This is the last
blog before we move back to the South Hams of South Devon. We shall
be sad to leave as we have loved living in such a remote and quiet
place – and we shall be sorry to leave the wild life that we have
attracted into the gardens. We can but pray that the next people to
live here will want to nurture them or, at the very least, leave the
wild bits around the ponds as untidy as they are at present. This is
a state of affairs that would shock any self-respecting gardener but
would appeal greatly to anyone who is as nutty about the natural
world as I am.
I have never
actually seen the herons that pop in catch any of our frogs (which is
not to say that it doesn't happen) and so have no photographs of such
an event. I fear this cartoon will have to suffice. The caption is
“Never, ever, give up!”
Having said that we
are sorry to leave, I should add that we are excited to be going back
to the area which we both think of as home. I suppose the centre of
our lives will once again be the lovely town of Totnes which, and
this is becoming quite important, has a railway station. No doubt we
shall be looking in at places such as Salago and Effings (both
mentioned in the books) as well as some of the hostelries where we
shall be meeting old friends for coffee or a drink. At the bottom of
Fore Street is the Seven Stars where Marcia and her family stayed.
They always sat at the big round table in the dining room and, there
being two parents and five girls, they became know as “the seven
stars”. Quite right, too.
Totnes is connected
to Dartmouth by the river. This river has been important throughout
my life and for much of Marcia's, I learned to swim in the boat float
at Dartmouth (would you be allowed to do that now?) and to row and
handle a sailing boat on the river itself. Marcia and I have owned
three boats which we kept on the river which we have thoroughly
explored from outside the mouth right up to the weir just up the
river from Totnes. Hattie's Mill owed much to these jaunts.
Apart from the fact
that we lived on Dartmouth for a while shortly after we were married,
we have both known it for ever. My mother was born there (in what is
now the hotel associated with Dartmouth Marina) and my father arrived
when his father became the Borough Engineer for the town just after
the first world war. It was in the Royal Castle overlooking the boat
float that I enjoyed the last drink I had with my father shortly
before he died.
A rather odd thing
happened the other day. I was sorting through things (as you would
expect) when I came across a membership card for the South Hams
Society. It told me that I became a life member about forty years
ago. I had completely forgotten this. It was formed to protect and
enhance the natural beauty and heritage of the South Hams – which
is something I agreed with then and still do. In those days the
society was busy planting hundreds of primroses along the lanes. Now
these are well established and we are able to reap the benefits of
all that hard work. They are even more active now: tomorrow they are
organising an event to clean up the West Charleton beach and the have
another eight events planned during the next few months. Reading the
list of the present committee members I have to confess that I
recognise not one – and I am sure they have forgotten all about me,
too. I might pop along to one of their meetings just to repair that
connection.
Now I must return
to the packing while Marcia, who will be at Chagford Library this
afternoon (an event planned long ago), is getting ready to meet some
of her readers.
