently smashed mine last Monday at the church away day). As it turned out however, neither model we discussed (the J8 or S7) was in stock, so my hopes were dashed. The rest of the journey passed in ‘silence’ (used loosely – my companion was now snoring heavily), and I arrived on time at two thirty.

                The drive to Polruan with Dad was smooth, and aside from the occasional missed turning, uneventful. Moses made a fuss of me as expected, and when we eventually got to the cottage he couldn’t contain himself any longer. Excitement at seeing me and being back in Cornwall was apparently too much, and he spent the first five or ten minutes running in circles on the lawn!

                Once the car was unloaded and the beds made up, the three of us (a boys’ outing, if you like) ventured off to the Russell Inn for a pint to see in the holiday week. The weather had not improved – it was now drizzling. Moses showed signs of restlessness, which we found hard to understand, but I put it down to the load of new experiences and holiday excitement. After about forty five minutes or so we headed back to the cottage. I wanted to catch Doctor Who and Casualty.

                As it happened, I was so muddled with all the various TV remotes that when the time came I couldn’t watch Doctor Who anyway – I had got the TV to work, but I just couldn’t change the channel. I didn’t much fancy Take Me Out, which was all I could get, so I turned the TV off, settling on iPlayer later. (I eventually changed the channel, but I still wasn’t totally sure how I did it. I managed to catch Casualty. The DVD function still eludes me though.)

                A relaxing evening passed, although Moses remained restless.

                Tomorrow would see the start of the Literary Festival events, with a book club review of The Scapegoat, before lunch at the Lugger. Mum would also be arriving that night at midnight.

                But for now, memories and anticipation mingled together, and I closed the day, pleased to be once more in Polruan, our home from home.

Day 2 – Sunday, 7^th May 2017

                This morning, being a Sunday, I was glad to spend time in quiet contemplation of the Word. Dad was already listening to a morning service on Radio 4, from Belfast, so I reflected on it as I enjoyed my bacon sandwiches. The theme was Jesus as the good shepherd, looking in part at Psalm 23. As the programme drew to a close we had a short moment of prayer, asking for God’s kindness to those on our hearts, and trusting that he hears us.

                At ten I left the cottage for the reading group meeting at the Fowey Hotel – my first festival event, and also my first time inside the grand hotel (which, I was later told, did the best lunches around, for a reasonable price). The subject was The Scapegoat, a 1957 novel by Daphne du Maurier. The meeting was led by Dr Laura Varnam, from Oxford (a returning presence at the festival, and so I discovered, a passionate du Maurier aficionado). As I had finished reading this novel following my second to last trip (probably 2015), I couldn’t resist coming along to add my thoughts. Laura was also pleased to see some younger faces – I was the youngest by quite a way. I sat next to a local lady called Chris. What fascinated me most about the group of people gathered to discuss, was the enormous variety in the publications of The Scapegoat brought along. Mine, a modern Virago edition from 2014, was somewhat dwarfed by older, hardback copies. I couldn’t help comparing the scene to a Bible study, where everyone would bring their own copy, ready to provide their own insight on a particular passage.

                Dr Laura asked us questions as to the significance of certain events in the novel. I realised just how complex the story was, and how intricate the personalities and characters were, as if they were real people with real histories (this was probably true in many respects, as du Maurier drew inspiration from her own family members and experiences).

                Throughout the discussion a phone would go off (the lady apologised profusely that she couldn’t turn it off); slightly distracting though I tried to ignore it. After a while, however, someone did the best thing – found the off switch!

                But I digress. I had always viewed the book as a story of one man taking on another’s identity (resignedly at first, but then prepared to kill for it by the end) so we gradually see his change in character. What Laura now suggested was whether the new persona was in fact another side of the man’s character, and not merely a façade. And who was the real scapegoat? At this point we got onto slightly theological grounds over the use of the language, and I got a glimpse into Daphne du Maurier’s own feelings on religion, and particularly the church and its view of sin – which, alas, she strongly disagreed with.

                Soon the hour passed, though there was probably a lot more to be said. As I went to say thank you to Laura, a familiar face introduced himself – Philip (and his wife Pam), who I’d met last year. They were off to another event, but I was returning to Polruan for lunch with Dad. Yes, I would’ve liked to have done more events, but I was aware that this was also a family holiday, and I was keen to strike a balance. After chatting with Laura about her final thoughts and her favourite works, I left, saying I’d see her tomorrow at her storytime.

                Prior to the reading group I had headed to the box office to get a refund on my tickets, as I had made a booking error online. Seven pounds richer, I wondered what novels were next for my reading list. From Dr Laura and the opinions of others at the group, I will probably put The Flight of the Falcon on my list.

                Roast lunch with Dad was a treat, and we made small talk about my work. Dad posed our waitress, Olivia, a question about melon and port (a winning combination, apparently) as she was studying catering. A strange question perhaps, but it made her smile.

                With time to spare in the afternoon, and no real plans, I decided to take Moses for the Hall Walk. He remained well behaved throughout, although he was rather shy when it came to certain people. Slightly scared by the Bodinnick car ferry, he prepared to hide behind me! Even though the sights and sounds (and smells) were all incredibly familiar, there was a feeling of freedom in walking alone with Moses. I spent time on ‘our’ bench, and reflected on life, before moving on.

                Walking back through Fowey, I remembered how things were on previous holidays – one shop was now another; staying in the Old Police House; relaxing at Pinky’s. I got all nostalgic. The dynamic would change when Mum joined me, from tomorrow. But it was nice to have time to myself, just for now. Before I returned on the passenger ferry I crossed paths with Jill, Anne and Eileen, who I’d seen last year. I hope to see them again over the course of the week. Time will tell.

                The evening was spent lazily, and Moses enjoyed a bone from dinner. The WiFi wouldn’t be fixed till tomorrow morning, so Doctor Who catch up would have to wait. There were already plenty of other things I could do. Hopefully I’d be awake to welcome Mum at midnight.

Day 3 – Monday, 8^th May 2017

                It’s late now, and I’ve just got back from a very enjoyable jazz evening. But more on that in due course. First, a quick run through of the rest of my day.

                Mum arrived around midnight, and after conversation (and much fuss from Moses) it wasn’t until one in the morning that I actually got to sleep.

                Today’s festival events (for me) weren’t due to start until two in the afternoon, so a leisurely morning was in store. Mum and I planned to take Moses on the Hall Walk at around ten, thus arriving in Fowey just in time for my first event – a talk on Castle Dor.

                Before we left, I gave Mum and Dad a gift, my graduation photo from Canterbury – a memento of a hard won diploma, and no doubt a source of pride. Mum commented that in the stage photograph I wasn’t looking at the Dean, rather smiling at the camera instead; I reassured her that I did remember to say thank you, and didn’t completely ignore him!

                The Hall Walk was enjoyable, and I valued the company from Mum this time round. I reflected that although there may be many lovely walks in this part of Cornwall, something about the old, familiar paths of this one just keep bringing us back, and there’s still nothing quite like it. Moses was thoroughly excited by the experience and was his usual energetic self throughout. As we stopped for a break at Pont (the halfway bridge) and I tucked in to my pasty, he occupied himself by running after every dog that came by, making a bit of a nuisance of himself – not that we minded!

                At Fowey we went our separate ways, as it was approaching two. Mum and Moses headed bac to the cottage, and I made for the talk on Castle Dor, by Polly Gregson – looking at Daphne’s experience of taking over Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch’s work. There was a lot of material, and Polly had certainly done her research. It posed the question whether it was right of Daphne du Maurier to have finished Q’s work, considering he never wanted it published. It was a brave endeavour, and helped Daphne develop as a writer. Upon closing, I asked the question about where Daphne actually took over Q’s writing, and was surprised at the answer, rather nearer the end of the book than I was expecting. However, Polly said she’d email me to clarify the point. Rather appropriately, the character Monsieur Ledru comments that “one’s work is always finished by another” (p.70).

                It was forty five minutes before Mum was due to return to the story time with Laura Varnam, so I spent the time browsing the box office bookshop, buying my latest du Maurier books. As well as The Flight of the Falcon I chose her biography (the festival caused me to think of her background) and The Glassblowers (either that or Mary Anne). I was undecided about a short stories collection, but I thought I’d wait until after Dr Laura’s reading.

                As it happened, the subject was not so much short stories, as last year, but Rebecca, as this was a theme of this year’s festival. As such, we were treated to extracts from Rebecca, and the author’s personal thoughts. I found it a bit hard to focus and sought a strong black coffee as soon as possible.

                This came with a light dinner in a cosy tea room, a new venture for us. As Dad wasn’t joining us, the two of us settled down to our light dinner – I had salmon and scrambled eggs (a win) – and conversation about topics ranging from work, to finances and politics. We were allowed to stay till closing. I enjoyed the chance to discuss the things on my mind, and benefitting from motherly wisdom.

                I stayed on for an evening of jazz, and Mum returned to the cottage. However, as I sat on the quay, passing time with my book, I suddenly realised I hadn’t got the ticket. I couldn’t phone Mum, as my phone had now practically ceased to send texts or calls, saying there was no coverage or signal, when there clearly was. I really needed a new phone, as much as I don’t like being dominated by technology.

                I needn’t have worried, as I got in to the concert with no trouble. The jazz event was in honour of Ella Fitzgerald, on her 100^th birthday (or thereabouts). The music was amazing, and I spoke to the bassist afterwards, asking how he played so fast (‘fingers like Tom and Jerry’) – a case of practice and feeling the music. He wished me a pleasant week, as I rushed off for the ferry, not wishing to be left behind.

                So, I’m back in my room. This concludes another full day. More music to come tomorrow, as Tuesday brings a choir rehearsal and an evening performance of my own…

Day 4 – Tuesday, 9^th May 2017

                Today was a musical day. After finishing writing postcards I left for the choral workshop with Andy Virr. I had particularly enjoyed this event last year, and was especially keen to participate this year as I was now part of a choir.

                On arriving at the church I met Patrick and Alan, with whom I had sung last year. As before, they were very glad to see me again, and I was happy not to disappoint. Andy also welcomed me back, and was very interested to hear that I was part of the NHS Choir, and had sung with Gareth Malone!

                Amongst the new faces were two American students, Claire (soprano) and Ellie (alto), visiting Fowey as part of a larger group, seemingly helping with the running of the festival in some way. I think I’d seen their group wandering around town yesterday. I was grateful for Ellie’s loud singing as we sang our first new song, The Lord is my Shepherd, as from The Vicar of Dibley – lost on our American friends. With no specific male parts, the altos and men were sharing a line for this. Our other songs was Drop Drop Slow Tears, having a reasonably simple tune. This was the only one we would be singing at this evening’s concert. Although, personally, I reckon we were almost there with The Lord is my Shepherd – perhaps Andy thought it would be too much, though.

                I said farewell to Andy and the others, as I left the church for an afternoon walk; Mum had just arrived with Moses.

                On our was through town we stopped by a children’s shop, where we saw Bella again – pur hostess on the couple of occasions that Mum and I had stayed at the Bed and Breakfast in Polruan, Hormond House, during our time without a dog (after Spring had gone). I was glad she was doing well, and seeing her reminded me of some happy memories, as she has a lovely house.

                Mum and I did the Hall Walk in reverse this time round, in keeping with the day’s events. We had lunch at ‘our’ bench, but it was at the bridge (Pont), that we really relaxed, reading our books. Moses let off a lot of energy, running after everything and doing his thing of digging in the stream, though I’m still unsure what he was looking for. After much growling, jumping and bounding around from Moses, we moved on, eventually returning to the cottage for a relaxing afternoon. We were all rather tired out.

                Dad couldn’t make it to the concert this evening, unfortunately, so I had a spare ticket going. On arrival at the church I asked about refunding for a ticket, pretending I’d bought it accidentally for myself, and was promptly given a tenner by a lady who effectively bought it off me!

                We, the scratch choir, were singing our piece after the interval, so I was able to sit with Mum for the first half of the programme. At our half time run through, my confidence fell however, as I lost my notes and struggled with the intervals. I hoped we’d sound alright, aware that we can be over critical of ourselves. When the time came, Andy mentioned that there was a member of the NHS Choir amongst the festival singers. No pressure then.

                As it happened, I think I misheard my starting note, but thankfully the others covered up well, so I wasn’t noticeable. For such a seemingly simple piece, I couldn’t help thinking that last year’s performance went much more smoothly. I think I may have panicked a bit tonight, but everyone was so kind! Now I was able to enjoy the rest of the evening, knowing my performance was done. But now I felt I may have become something of a minor celebrity. Watch this space.

                For now, a hot drink and a warm bed awaits.