Two sisters recently reinstated a charity walk we did regularly in the previous decade; no T-shirts or requests for money, we just paid to take part. The original walks started at the Hengistbury Head end of the promenade in Bournemouth and we walked to Sandbanks in Poole at the other end of the promenade. As it was for fun as well as charity, walkers could join and leave at any point. Along the way we stopped for morning coffee on Bournemouth Pier, lunch at Sandbanks and afternoon tea on the way back. Poole Bay claims seven miles of beaches, so in those pre Fitbit and smartphone days we probably walked about fourteen miles. We took all day, but talking you don’t notice the miles.
This time it was decided to start at Bournemouth Pier as everyone was older and it was the easiest point for everyone to get to on the bus from all over the area. It was such a nice day I walked from home in Southbourne, not quite the beginning of the prom. The cliff top was lovely with gorse in full bloom. Friends who couldn’t come donated money. How did we get on?
A busy sunny Saturday, everyone was out.
But DANGER lurked
The cliff is always falling down.
Coffee Break
Have we reached the end?
Yes, the very end of the promenade, but the Jazz cafe is too busy so we make a detour onwards to the promise of lunch…
…around Poole Harbour….
Well not all the way round…
Cafe in sight, but turns out it’s being renovated…
However, this is Sandbanks and a kiosk is selling designer sourdough sandwiches
Lunch with a view and some walkers get a lift home..
Four of us make it back to Bournemouth and disperse to our buses after a cup of tea. I round off my pix with a walk to the end of the pier, but don’t linger as a strong easterly wind has sprung up. With my high tech devices and a note book, my phone tells me 12.7 kms were covered on the main walk and my Fitbit notched up eight and a half miles. I walked 18 kms since leaving home, or nearly ten miles since getting out of bed. Not quite the marathons of celebrities, but we raised enough money to share between two local charities.Thanks to Brenda and Sheila for organising the walk.
Looking towards home
Have you been on any interesting, dangerous or even totally insane charity walks, runs or climbs?
It was Tuesday 14th April, only two weeks to go until the start of the new thirteenth month; it had not been an April Fool’s joke. In the USA plans and celebrations were well under way to welcome Trumpril, the new late spring month.
In Israel it was 10 Nissan Anno Mundi 5785, in China it was Ding Wei Day, Geng Chen month, Yi Si year, Year of the Snake. Other lands were waking up to 9, Shawwal, AH 1446…
There were few countries who were well organised or willing enough to change to the new Trumpian calendar in such a short amount of time. In truth many were saying to themselves, whose idea was it anyway to start using the Gregorian calendar in the first place?
In Britain it was 3025 and soon time to celebrate renewal at Pink Moon. The return to the Druid calendar had been the subject of much discussion. Brexiteers and atheists alike took some pleasure in dismissing a calendar that was a European construct and classic example of the church telling everyone what to do. The Prime Minister reminded the people of the United Kingdom that they had already celebrated Ostara, the spring equinox, so there was nothing strange about the Druid Calendar.
The Druids had been a little uncertain, or felt no need to put a date on creation, so after consultation with experts from such Radio Four programmes as ‘The Infinite Monkey Cage’ and ‘More or Less’, a Cabinet meeting was held. It was decided the easiest way to work out the year the Druid calendar started was to round it up to the nearest thousand years. While BBC Verify were still checking out the facts, the Prime Minister had already announced that Westminster would be moving to Stonehenge. The Chancellor confirmed this would save a great deal of taxpayers’ money as Stonehenge needed less repairs than the Houses Of Parliament.
Joy had news for our art group, she had her new bus pass… at the age of eighty.
We all had something to say.
About time too, wouldn’t be without mine.
Why did you wait so long. I am looking forward to getting mine, but I’ve got to wait another thirty years.
Are you serious, you have never been on a bus?
‘Unless you count being born on one.’
Our imaginations went into overdrive…
‘At least my mother used to say You must have been born on a bus every time I left a door open.’
Buses have doors these days Joy, the Routemaster has been out of service for twenty years.
Our group varied in age and athletic ability and conversation progressed to discussion of various forms of transport from bicycles to E-scooters and back to cars and buses. Joy was joined at the hip to her car, but it transpired that Joy and the car had both failed their MOT.
‘I didn’t say I was actually going to go on a bus, the bus pass is just in case.’
You must at least have a go.
We all had bus stories, Mandy was expert at manoeuvring her double buggy and six shopping bags on board and I exclaimed how lucky she was to have floors that lowered and space to park. No folding up McClarren buggies for her. Maggie’s bus journey to the hospital to have her baby was equalled by Ron’s travelling from Land’s End to Berwick upon Tweed, using only his bus pass.
The next day I stood at the bus stop with Joy. She had reluctantly agreed to a trial run with moral support. We were at the second stop at the beginning of the route so Joy would be eased gently into the experience. The sunny spring day belied a sharp east wind and I prayed we wouldn’t have to wait long, having told Joy we had two frequent routes to choose from.
‘Why are we going into town, aren’t all the shops closing down?’
‘Not all of them, anyway that’s where the bus goes.’
‘How long do we have to wait?’
‘Not long, look at the bus ap on my phone, you can see the bus coming up the hill.’
Joy peered at my phone screen, failing to see the tiny toy bus shaped arrow moving along the map. We were so busy looking, a bus sailed by before I had a chance to put my hand out.
I always have my bus pass safely in my pocket, ready to produce immediately I’m on board. I hadn’t thought to prepare Joy for the operation. The next bus soon came along, but she spent five minutes fumbling in her handbag for her purse, then five minutes fumbling in her purse for her bus pass. It would have to be that grumpy driver.
I always head straight for the back half of the bus, or better still, upstairs on a double decker, smugly glad I don’t yet have to sit in the front seats with their little signs ‘Please offer these seats to elderly or disabled passengers’. Not actually forbidden so Joy happily plonked herself down in the front seat. I tried to tactfully urge her further back.
‘What was wrong with those seats?’
‘They’re for the elderly and…’
‘How old do you have to be, I’m a pensioner.’
‘But a spritely one, it’s only your eyes that failed the MOT.’
She crossed over the aisle and pulled down a folding seat.
‘The elderly won’t be wanting these ones.’
‘We can’t sit there, that’s the space for wheelchairs and prams.’
‘At least you didn’t make me go upstairs.’
Fortunately the bus soon started filling up with baby buggies, walking sticks and crutches to prove my point.
‘Goodness, how many more walking wounded are coming on board, oh surely she’s not allowed on board with that!’
A lady in a large designer motorised wheelchair/scooter contraption had just about made it up the ramp the driver had put down for her, but it looked as if she was also having her maiden bus trip. Grumpy bus driver set off looking firmly ahead, ignoring the fact that the embarrassed woman was having great trouble manoeuvring into the permitted space. Her face flushed with embarrassment, she pressed buttons and moved a few inches in each direction, ramming a passenger next to the aisle. Her ensuing panic resulted in her being firmly wedged in, preventing anyone getting on or off. I looked across the aisle at the emergency door and back to the window next to Joy, where a sign said In Emergency Break Glass with Hammer. Iwondered where the hammer was.
One passenger did get on and manage to squeeze by, or rather climb over the poor woman. To my horror it was our local ‘character’ Davo. We locals did not need to use the politically incorrect descriptions that came to mind with Davo. Just the mere mention of his name ‘Davo was in the shop’ or ‘Davo came up to our table in the restaurant’ was enough to illicit sympathy and horror.
‘Joy’ I whispered urgently ‘do not look that chap in the eye.’
Unfortunately he started talking in that bellowing voice of his to a young chap behind us, who obviously knew how to wind up Davo for entertainment. That’s when the baby, who had been sleeping peacefully strapped to his mother’s chest, started crying. By this time we had arrived at the stop planned for our disembarking, handy for the few shops in town that hadn’t closed down. It turned out the wheelchair was literally jammed and the driver was radioing his base for help. Luckily it transpired that Davo was an expert at smashing windows and opening emergency doors and the driver couldn’t reach us to stop him.
It was a long way down, but Davo helped us descend, albeit in a rather undignified manner, bellowing ‘Age before beauty’ before assisting the young mum and other passengers.
Once safely on the pavement, Joy tapped into her phone. ‘Thanks goodness my nephew put the local taxi number into my new phone.’
The White House has just announced changes to the Gregorian Calendar, the calendar most people are familiar with. President Donald Trump stated that it was time it was tidied up. From now on all months will be 28 days long as they were originally intended, marking the cycle of the moon. Thus it is now 6th April. The 29 spare days will become the thirteenth month which will be named Trumpril and follow April. When asked by a reporter how he justified causing a great deal of confusion he replied ‘If Pope Gregory could change the Julian calendar in 1582 without upsetting Julie what’s the problem changing to the Trumpian calendar?’
A BBC expert explained what these changes will mean. ‘Leap year has been cancelled, it was always considered to be unfair for those born on the 29th February. They will join all the people born on 29th, 30th and 31st of any month who will no longer have birthdays. BBC Verify is checking the facts and figures, but has already confirmed that April Fool’s Day has been cancelled.
The Ham Hub writers had decided to have something new to focus on, an exercise for fun, creating a fictional community. Each writer to bring along two or three characters and let them interact with each other. The setting to be remote and rural, between the wars so they would have no mobile phones or ready means of communicating with the outside world.
Charlotte enjoyed the task, a break from writing her novel about Lottie. She tried not to make it anything like Hambourne, though she couldn’t resist adding water. When it was suggested she go first she thought that would be easy, her plot could not clash with anyone else’s if they had not been revealed.
Ellie decided to take the towpath back to the farm, relishing the peace and freedom before returning to all her chores at home. Ellie was happy to volunteer to take newly laid eggs and milk to old Widow Brown in her tumbledown cottage. Mother said they had to be nice to her as she had lost both her sons in the war. It had been a busy morning as she had also taken a hearty breakfast to Tommy One Arm in the barn. Her father took pity on any tramps who had been soldiers in the war, especially those maimed or disfigured and unlikely to find work. Father called them all Tommy; there had been One-Eyed Tommy, he was a bit scary till you got used to him. Tommy One Leg had been a joker and popular locally as he could fix anything. Tommy One Arm was very quiet except when he was having a funny turn, which Father said was shell shock. He wore a hat and scarf all the time, only Mother and Father had seen his face properly as Tommy was very good at reading the difficult dusty old books that had been great grandfather’s. He read to their parents after the children were all in bed. Ellie hoped this Tommy would stay. Father never made them move on, but they often got restless and there would come a morning when the barn was empty. Ellie felt sorry for this Tommy, he wouldn’t be able to get married if he had to keep his face covered all the time and he didn’t seem to have any relatives to go and live with.
It was such a lovely morning Ellie skipped along the tow path…
‘Hang on, is that by the river or a canal?’
I don’t know, that’s why I just put tow path.
…thinking how good it was to be fourteen and never have to go to school again. She had not thought beyond leaving, though of course her parents had. Going to work as a maid at a big house far away
‘Hang on, in mine, it’s The Big House nearby so the characters can be tenant farmers.’
‘and have somewhere to work’ added someone else.
Okay, no problem, at the Big House nearby or to be a shop girl in town…
‘What town, thought they were isolated.’
That’s why she doesn’t want to work in town, too far away.
…were suggested, but she did not want to leave home and why should she when her big brother stayed on the farm. She had quickly found out that working at home was a lot harder than school. Helping her mother with the endless cooking and looking after the little ones, feeding the pigs and hens and milking the cows. But Father had promised her she could take the pony and trap to market. She loved Lucky the best in the family. He was called Lucky because he had been a colt when the war came and was not taken away to go to France. Ellie and Lucky had grown up together.
As Ellie wandered along picking spring flowers and watching out for the Kingfisher she was startled to hear a man’s voice.
‘I thought we were setting it in winter?’
‘No, it was autumn.’
‘It was definitely spring as it is spring now, we’ll be in the right mood’ Charlotte decided to be a bit assertive for a change.
‘Morning Miss.’
She looked up to see a young man standing on the bow of a colourful narrow boat. A new boat at the old mooring that hadn’t been used for years. Ellie knew all the river folk and he was definitely a stranger, so she was not sure if she should talk to him.
‘Thought you didn’t know if it was a river or canal?’
Well spotted, easy to change and we have to hear everyone’s story before we set details.
His smile crinkled up to his dark eyes and he had gleaming white teeth. If her father saw that mop of curly black hair he would have him sent off to the barbers or got her mother to get her clippers out, like she did with her brothers. He was taller than her big brother.
‘Oh I like him, watch out Ellie, my girl will be after him.’
‘This is a pretty sight on a spring morning.’
Ellie looked around to see what the pretty sight was.
‘Oh yes, this is the prettiest part of the river.’
‘That’s why I decided to moor up here yesterday evening and what a surprise to meet a pretty local girl so soon.’
Ellie looked around to see if a pretty girl had appeared
‘May I ask your name? I’m Jack, Jack of all trades.’
‘Hey, I’ve got a Jack.’
‘So have I, head gardener at the big house.’
‘And I’ve got a Tommy, who seduces the scullery maid.’
‘How long since the First World War War then, still got old soldiers wandering? ‘
‘Great War, they didn’t know there was going to be a second one.’
‘1928 I thought we said last week.‘
‘No, it’s going to be in the middle of the Great Depression’
‘When was that then?’
Do you go to a writing group? Do you enjoy doing exercises?
A nice day for visiting. Whose home are we going to?
THE LORD PRESERVE THY GOING OUT AND THY COMING IN
A nice bright house and cosy
Wonder if we’ll be invited for dinner?
Let’s explore
We meet the family
The previous Lord Montagu, founder of the Beaulieu Motor Museum, had a very colourful life. The current Lord Montague leaves interesting notes around Beaulieu Palace.
Delia had read all the articles and listened to all the broadcasts and podcasts on sleep and health. She had been encouraged to get a Fitbit by her niece who was keen that she should find out her resting heart rate. The Fitbit alas, did not help her sleep more, only confirm that she did not sleep much. However, she persevered with following all the recommendations for winding down in the evening.
That night Delia had turned off the news and switched her television to the radio station broadcasting her regular late night music programmes, Night Waves and Round Midnight… Then she headed upstairs and was in bed and tuned to Radio 4 in time to be lulled by Sailing By heralding the late night Shipping Forecast. Delia pictured seaside places she had stayed and remote coasts she was never likely to see…
North Foreland to Selsey Bill – Strong wind warning
Ardnamurchan Point to Cape Wrath…
Tonight the mellifluous Scottish baritone of her favourite continuity announcer finished the forecast and bade her goodnight with his usual soothing words.
‘And that is the close of Radio Four’s broadcasting tonight. This is Alexander MacSmooth wishing you a safe and peaceful night.
Delia sleepily turned her radio off before the National Anthem could jar her serenity. She snuggled under the duvet, safe from the strong winds and waves pounding the coast…
Delia woke suddenly. It was dark, the radio clock showed 3.15 am, not unusual for her to be awake in the witching hour, but who on earth was frantically ringing her doorbell and what were those blue lights flashing on the ceiling? And who was yelling through a loudspeaker?
‘Emergency, this is the police, you must evacuate immediately. Leave your home now, do not stop to collect belongings.’
It was bizarre, but the only way to find out what was going on was to get wrapped into her velour dressing gown and head for the front door. When she looked outside she was stunned. The nearby streetlight revealed a huge hole where the road had been. Her first thought was ‘Bin Day’ how would she get her recycling bin out of that hole, how would the rubbish truck get down the road when there was no road. Before she could have another thought the street lamp plunged into the crater and the scene was plunged into darkness. A yellow arm grabbed her, at the end of another yellow arm was a powerful torch revealing a crack widening beneath their feet.
In a church hall a mile away Delia and her neighbours gathered round ‘next-door-but-one’ who had managed to grab his iPad on the way out. The live news showed next door’s car slipping into the sink hole and Delia’s front wall crumbling. She didn’t even recognise half her neighbours without their clothes on. They all reintroduced themselves and compared stories as it dawned on them that they would not be going home any time soon, if ever. The only possession Delia had with her was the Fitbit. She wondered what her resting heart rate was.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 