A visication is when you have visitors and it’s like being on holiday, apart from the extra work and cooking of course. You can do holiday things and spend lots of money, because you are on holiday after all. Experience thrills from the cliff lift to the big wheel, pirate crazy golf to the zip wire – though none of my visitors have wanted to go on that, except the ones that are too small to be allowed.
With visitors ranging from four to my age, if you include the dogs and stays from 1 day to six weeks, who knows what you might be doing. Who will be going in the sea, watching others going in the sea or mending the beach hut? Other holiday adventures include river trips, visiting museums, painting pottery, going to a Brick Fest – Lego not house building and theatre or cinema.
One thing is for certain, if you have a big family get together on a bank holiday weekend in summer there will be a huge deluge of rain on the cliff top and your guests will be sand blasted on the promenade. The picnic will remain in the rucksacks and relaxing in the sun at the beach hut replaced by hot chocolate at the cafe.
But there are still fun things for your visitors to do on a rainy day like going in the loft for a good rummage, bringing down the old Scalelectrix, setting it up and fighting over it.
Of course the best part of having visitors is them doing jobs for you, ranging from fixing the television, which turned out not to be broken after all to totally renovating the house. If you have handily just had an operation they do cooking and housework.
Which sort of visitors do you prefer or perhaps None?
A nacation is when your neighbour, friend or relative goes off on an exotic holiday leaving you to put the bins out, feed the cat, take in parcels, water the garden and have the dog to stay. If you are lucky they might bring you back a holiday present, such as a packet of the local biscuits which taste even worse than the unknown makes from Better Bargains.
For the next three weeks I am watering next door’s garden while the family are on the other side of the Atlantic. A simple task with their designer minimalist garden, very different from mine, which I’m happy to do as Mr. Immaculate Gardener is always fixing things for me, painting my fences etc. But there was a security routine to go through since various incidents have been picked up by their multiple far reaching CCTVs . To save tramping through the house and switching the burglar alarm on and off, I just had to remember the number for the new combination lock on the side gates… and be shown burglar alarm procedure in the very unlikely event the alarm goes off accidentally.
I am used to visitors checking their phones and watching what is going on in their driveway and back garden. The days are gone when you did not know if your home was still in one piece till you came home again. My old school friend who lived in the same quiet road as me recalls her father notifying their local police station if they were going on holiday. Now you can phone your neighbour and ask them to take in the big parcel that is sitting in the rain on your doorstep.
Even as I was writing this blog an urgent WhatsApp message came from across the Atlantic. Was my virgin WI Fi working, because their CCTVs were not. Yes it was. I now had a new task so difficult he suggested I wait till after 4pm British Summer Time so they would be awake if there were any problems. I had to unlock the front door with 30 seconds to disarm the burglar alarm with the code. ‘I’m in’ I texted back. Now for the high tech part. Go to the utility room and fetch the broom. The Wi-Fi switch is behind the television set and inaccessible so lean over and switch it off with the end of the broom handle, then switch it on again, about as easy as switching switches with a bunch of bananas. But I did it and it just remained to switch the burglar alarm on again and get out of the house in 30 seconds and wait to hear if the CCTV came on again – it did.
We have had various traumatic nacation experiences in the past, like the time the hamster escaped from his rota stack cage while the patio doors were open. We had over two miserable weeks to wait till they got back from France to give them the news. I discovered years later that their son accused my son of being a hamster murderer!
Five houses ago next door had a white rabbit and what a happy bunny he was.- in summer when he romped freely in the back garden. Alas in winter he was confined to his small hutch and I was volunteered to feed him one Xmas holiday. Access involved trekking to the bottom of our garden, into the back lane and down their garden to the patio. He soon ran out of straw and his dry food looked boring so I brought him carrots and rabbit treats from the pet shop. In the middle of this spell of biting winds a fox or cat got to their council rubbish bag before the dustmen did. Their front garden was strewn with nappies and all sorts of revolting rubbish ( for people interested in the world of council rubbish collections we did not have wheelie bins there or food waste bins ) and I had to do a clean up operation. We didn’t even notice their return home as they never came and thanked us and never knew the stressful Xmas I had had!
More recently new neighbours were flying off to Greece in the school summer holidays. A dog sitter they had never met was coming down from Birmingham. As they were leaving in the early hours I was asked if I could just let the dogs out at 7am and give them their breakfast as the dog sitter was not expected till later in the morning. The dogs would be shut safely in the kitchen.
Sounded simple enough, but when I went round all the doors inside were open, the dogs were cowering on the sofa and in the large kitchen one or both of the dogs had had a serious stomach upset! I went home to get rubber gloves and serious cleaning stuff leaving the back door open. On my return the dogs refused to go in the garden… I enticed them out of the front room with their breakfasts. One dog went in the garden and the other dog ate two breakfasts… When I finally got them back indoors I had forgotten to shut the kitchen door so they raced upstairs.
Back home I relaxed with my breakfast, thinking all would be in the hands of the dog sitter soon, but I got a WhatsApp from Greece. The dog sitter had called to say she would be late, she and her little boy were stuck in holiday traffic. Could I let the dogs out again later. When I returned the dogs were hiding in the bedroom and refused to come out…. in the kitchen there was more cleaning up to do.
When I got a message to ask if the dog sitter had arrived yet I relayed the events and she soon messaged back to say her friends who had been enjoying a pub lunch by the river were now marching up the hill to come and take the dogs for a walk. When they arrived at my door so I could give them the key they thought I could come with them to the house as they had never met the dogs. The dogs still refused to come downstairs so they decided to sit downstairs and wait till the dogs calmed down. I went home and after a while they were back at my house having given up.
As we stood chatting out the front with a couple of other neighbours joining in, the dog sitter pulled up, surprised to see a welcome party. She must have been a dog whisperer as five minutes later she emerged with a happy boy and two happy dogs going off to the park.
I haven’t done any doggy tasks again, but have been messaged from Devon to check if one of the teenage daughters had left her hair straighteners on in the bedroom and to excuse the mess. Yes she had, when I eventually found them, but to be fair to the hair straighteners they were cold, so they must have had the initiative to turn themselves off.
A Traication is when you go on holiday by train so you cannot take everything but the kitchen sink. Packing has to be undertaken with great planning. I cheat by having a huge bag of stuff at the headquarters of Team H, so I only have to stuff clothes, Kindle, sandwiches and water in my rucksack, though it’s still heavy. People do get on the train with suitcases big enough for a kitchen sink and I have seen women with rucksacks big enough for a commando training exercise. My main aim is to be able to get on and off the train and negotiate the underground.
You could spend hours on line getting the best bargains by booking a specific train or a journey split into several stages on the same route. A friend naturally assumed you had to get off the train and catch a different one so she was surprised to hear on the last stage she could have stayed on the same train all the way. Goodness knows who thinks up these ideas. My off peak cardboard ticket, bought well ahead at our friendly ticket office, is an off peak return, leave on a specific date and return within a month, worrying for your hosts in case you stay with them for a whole month! If they ask what time train I want I explain I just want to turn up and get on the next train going to Waterloo and I especially want the trains to be running. The day I sauntered into the station to buy my ticket it seemed very quiet, it turned out there were no trains running due to a trackside fire further up the line. On the news that evening was film of passengers evacuated off the train and walking up the track.
Fortunately the day of my journey all was going well. The current government pledged to bring the railways back under state ownership and South West Trains were one of the first to be reclaimed last year and sport new livery as South Western Railway. If you had a Brio wooden railway when you were a child you will recall the carriages linked on by magnet. Our trains work just like that… I was waiting for the 11.22am and at 11.10 am four carriages arrived. At this point passengers either rush to get on or stand in confusion in case a different train has slipped in. A few minutes later another four carriages roll in behind and click on. So there is plenty of time to get on the train and no worry which carriage if you are going to Waterloo. But all may not be well if you have a specific ticket. There were regular/annoyingly frequent announcements…
‘If you have an evening out return or a summer special extra cheap off peak and it does Not say 11.22am, you are on the WRONG train and liable to pay another £40.
On the final stage of my journey, London Victoria to Margate, it was my turn to make sure I was on the right carriage, the rear four carriages. The advantage of a London terminus is trains end up at the buffers so what was the first carriage is the last carriage so I should be okay. After every single station would be a reminder that the train was going to split and the stations recited. After our carriage had disgorged quite a few passengers and with the moment of the great split fast approaching, a couple now had room to spread out their picnic and sat back and relaxed. Then one of them thought to lean over the aisle and ask another passenger where the train was going. When she said Margate there was panic and a gathering up of the picnic. They were right at the back of the train when they should have been at the front. The young woman said to them ‘Don’t stop, just keep going till you get to the driver’s cabin .’
My return journey from Waterloo was simple. The train arrived at the buffers with fifteen minutes to spare so we could get on and relax. All trains stop at Bournemouth and this train was going to unclick in half and carry on to two different directions. You really needed to pay attention to the announcements because even before the chopping in half there were some stations with short platforms so you had to make sure you were on the right carriage.
‘If you are getting off at Remote Halt you will need to be in the front three carriages, if you are going to Forest Dene you must be in carriages two, three and four. Passengers wishing to alight at Littledene should be in odd number carriages except one and seven. Passengers for Old Milton please make sure you are in the even number carriages except for two and six.
Have you had any interesting train journeys lately?
While others were in Norwegian fjords or on African safaris, I ventured ten minutes walk away from home for my staycation. Back at Chez Tidalscribe Cyberson Two and DIL Two were ripping out the bathroom. Not as scary as it sounds as Interiors are their business and this was their 49th bathroom.
My holiday home was a seaside let, a top floor flat with a balcony – not alas that yellow house of character with the turrets. A search revealed plenty of Air B&Bs near my house, including next door ( a converted garage ), but I thought I should enjoy a cliff top experience. I wanted a cliff top house when we moved to Bournemouth, but few were available, let alone in our price range.
I know other female bloggers go solo round the world on motorbikes or yachts so it is not very adventurous to go home for Cyberson’s home cooked meals and to collect anything you have forgotten… and to water my plants… and the garden as the heat wave had continued unabated.
What made it different from home? I was nearer my beach hut and the open top bus stopped almost outside. I could have my breakfast on the balcony and watch the world go by. At any moment, however early, there was always a dog walker on the cliff or a jogger on the pavement or a cyclist on the road. There was also traffic on the coast road, it was much noisier than my quiet little road.
There are clifftop views such as lighthouses looking over wild waves crashing on rocks and houses with back gardens on the edge of cliffs. There are still houses right on the edge in Southbourne, but lots more have long since crumbled down with the sandy cliffs, leaving only the roses and shrubs that once grew in their garden clinging to the cliffside.
However, I still had a view and at night there was the black sea straight ahead and to the west the lights of Bournemouth and Swanage and early in the morning sunrise from the bathroom window.
Inside it was clean and tidy with everything you could want if you were actually living and cooking there. The décor was white, literally, from the paint work to the bedding and towels. The only items not white were the artificial lawn on the balcony and the impossible to lift dark blue pottery mugs the size of hefty jugs. Lucky I could pop home and get my bone china tea mug.The bed was very comfortable, the sofa not so. I managed to work the television and get the WiFi so overall a good experience and I still miss the patter of tiny feet – the slip slap of the early morning joggers before the traffic got busy.
Have you been on a Staycation or had any holiday let experiences, good or bad?
‘Daddy, can we go and watch the drones being shot down?’
‘What…oh er yes, just leave me in peace to relax by the pool.’
‘Archie Darling, are you sure it’s safe?’
‘Yes of course Fi, this is a top hotel, relax, we’re on holiday, the doctor told you to take it easy till the baby arrives.’
‘Daaad, if you had let us bring our phones on holiday we’d be able to see what’s going on.’
‘You don’t need to know what is going on Charlotte, the hotel management will let us know anything important. Don’t they look after us splendidly every year?’
‘Archie, it is a bit different this year.’
‘Yes, but it will all settle down as quickly as it blew up.’
‘Dad, that family on our floor were packing up this morning… and those people we were swimming with yesterday.’
‘Panicking, we’re British, we don’t panic.’
‘Oh God Arch, what was that?’
‘Way off in the distance, a drone they didn’t manage to shoot down, we’re fine up here. Anyway, it’s time we got dressed for dinner. Charlotte, go and find your little brothers.’
‘Oh look, those people on our floor are coming back with their suitcases. There are a lot of people at reception, asking the staff… I’m going to go over and find out what’s going on.’
‘Gossiping no doubt.’
‘Darling, they are all saying the airport is closed, they did not know what to do so they came back. That couple we were chatting to yesterday are talking about getting a driver, maybe forming a convoy. What do you think we should do?’
‘Fiona, we are not driving across the dessert with all the kids and you eight months pregnant. The airport will be up and running again by the time we’re due to leave. There you are kids, come on, dinner time.’
‘What do you mean the head chef didn’t turn up… limited menu and a delay? Ah here’s the manager, I’m going to complain.’
‘Down to the basement, don’t you think you are over reacting? I appreciate you have to think of the safety of your guests, but sending us down to the basement without any dinner is hardly going to help…
…Fiona, pop up to our room and get a few things for the children if we’re going to be stuck in the basement for a couple of hours.’
‘Archie, the lifts are switched off.’
‘Will you be alright on the stairs?’
‘They are not letting anybody up to the ninth floor.’
‘Daddy, is this a real war? That boy said they are going to give us all guns.’
‘Don’t listen to what other children are saying, now you stay with Mummy while I pop outside to see for myself what is going on.’
‘… and we are going over to Gatwick Airport now as the first plane evacuating British holiday makers lands. Families are waiting to be reunited after days of worry.
Good Evening, are you glad to be back home?’
‘Oh yes, we were holed up in our hotel basement for a week, we did not have any idea what was going to happen.’
‘You of course had priority with the children.’
‘Yes it all happened very suddenly, we just grabbed a few things, the children thought it was a bit of an adventure, didn’t you kids?’
Staying in someone else’s home is the topic I chose for our writers’ group when it was my turn this week. It covers a wide range of experiences from world leaders being the guests of royal families, to school children going on sleepovers, so I am expecting them all to have come up with a piece.
I have stayed in many homes, sometimes those of strangers. As the eldest in the family I was often farmed out to make way for visiting friends and relatives. Looking back now, senior me would be appalled at the thought of sleeping on a stranger’s living room floor with several friends. Last week I did sleep in an office; modern working from home means spare bedrooms have become offices. However, the sofa bed was very comfortable and I did have exclusive use of the shower room next door, except when boys were having showers or going for a …
How kind were the many people who put me and friends up on various travels. Nowadays I prefer to be the hostess not the guest and we have had many people to stay over the years.
Whether you are staying or having visitors, the bad experiences are more fun to write about.
Worst Sleepover
My younger son and his best friend, plus a boy we had never met, were taken to the speedway by BF’s Dad. They enjoyed the evening and the sort of takeaway food you can get away with when there are no mothers around – this fact is relevant to the story. They then came back to our house to get settled into sleeping bags in our son’s room.
At 3am our bedroom door was flung open and son announced that the ‘other boy’ had been sick in his sleeping bag.
Worst Christmas – also involving vomiting.
My friend and I left Perth, Western Australia, having cadged a lift across the Nullabor Plain with a family friend. Our final destination was Tasmania. My friend being a laid back Aussie country girl assured me her various relatives would be happy to put us up. Our first stop was her aunt in South Australia for Christmas. They had an apricot farm near the Murray River and another aunt lived across the road. They also owned a shop down in the town – relevant fact.
They welcomed us in the lead up to Christmas and we planned to leave on Boxing Day. Christmas Eve proved eventful as the aunt across the road was having a miscarriage and my friend commandeered our driver to take Aunty to hospital. I was left alone to look after her other children, who I had never met before, in a house I had never been in and feed them.
Christmas Day was very pleasant, but that night my friend and I were awoken by the most horrendous noise. Our driver had food poisoning… what we subsequently discovered was that other visiting relatives had noticed one of the freezers in the family shop was dodgy and had warned each other not to touch the chicken.
We set off for Melbourne the next morning with my friend assuring our poor driver he would be fine. We made it, but I succumbed to the food poisoning the following day.
At some stage we bade farewell to our driver and went to stay with another aunt and uncle in a posh house. After a couple of nights we took a coach to Sydney where we stayed in a Girls’ Friendly Society hostel. We had to sign back in before midnight, even on New Year’s Eve. We then returned to Melbourne for a planned second short stay with the aunt and uncle before our flight to Tasmania, but they had mysteriously disappeared on holiday!
With no money set aside for accommodation we wandered into a respectable Christian bookshop in the city and asked a young shop assistant if she knew any cheap accommodation. She replied that her father had just gone away for a few days and she would be delighted to have some company to stay as she did not like to be alone.
What are your best or worst experiences of staying in someone else’s home? Take this quiz to find out if you are a good guest.
Your host is lactose intolerant, vegetarian and teetotal. Do you arrive with
A a homemade vegan cake you have made especially
B a lovely bouquet of flowers
C a bottle of wine, box of chocolates and pork pies from ‘our lovely farm shop’.
One person in the family has to get up very early and catch a train to work. You always wake up early so do you
A Check the night before what time they go out the door, so you do not get in their way. Hide under the covers not making a sound in case they worry they have woken you up.
B Dash in the shower and hope you are out before they want to come in the bathroom.
C Get up to make a cup of tea for both of you and take the chance to have a nice catch up chat.
Your host is cooking the evening meal, do you
A Peep round the kitchen door say ‘You don’t want any help do you’ and retreat quickly.
B Ask if there is anything you can do and keep out of the way of the cooker and the cook while you peel the potatoes as requested.
C When the cook says ‘No you go and watch television, I don’t need any help’ insist on helping and showing how you usually do the potatoes and catching them up with all the latest events in your life.
All Cs, I am away that week, sorry, though I do like chocs and wine…
No holiday is complete without steps, not the steps your Fitbit counts, real steps you climb to reach a destination, a view you would otherwise never see.
Visitors to Paris head for Le Tour Eiffel, as those of us doing Duolingo like to call it. Why do we give it an English name when we call other famous Paris locations by their proper French names? Anyway, last century found us in Paris with the children and arriving at Le Tour Eiffel we noticed one ’leg’ had no queue, this was where to climb the stairs. Alas one can only take steps to the first and second floor, the public are not allowed on the final flight for safety reasons and take a lift. Still, we climbed up 674 steps and felt we deserved the view of Paris spread before us, so different from London, white buildings laid out geometrically.
We have also been up the Blackpool Tower, half the height of Eiffel, but it does have a famous ballroom, where countless steps have graced the floor.
Sometimes steps are the reason for the holiday. We were watching a programme about Whitby, on the Yorkshire coast, or perhaps it was a programme about Dracula. We instantly decided Whitby would be our next holiday destination so we could walk up the 199 steps. There have been steps here since at least 1340 when Pilgrims would climb wooden steps to Whitby Abbey.
In 1774 they were replaced by stone. Nowadays they are famous for their appearance in the real Dracula story by Bram Stoker. Dracula’s ship, with the crew all dead, was wrecked at the foot of the cliffs and Dracula, in the form of a black dog, runs up the steps to the graveyard of Saint Mary’s church.
As well as the church you will find the ruins of Whitby Abbey, an iconic sight whether you are down in the town or out at sea. It is worth the saunter up the steps to look down on the harbour, river and town. Whitby turned out to be a good place for a holiday with beaches, the quaint old town and plenty of Dracula souvenirs. We have been there several times and up and down the steps numerous times.
There are plenty of other places to visit with opportunities to climb winding narrow steps. Take your choice from castles, cathedrals and lighthouses.
Lincoln is a great city to visit with the added bonus of the iconic narrow street called Steep Hill which you climb to visit the cathedral as the pilgrims did long ago. They did not have the lovely shops, cafes and bars to visit along the way. Conveniently close to the beautiful cathedral is the castle. Climb the steps to walk all round the castle walls.
Durham Cathedral can be seen for miles around and is one of the wonderful views from the East Coast mainline.
When we went there ten years ago a small door led to one of the two western towers, climb up this tower, then walk across to the central tower. This long gallery was where the defibrillator was kept, which hopefully you would not need if you had read the dire warnings about not climbing if you have a heart condition. The lovely views were well worth the climb.
The fun with lighthouses is the design that makes the winding stairs narrower and narrower as you ascend. Portland Bill lighthouse stands at the rugged tip of the Isle of Portland, Dorset and its red and white bands make it a popular subject for photographers. You can have a guided tour to take the 155 steps to the lantern room.
In contrast, the old black Dungeness lighthouse suits the bleak landscape of vast stretches of shingle, home to nuclear power stations. When we climbed on two occasions I did not step outside onto the narrow balcony; opening the narrow door the wind nearly ripped it off its hinges.
For a modern experience we visited Swaffham in Norfolk. We went there some years ago and looking it up brought back happy memories, but when I reached the end of the article a note had been added to say it was permanently closed! Here is what we saw and what you will miss…
‘The Swaffham wind turbine, located at the Green Britain Centre, is the UK’s first megawatt-class wind turbine and offers a unique opportunity for visitors to climb to its viewing platform. It was built in 1999 and stands at a height of 67 meters, with rotor blades measuring 66 meters in diameter. It has a power capacity of 1.5 megawatts (MW). The turbine is notable for being the only one in the UK that allows public access to its viewing platform, which is located just below the generator. Visitors can climb 305 steps to reach the top, where they can enjoy panoramic views of the surrounding Norfolk countryside. The climb provides a unique perspective on wind energy production and the scale of the turbine itself.’
It was a unique experience. Safely behind presumably strong glass we watched the blades gracefully glide past.
I don’t have to go on holiday to find ancient steps. Here is the familiar Christchurch castle and nearby at the Priory are hidden steps leading to St. Michael’s Loft Museum.
You find a little door and go up one side, then sensibly go down the stairs at the other side. We visited once years ago, then the door seemed to disappear… but I found it again last year. If you want to visit, check the website for opening hours.
What Iconic steps have you climbed? If you don’t like steps, can they be avoided?
You can go up the Eiffel Tower by lift.
A bus takes you to the cliff top where Whitby Abbey is.
You can just drive up to the historic part of Lincoln. When we were at the castle last year there was a lift operating, not that we used it! BUT looking up their website, maintenance means access to the wall is by the spiral stairs only.
Florida Key stood on the quay and gazed across the river with pride. He had just taken over the ferry that crossed the river. His family had worked the crossing for generations, centuries perhaps, since the days of rowing over a few locals in a fishing boat. The Key family still held the licence, proud of their professional and safe record for the one minute crossing.
Though the crossing was short, skill was still involved, taking the tide into account, heading downstream before swinging round to tie up at the little wooden jetty. Florida could steer close enough for passengers to disembark without mooring, but passengers liked the security of seeing a rope thrown over the wooden post.
Mr and Mrs Key had thought it amusing to name their first born Florida after conceiving him on a memorable holiday in Florida Keys. Now he decided to use this to his advantage in rebranding and upgrading the ferry experience. He erected bright new signage FLORIDA QUAYS on both river banks. After a torrential downpour the nature reserve side of the river acquired a few ponds and swampy areas which gave him an idea. He acquired some model alligators to hide in the water and the undergrowth, they attracted more attention when he ordered some body parts from Amazon. Children gasped in fright when they spotted a hand or foot sticking out of an alligator’s jaws.
Florida’s next idea was heritage ferry crossings. A new display board, on the town side of the river, displayed digitalised blown up images from the tiny black and white photos in the family album of ancestors rowing humble wooden boats. Florida would row people across while his sister captained the motor boat. He had never rowed a boat before, but how hard could it be, people rowed up and down the river all the time, all he had to do was row across it. With his mates’ help they hauled a rowing boat out of the old boat house.
If the crossings were a success, he might do short pleasure trips down the river to the beach beside the narrow channel where sea worthy boats made their way out. The larger ferries that took passengers up and down the river were owned by a rival company.
The first couple of crossings went well on an incoming tide. The passengers enjoyed the occasional splash from the oars, which made the experience more realistic and several said it was a shame the trip was so short, though it was slower and longer than the motorboat.
In the afternoon a strong wind had blown up and the tide was outgoing. His sister suggested they just stick with the motor boat, but children waiting on the town quay were eager to get to the other side to see the alligators and to get splashed in the rowing boat.
As Florida rowed out there was more of a drag on the oars and the wooden jetty looked further away than usual.
‘Are we going on an adventure?’ squealed one excited boy.
‘No, not today, we’re going to swing round and head for the jetty now.’
But somehow Florida could not turn the boat and the further they drifted downstream the more he forgot which way you did the oars to turn round. When they swept round the bend and the beach hove into view, Florida had an idea, or rather a desperate plan. He just needed to run aground on the sand before reaching the sign on the beach that warned against swimming because of the fast currents in the channel.
‘Okay, we’ll have a little adventure and land on the beach.’
The children cheered while a mother felt under the narrow seat for non existent life jackets and an uncle started tapping into his phone with the vague memory that 999 could also summon the coastguard.
The river current became stronger and took Florida by surprise. His efforts to hang onto the right oar caused him to wrench the ageing oarlock off.
The uncle was unused to making 999 calls and the stress of wondering if they might also need police, fire brigade and ambulance caused him to get confused as to their location. The operator wanted more information than ‘in a boat’ – they were on holiday, so it was not surprising he had no idea what the river was called. The operator thus had no idea that there was an RNLI inshore lifeboat station a short distance away. Fortunately they were doing an exercise and could not avoid noticing an old wooden boat being swept along the channel and out to sea.
When Florida’s sister returned from getting a takeaway coffee, she was surprised to see the motorboat still moored and no sign of her brother or the rowing boat. She wondered if it was wasting the time of the emergency services to dial 999.
When the lifeboat landed all the passengers at the life boat station there was great excitement among the children.
‘Can we go round again, that was fun.’
Florida wondered if it would be okay to ask if they could go back out and rescue his rowing boat, but before he could ask, the coxswain beckoned him into a small, but impressive coms room.
‘Now Sir, I am obliged to offer you some seafaring advice, which I shall do while we wait for the police to arrive.’
Tides are a fascinating phenomena. I first became aware of them when I was eight and we had a fortnight’s holiday in a converted train carriage in Wittering, West Sussex. Mum and Dad obtained a tide timetable so we could visit the beach at low tide when the sand ( sand flats perhaps a better description ) appeared and we were safe in the shallow water. My parents sat on the beach with a rug over their knees and no intention of going in the water. At high tide we abandoned the pebble beach for cultural pursuits such as visiting Chichester Cathedral. Staying for a fortnight illustrated the fact that times of the tides changed slightly every day, for reasons I still don’t understand, but the Moon is involved. So a typical holiday agenda would be beach in the morning first week and by second week, beach in the afternoon.
Tides are at their most interesting when islands are involved, islands close enough to walk to at low tide, with the additional excitement of perhaps being stranded or washed away on the incoming tide. At Saint Michael’s Mount in Cornwall you can walk across a stone causeway or have a boat ride at high tide. By the time you have finished exploring the little rocky island the tide will probably have turned and you will return by the opposite method to your arrival. The Saint Aubyn family still live here and manage it with the National Trust. On arrival you can follow a steep path winding up to the castle. The harbour village has a shop and café. This is my favourite island, what fun to enjoy living on an island, while still being able to pop over to the mainland for your shopping. I love the sub tropical terraced gardens and the castle is very homely, just the sort of little castle I would like to own.
We have also been to the mother ship, I mean monastery, Mont Saint Michel in Normandy, France. This island is on a larger scale, full of restaurants and tourists. You can walk all round the island at low tide and there are lots of photo opportunities. In more recent times no cars go over the causeway. There is a visitor centre with car park and a free shuttle bus across the causeway, or you can take a horse and carriage or walk. The tides vary greatly, at roughly 14 metres (46 ft) between highest and lowest water.
If you have ever travelled on the east coast railway line to Edinburgh you will have been treated to views of Durham Cathedral high above and the Newcastle bridges, but also you can look across shimmering seas to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. I instantly wanted to go there and we finally made it on a Northumberland holiday which included other great sights such as… you will have to wait for another day to find out.
The island has a causeway which you can drive across, though you leave you car in the car park to enjoy the peace of the island. Saint Aiden came from the holy Island of Iona on the west coast of Scotland to found an abbey.
When we visited, a bride was being driven across in a carriage pulled by black horses, she was being married at the castle. We wondered if the wedding guests would all get off the island again before high tide.
‘Warning signs urge visitors walking to the island to keep to the marked path, to check tide times and weather carefully. For drivers, tide tables are prominently displayed at both ends of the causeway The causeway is generally open from about three hours after high tide until two hours before the next high tide. Despite these warnings, about one vehicle each month is stranded on the causeway, requiring rescue by HM Coastguard and / or the SeahousesRNLI lifeboat.’
Tidal fun doesn’t have to involve an island. We once had a holiday on Grange-over-Sands railway station, Cumbria. The working station also had part of the building converted to a cottage, it was surreal hearing trains go through in the middle of the night. Grange-over-Grass might be a more appropriate name as at low tide sheep were put out to graze, then sheepdogs rounded them up before the incoming tide. The station looked out over the vast stretch of Morecambe Bay. I have looked this up and can’t find holiday accommodation listed for the station or any mention of sheep. Did I imagine the whole thing?
You can walk across the bay at low tide, it’s a long way and the Morecambe Bay sands are renowned for their quick sands and fast flowing tides. Crossing the sands has always been dangerous. The King’s Guide to the Sands is the royally appointed guide to crossing the sands.
We did not try that.
What is your favourite island and more interestingly, have you ever been stranded on one?
