Two Go on a Summer Holiday

It is 6.45 in the morning. Hair dripping wet from my shower, I am walking my dog through the waking woods. I see dogs – and their owners – I never usually see at the more civilised time I generally walk. The world is hushed and there is good reason for me to be here: I am going on my holidays – for one day!

An hour later, senior rail card in hand, I am waiting with my friend for the 07.50 Great Western Train to St. Ives, following, so the big posters on the walls of the station tell us, in the footsteps of the Famous Five. Three hours later again, laughing at ourselves for being old biddies in sun hats, eating our snacks and drinking tea from our flasks, we are sitting on soft golden sand, watching boats bob on the dark blue waters of the harbour.

And breathe.

Breathers

There is something to be said, I think, for taking breathers. If I were to fly over the landscape of my life, I would see a lot of love and a lot of sadness – mine and other people's. I would see good old trees and people dying in hospice beds. I would see cups of tea, the kindest friends and lonely suppers. I would see my daughter and her family a thousand miles away across sea and land, bridged to me by joy and longing. In the distance I would hear bombs causing misery and destruction and see the glow of ancient forests burning and I would remind myself yet again: keep my heart open, keep loving what is in front of me, this is what I can do.

There is nothing inherently wrong with my landscape, in fact I think of it as blessed, but a few weeks ago, I felt the need for a shaft of sunlight, a fountain of refreshment, in short, a change of scene. St Ives has inspired artists for many years and though sadly the paintbrush and I do not have much affinity, I can appreciate the skills of others and the colours which saturate their landscapes. I also found myself deeply appreciating the craftswomanship of misty glass vessels, so delicate as to be almost ethereal, and the organic shapes of ceramics and jewellery inspired by sea and rock.

We spent over 3 hours in the Tate Gallery, half of it following the life long enquiry of an artist through the realms of science and poetry, mythology and spirituality, in paper and ink, acrylic and light, puppetry and sound. The other half we spent in the cafe, overlooking the vast stripes of sky, sea, surf and sand.

Later, I paddled, we walked, ate ice cream, walked some more, rested in an open church and finally – got to be done at the sea side – finished the day with fish and chips on the beach. 12 hours after we had alighted the train in Devon, we began our return journey.

“I feel as if we've been on another planet,” my friend said, as we drove back into our village. In a way, I suppose we had, one where our worries, our work, our responsibilities hadn't come with us. We could look back at our worlds from a distance with new perspective and ask questions. What do I want to embrace in my life? Where can I not breathe easily? What is tired, done, ready to be put down? Maybe it's an attitude, or a relationship, or one of the many 'shoulds' in my life.

Inspiration

When I finally arrived home, my sleepy old dog brought me my slippers. He'd had a lovely day of his own, treated and petted, walked and snuggled by my kind friends. And today, the day after the day before, I can ponder my questions, breathe the ozone and indescribably turquoise sea into my sadness; breathe the companionship of a friend and easy laughter into my loneliness; breathe in, literally be inspired by, possibility, both at my feet and on that beautiful horizon.

With my love

Nickie

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