Day 1 – Saturday, 12th May 2018
It felt strange to be
packing for two very different holidays back to back, but the day had finally
arrived. I woke up early with a sense of joy at having a fortnight off – ending
with a bank holiday Monday, no less!
In
a couple of hours, final packing checks done, I set off to the station to head
into central, and then on to Paddington. On the first train, going to Waterloo,
I spied an advert – it was for British Airways but it rang true for me too,
‘Two weeks of sheer, unadulterated fun. We take it very seriously.’ I couldn’t
agree more!
I
arrived at Paddington, and the holiday mood hit me – I was suddenly surrounded
by likeminded people, all dressed casually and ready for their various
holidays. There was an almost tangible sense of optimism and anticipation. Having correctly predicted the platform
number (3), I boarded my 10:03 train to Plymouth.
The
train eventually arrived at Plymouth on time, just after one, and once I’d said
hello to Dad and Moses, we started off to Polruan.
Once we arrived at
the cottage, our home from home, the feeling of being back at Hoe took some
time to sink in. As I helped unload the car, Moses rolled around on the lawn,
evidently recognising our location. And what beautiful weather we had!
Gradually, as I
walked through the house, I noticed subtle changes. The armchairs had been
changed, the painting above the hearth was no longer a forest scene but a tree
in a garden or field. I was glad to see my lady was still there on the back
wall – a figure I’d grown fond of. Perhaps the most striking change was in the
bathroom – the bath was gone, and now a glass-fronted shower cubicle stood,
making the room feel very modern and open-plan. Though I appreciated the need
for modernity, I was sad to think the times of relaxing in the tub were over,
and our familiar surroundings were becoming less so.
Throwing a new toy
for Moses (a ‘Nerf Dog’ toy), I sat outside on the bench and started by new Daphne
du Maurier biography, which you may recall I bought last year. I was hooked
from the start, unsurprisingly these days, before I came in for dinner (and tea
and Welsh cakes). I would be going to a talk in Fowey later – my first festival
event, with John Nettles (star of Bergerac
and Midsomer Murders).
Before that we faced
a slight problem – the black bag we thought contained bed linen actually
contained rubbish. So, in desperate hope of rectifying the situation, I rushed
out early to the cottage offices. Predictably, they were locked, so I popped a
note through the door and gave them a phone call. Problem solved.
Onwards to St
Fimbarrus Church to hear John Nettles. Despite arriving at quarter pasts seven
for an eight o’clock start, the church was packed. I found a space next to a
local lady, Carol, and her husband Malcolm. Scanning the pews, it was quite
possible I was the youngest in there, alas.
John spoke about his
career, from his beginnings in the Royal Shakespeare Company alongside Judi
Dench and Patrick Stewart, to Bergerac
and Midsomer Murders. He amused us
with his anecdotes about the Queen watching Midsomer
– ‘I wouldn’t want to live in Midsomer’ (to which came the reply, ‘No ma’am,
you’d be dead’) – and how the French dubbing made his character sound sexy,
raising the French ratings dramatically. I laughed at the thought that the
Russians were such keen fans of Midsomer
Murders purely because they thought it typically British, and a
documentary. Slight confusion. He ended with his own insights into the
occupation of the Channel Islands in World War 2, referring to his most recent
book, stemming from his time filming Bergerac
on location there. There were stories of such cruelty and brutality, but it
felt good to be enlightened, particularly as I’m no historian.
On returning to the
house I made up the beds and settled down to write this account, whilst
wondering what tomorrow had in store – not least Mum’s arrival.
Day
2 – Sunday, 13th May 2018
Looking
back over the day, it has been lazy and restful, free from festival activities
(our next such day would be Thursday, but that’s a way off).
Dad
and I started off by going to the church service in Fowey, at eleven. As I read
over the service sheet, I rather surprisingly noticed that one of the songs,
‘Through all life’s sorrows and despairs’, came from Christ Church Mayfair – we
sang it occasionally in London. After speaking to the minister, Philip de
Grey-Warter, I discovered he knew Richard Coekin, Rupert Standring and the
Co-Mission network. So their influence reaches to deepest Cornwall. It’s a
small world! (There was even a brief plug for a recent book published by the
Good Book Company, making it feel just like London again!) The sermon was an
exposition of 1 Corinthians 15:50-58, reminding us of our calling to share the
gospel, and reinforcing my quiet time in Romans 1.
Afterwards
we went to the Lugger for lunch, where we met Mum, who’d recently arrived. We
enjoyed a roast lunch together and good conversation.
The
weather was beginning to turn cooler as Mum and I headed back up to the cottage
(Dad having left earlier), so the idea of a walk with Moses was off the table.
Instead we settled on relaxing with our respective books, but were soon
snoozing, having lost interest. Meanwhile Moses was restless and finding it
difficult to settle.
Later
on, realising that reading was too much effort, I put on a Midsomer Murders to pass the time. However, this didn’t last long
as Mum suggested we make the most of the now bright and sunny weather – it
seemed a shame to let it pass us by. So we sat outside and took up our popular
pastime of cards – Rummy, with our family rules.
Seven
o’clock was now approaching, and having just lost at cards, I thought it good
to change our focus. Mum wanted to catch the final of Young Musician of the Year 2018, so we tried watching it live as we
sat outside. However, when it started buffering every few minutes we thought it
better to turn on the TV set, and somewhat reluctantly returned inside. The
next couple of hours were passed in enjoyment of music (cello, saxophone and
piano) – I was amazed at how fast the young pianist, Lauren, could play, and
for memory. It came as no surprise when se was awarded the trophy.
After
a TV dinner, I rounded off the night with the conclusion of my earlier episode
of Midsomer, although my
concentration at this point wasn’t great, and I found myself dropping off.
Having
written this brief account it is time for bed. Tomorrow will start off with a
guided walk round Bodinnick, as we return once more to the world of literature
and arts. Until then.
Day
3 – Monday, 14th May 2018
This
morning Mum and I set off for our first festival event together, the ‘Bodinnick
Byways’ walk, where we discovered something of the little known past of this
ferry port village – somewhere we had only ever passed through on our way round
on the Hall Walk.
It
was Mum’s thinking that driving to Bodinnick would be preferable to walking,
and having to pay to cross two ferries. However, when we arrived, we discovered
the problem of parking – not enough roadside space and a very steep incline.
Consequently the effort of reversing the car up the hill resulted in smoke and
a strong smell of burning rubber – something we would have to address later.
After
starting off with tea and cake in the familiar Old Ferry Inn, we walked across
the road to St John’s church. After the second world war, for want of a place
of worship, these stables were converted into a church, though you wouldn’t
necessarily realise it at first. For the first service, people had to bring
their own chairs!
Although
our guide, Helen, went into a lot of detail about the history of Bodinnick, for
the sake of this account, we walked onto the Hall Walk, through Hall Farm
(avoiding the bull), and appreciated the ruins of Hall Chapel. Helen then
concluded our tour as we looked across to Ferryside, Daphne du Maurier’s old
house, sharing some of her family history and her own claim to fame as Jane
Slade’s great granddaughter (Jane Slade being the inspiration for Janet Coombe
in Daphne’s The Loving Spirit). Also
worth noting was that during the war, Ferryside, previously a shipyard,
launched just one warship, rather amusingly named HMS Primrose.
As
I said, there’s much more I could share, but time is against me, so I shall
endeavour to record these interesting facts elsewhere. Mum and I had a very
enjoyable morning, and we both learned a lot.
Next
on our day’s agenda was getting the car sorted – Mum was convinced it was a
clutch problem. After driving to a ‘garage’ (we had given a lady, Skye, a lift
up Polruan to this garage earlier on) to find that it was actually a ‘garage
rental’ place, we headed over to Fowey to find a place that had offered to help
us. However, we couldn’t find the right turning and ended up driving towards St
Austell, much to our frustration. As it happened, after asking around, we wound
up at a proper garage in nearby Par, where the cause of the problem was
revealed. However, they were unable to fix it.
Reassured
that this was a problem that could wait for a week, we left – Mum headed back
to the cottage, and I spent the afternoon in Fowey, making the most of not
having Moses with me.
After
going hat shopping, I made my way to the yacht club (festival bookshop) for a
bite to eat and a chance to relax with my book. I also added The King’s General to my collection.
Pleasantly, Laura, the girl behind the bar, recognised me from last year (now promoted
to bar manager), and I settled down on the terrace with a lime and lemonade and
a bowl of chips prepared especially! There was something about being out by
myself which I relished, and still having the whole week ahead of me, I began
to feel positive and at ease. Time was passing pleasingly slowly.
That
said however, I wanted to return to the cottage before my next event at six, so
after an hour or so of my book I decided to move off back to Polruan.
At
about quarter past five I left for my event, a talk by Cornish wildlife
cameraman Ian McCarthy. Due to the busyness of the passenger ferry, I couldn’t
get on immediately, and waiting for another ferry, with the clock ticking on,
meant it was very difficult finding seats on arriving at the church. Others
were in a similar predicament, so we were encouraged to bunch up together – I
sat next to Jane, a retired nurse, and Lynne.
We
watched a very personal documentary with some close up footage of peregrine
falcons, kingfishers and bats (amongst other wildlife) and shared in some of
Ian’s experiences. It was a fascinating and captivating film, but without seeing
it for yourself, my comments would lose their significance. It is enough to say
I enjoyed it hugely.
Before
returning I bought some fish and chips (after failing to buy some in the Indian
restaurant – I tell you it was listed under ‘English comfort food’, honest!),
and caught the next ferry over. It was rather cold by now, and I had envisaged
spending the last hours writing my journal and formulating the wording for my
postcards, which I had bought earlier, with various people in mind. However,
due to the now late hour the postcards will have to wait till tomorrow, when I
can better focus.
Tomorrow
sees a Rebecca walk in the morning
and the concert in the evening – alas, no scratch choir this year.
Day
4 – Tuesday, 15th May 2018
This
morning was different to the morning I had originally envisaged. Shortly after
finishing my account last night I researched the meeting place for today’s Rebecca walk, and discovered Hambland’s
car park was actually rather further inland than I realised, and inaccessible
by public transport. Realising that the event would require an early start and
a mid-afternoon finish I decided to send an email to the festival office saying
I would unfortunately have to drop out – I hadn’t considered logistics enough.
This morning I got a call, but not recognising the number I ignored it and
turned my phone to silent. It turned out to be Helen, our guide from yesterday,
offering to give me a lift. By the time I realised this it was far too late,
and I’d resolved to do our usual Hall Walk with Mum and Moses (I hadn’t done it
yet this holiday, and figured Moses would enjoy it). This was a family holiday,
after all.
As
Mum and I left for the walk, I really hoped I’d made the right decision,
particularly as I had come so close to going. I felt disappointed that the Rebecca walk would have to wait for
another year at least. But I had made my decision, and there was nothing more
to be done. I resolved to enjoy the Hall Walk.
As
we walked, Mum and I made conversation, talking about the usual things –
relationships coming up as expected, with a sigh.
Moses
loved the walk, and I slowly came to appreciate it too, noting how beautiful
and familiar it was – and to think if I was over with the others, I’d miss
this. We stopped at the bridge and later at our favourite bench, and enjoyed
our books and sausage rolls. By now I was rather absorbed in Daphne du
Maurier’s biography – she had just arrived in France.
Mum
felt much fitter this year, to her surprise, and we both knew the walk would do
us good. However we were puzzled that our walk, which we’d always taken to be
five miles, was perhaps only three. Oh well, it will always be five to us!
Wandering
through Fowey, we stopped off by the food trailer in the Lifeboat car park (as
I think of it), where I enjoyed Thai chili fish cakes – unusual yet delicious!
We
also popped in to Bella’s shop to say hi, before Mum headed off to the yacht
club and I took a browse in Bookends, the second hand book shop. I presented a
selection of ten Daphne du Maurier postcards at the till, but when I enquired
about whether I could drop off my old copy of Jamaica Inn, the shopkeeper agreed a trade, and I left the shop
without paying – how trusting people are. With a smile and a sense of
satisfaction I joined Mum at the yacht club.
After
a short continuation with our respective books, and cool glasses of lime, we
returned to the cottage, enjoyed dinner and prepared for the evening’s concert
– the choir and brass band concert in the church, ‘Music for a Royal Occasion’
– a sell-out, apparently. It was during this time that I finished writing my
postcards.
All
correspondence written and posted, we made it to Fowey and joined the long
queue outside the church. On entering, we found space on the rearmost pew,
which still offered a good view. On the whole it was an enjoyable concert, but
I found it hard to hear the words, particularly when the choirs sang alongside
the brass. Also, the rendition of ‘And So It Goes’ was not completely to my
taste, but I’m biased, singing it with my own choir in London, and already
having ideas of how I felt it should be done properly. Still, there were
rousing tunes like ‘Dambusters’, ‘I Vow to Thee My Country’, and ‘Amazing
Grace’, amongst others.
The
evening ended with a catch up of tonight’s Holby
City with Mum, before writing up this reflection.
What
will tomorrow bring?
Day
5 – Wednesday, 16th May 2018
Today
had all the makings of another lazy day. It was grey and damp outside, and Mum
and I were less keen on going on a long walk (Mum had originally suggested
going to Lansallos with Moses), than relaxing at the cottage with our books.
Admittedly, this made sense as tomorrow was a completely free day for us to be
more adventurous; this evening I had a few events.
Dad
disappeared out to Fowey on an errand, and so Mum and I took the opportunity to
share a quiet time in the Word, looking at the end section of Romans 1, and
thinking about being careful not to put other things before God. It was a
valuable time to reflect on our own personal walks, and pray together,
presenting our concerns to the Lord.
I
was keen to head over to Fowey myself to make good on my trade with the second
hand bookshop, so, Jamaica Inn under
my arm, I set out for the ferry – now slightly more expensive. While over in
Fowey I met with Dad, and we enjoyed a drink together in the yacht club.
Having
purchased a Cornish pasty and fabric conditioner (a delicious combination) I
made my way back to the cottage for lunch, leaving Dad to his own plans.
As
the afternoon passed by, Moses was showing signs of boredom – sulking in his
basket. I was about to put Star Trek
on, when Mum suggested we could walk Moses up to the headland. So we dressed up
and braved the rain, not actually as bad as all that. St Saviour’s Point
offered a postcard vista looking out to sea, although there wasn’t much
activity on the water.
The
first of my two festival events was ‘Rebecca at 80’, a talk with Dr Laura
Varnam, celebrating 80 years since Daphne du Maurier wrote this gothic tale.
After sharing her own thoughts and insights the floor was open to us to share
our own opinions and ask questions. I kicked off the discussion by observing
the ambiguity of the ending – considering the colour red was symbolic of
Rebecca, and the flames from the burning Manderley turned the sky crimson, who
had the final say? Looking around me, it was telling that I was the youngest
lad there. The majority of comments came from the older women. Still, I’m not
ashamed to say I enjoy the novel, and it was interesting to discuss it.
After
this event came the jazz evening in the church, for which Mum was rejoining me.
Unfortunately the singer, Annika, was unable to sing due to illness, so a top
saxophonist, Martin, was drafted in at the last minute. The event was a huge
success, and the proficiency of the musicians was something to admire – the
drummer and double bassist were returning faces from last year. Mum enjoyed the
evening, as did I, not least because the man sitting next to us thankfully
stopped tapping his foot (off beat) and making the whole pew shake.
Tomorrow
is a free day. Perhaps a trip to Lansallos, but that’s not a definite plan.
Weather and enthusiasm will play a big part in the ultimate decision, but I’ll
leave that for the morning.
Day
6 – Thursday, 17th May 2018
It’s
come to the end of another full day, and looking back, there’s plenty to talk
about.
The
main subject of the day was the walk to Lansallos, that Mum had originally
suggested yesterday. Setting off with Mum and Moses in the ‘other’ direction we
joined the coast path as it wound its way round Lantic Bay and later, Lanivet
Bay, stopping en route (at Martha’s bench) to enjoy our pasties and continue in
our books. Despite the walk from Polruan to Lansallos being only three miles as
the crow flies, the many hills made it feel much longer.
Our
aim was to get the bus back to Polruan once we’d reached the other end, however
time pressures meant we felt somewhat rushed to catch the ten past four bus (it
was four o’clock with another half mile to go). The next bus was at five fifty,
so we decided to take things at a more relaxed pace, also giving us a chance to
get our breath back!
At
Lansallos, Mum introduced me to Highertown Farm, where she’d camped with her
friend Vicky previously. There we found a bench and a table-tennis table, but
first I set an alarm so we didn’t miss our bus (the last one of the day).
While
I sat on the bench to read my book, Mum laid out on the grass to take a nap.
However, it wasn’t long before disaster struck(!) and Mum’s glasses broke in
half – accidentally crushed. Once a solution to this predicament had been found
(opticians and spare glasses) Mum took her mind off it by challenging me to
some table-tennis – much to the confusion of Moses, when the ball kept flying
off towards him. Mum taught me how to serve properly, and this kept us occupied
and entertained for the remaining time. I resolved not to be beaten, and was
busy perfecting my stroke when my alarm sounded to tell us we had ten minutes
before the bus. Just one more shot.
As
I took my shot, and then started to pack away our stuff, we heard a vehicle
driving up the road. To our surprise we saw the bus, five minutes early, drive
on past us without stopping. In vain we hoped it was the one going the other
way and that ours was running late, but after ten minutes more we considered
the worst. Mum popped across the road and asked the lady there for advice. She,
Debbie, said to give her five minutes and she would run us back to Polruan
herself – such a kind gesture. As we travelled we couldn’t help thinking it
ironic that we arrived almost two hours early for our bus, and ended up missing
it by five minutes!
We
said thank you at the top of Polruan and walked back to the cottage. The
evening was still reasonably young. After dinner I sat outside and played cards
– I won this game of Rummy, two rounds to one, making myself even with Mum over
this holiday. The decider would come another day.
Later
on we enjoyed my next Midsomer episode,
‘Blood Wedding’, which I only vaguely remembered. Of all the DVDs I’ve brought
along, it’s surprising to think I’ve only watched two episodes of Midsomer Murders this whole week – no Star Trek, no Doctor Who, no movies. But then, the sun has been too good to
waste.
With
memories of a full and tiring day, I sign off here. Tomorrow, the final day.
Day
7 – Friday, 18th May 2018
It
was a lazy morning – our last ‘proper’ morning in Polruan, sadly (we would be
going our separate ways tomorrow). As we contemplated what to do today, Mum
suggested heading over to Readymoney Cove at St Catherine’s Point, as we hadn’t
wandered in that direction yet this week. To give us some variation it sounded
great. We would leave at about midday, after Mum had managed some practice.
As
I waited to go out for the walk, I took the opportunity to continue my Romans
study. The teaching from Romans 2 showed us the dangers of living a life of
religiosity, and taught us to examine our own hearts when we felt tempted to
pass judgement on others – something that I am guilty of.
When
at last Mum, Moses and I headed out for our walk, we stopped first at the yacht
club for lunch – I enjoyed fish and chips. I was very glad to be sitting in the
shady part of the terrace, by the back wall, so we didn’t have to contend with
thieving seagulls – very brazen, as we observed. Mum and I made good progress
with our books (from my book, Daphne was now well settled at Ferryside), whilst
Moses grew restless under the table – wanting to continue his walk, most
likely.
In
due course we pressed onwards up the hill to Readymoney Cove, but on arriving,
and knowing the rules preventing dogs from going onto the beach, we found
limited space. What we really wanted was somewhere warm enough in the sun to
continue reading, but everywhere was instead rather chilly. When we noticed
that it was past three, and our evening festival event started at six (so we
would have to leave the cottage at five), we decided to avoid St Catherine’s
Point and make our way back over to Polruan. Thus, we could continue our books
in comfort.
This
evening’s event was a showing of the 2017 film adaptation of My Cousin Rachel, starring Rachel Weisz.
Though I’d seen it before, Mum hadn’t, so I was interested to hear her opinion.
Despite the somewhat uncomfortable pews (due to demand, we were now in the
church) it was hugely enjoyable to see it again, and compare it to both the book
and to the original black and white version which I’d seen over Easter. There
were some areas that strayed from the original writing, but on the whole it was
a good portrayal. After the showing, Dr Laura Varnam shared her insight and
opinions, including a particular look at West Horsley Place, the filming
location for the house scenes. Fascinating!
As
Mum and I left, just after eight thirty, we spoke briefly to Philip and Pam, a
couple who remembered us from last year. I also had to face that heartwrenching
moment as I became aware that I would be leaving Fowey for the last time this
year; the worst ferry trip as I remembered all our happy memories over the
week, knowing my time was up.
To
round off my final evening I settled down to watch Star Trek – at last! Moses sat with me as I watched, alone.
Though
I am looking forward to the week ahead, I am understandably sad that this week
has now come to its conclusion. Moses licked my hand affectionately, and I
realised it would be another long while before we would go out walking together
again.
But
life must go on, and so to bed.
Day
8 – Saturday, 19th May 2018
We
all knew this day would come. By the time I woke at seven Dad had already
packed up and left with Moses. I heard him moving around at six, but was too tired
to get up.
The
holiday feeling was fading fast, as I wandered through the now sparse rooms,
cleared of all signs of our time here. Most of all I missed Moses, usually
there to greet me, now doubtless riding in the car, with little comprehension
that I may not see him again for another year (if Christmas isn’t a Devon
affair).
Meanwhile,
while I reflected on times gone by, Mum was still sleeping – she has a busy evening
ahead. When she finally did wake she found a boiled sweet under the mattress cover,
not our doing, which gave the impression of a rather strange nosebleed, having
spread itself onto the sheets and pillowcases.
Anxious
to leave to get to her rehearsal in Plymouth (a concert tonight), Mum began to
lose patience with my rather slow packing (admittedly I had just stopped to do
some banking admin). In a frumpy mood I stormed outside, but after realising
that my last views from Hoe Cottage would be filled with anger and irritation,
I deliberately walked to the bench outside the lounge, sat and let the view take
my full attention for the final moment. I was at peace again.
I
raced to the office at the quayside with the keys and explained about the
boiled sweet predicament whilst booking for next year. Within ten minutes I was
back again and we were on our way to Plymouth. Farewell Polruan, dear little town.
We
arrived at St Andrew’s church at eleven thirty, and while Mum rehearsed with
Vicky and her other colleagues I made myself scarce, heading to the Hoe.
Finding a bench I continued my book, although the cool breeze gave the air a
bit of a chill. I wrapped my fleece round me, conscious that somehow I was the
only one wearing a jumper. Were people crazy?
Later
on, after a picnic lunch and more rehearsal time (I stayed in the church,
happily sitting at the back), all the musicians stopped for dinner, and five of
us (Mum, Vicky, Judy, Cecilia and myself) went across to the Chinese buffet.
This proved a perfect opportunity to get reacquainted with Cecilia,
particularly, a long time friend of our family, and goddaughter of my late aunt,
Ruth. She is my age (October) and is getting married next year, so plenty to talk
about, aside from her harp playing. We laughed as we commented on the all you
can eat buffet and the ice cream selection.
The
concert consisted of pieces by Fauré and Ravel (particularly Fauré’s Requiem),
and I got a seat near the front so as to see Mum clearly. Alas, I spent so much
time trying to understand the comments in the programme that I struggled to
appreciate certain parts of the music – although I recognised various movements
from Mum’s practising at the cottage. Deciding to ignore the comments of the
programme for the second half, I enjoyed the music much more! However, all that
said, I found it to be a very enjoyable evening.
However,
the day’s events weren’t over. Exercising my VIP status as ‘one of the team’ I
assisted with packing up the music stands. Mum offered to take my belongings to
the car, but rather than just taking my fleece, she mistakenly picked up a black
rucksack – this wasn’t mine. Frustratingly however, we only realised this error
once we’d arrived at Vicky’s in Totnes.
Instinctively
I sent a text to the mobile number printed on the owner’s diary. No reply. On
checking the bag more thoroughly we discovered his phone (ah!), chequebook,
travel cards, glasses and wallet. We had discovered that the owner, Mark,
worked at the Theatre Royal in Plymouth, but had no easy way of reaching him,
keenly aware that tomorrow was Sunday. Vicky suggested calling a number that
had tried to call his phone an hour ago (this after we unsuccessfully tried
calling the bank, too), and with a sigh of relief we heard him answer. He had
tracked his iPhone to Totnes (a function they all have, apparently) and was almost
with us. On his arrival at the house, far from being angry, he appeared
sympathetic and understanding of the error, although he wondered why he’d
brought his entire life with him this evening. Anyway, with panic over, and the
feeling that I couldn’t take Mum anywhere these days(!) I wrote this up before
retiring to my usual room at Vicky’s.
