Rain lashed the windows of their little cottage, but Flora and Jim did not mind.
‘It’s lovely being all cosy inside. What weather does your phone say Jim?’
‘Still no reception, but I don’t need to look at my phone to see what the weather is.’
‘No weather forecast, but it is rather liberating not having a television. Dad says we can have his old laptop to stream stuff.’
‘Once we’re on the internet. In the meantime we can go exploring and find a spot where we can get reception, just in case of emergency.’
‘I can’t imagine us having any emergencies, except not being able to order pizza!’
‘Come on, walking in the rain will be fun and when we get back I’ll have a go at lighting the fire.’
‘Great idea, but won’t the firewood have got wet in the rain?’
‘I’ll just pull logs out from the bottom of the pile, like Jenga.’
‘Looks like a real river now Flora, don’t get too near the edge, it must be at least two foot deep, ha ha. Let’s see how far along the river this little path goes.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coming on duty.
‘There is an amber alert coming into force at 15.00.’
‘Not like last year surely Sir, not after the dry summer we’ve had.’
‘We’re not taking any chances after what happened last year.’
‘At least the survivors moved out of that cottage down in the valley, can’t imagine they would have managed to sell it.’
‘Well it’s still standing, we hiked that way in the summer.’
‘Why are you playing with your phone Evans?’
‘Just looking it up on Rightmove Sir… Believe it or not it was bought last month, knock down price.’
‘Let’s hope they have been following the weather reports then. Right, we have got other problems to sort out in town, so let’s hope this rain eases off.’
Be careful what you say, the gods are always listening.
‘Don’t come out again in this awful weather, I don’t need a lift, it’s much quicker on the train.’
It is March 2020, we are about to go into lockdown, but at Southampton Hospital it’s like entering a busy airport terminal with shops and a huge Costa Coffee and other eateries. The only precautions against the new ‘Corona Virus’ are instructions to use hand gel. We and I have been visiting my husband every day.
Now, on a miserable wet late afternoon I manage to find the right bus to the station and saunter in looking around for a window with a human being behind it, so I don’t have to bother with a ticket machine. An androgenous person in a uniform approaches, I wasn’t expecting a welcome party.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I just want a single to Bournemouth.’
‘There are no trains to Bournemouth.’
‘WHAT!’
‘Tree on the line.’
‘So when might there be a train?’
‘Not sure, do you still want to go to Bournemouth?’
‘YES.’
Luckily the platform west has a café and waiting area, now full of grumpy commuters. I am not there long when there is a sudden exodus to the exit, I follow them as they all pile onto a double decker bus, asking if it’s going to Bournemouth. No one actually says no so I rush upstairs and grab the last seat. It is dark and still raining, the windows immediately mist up. If this ‘Corona Virus’ really is so infectious, this is when I’m going to catch it.
I can’t see a thing, no idea where we are, but presumably on the motorway. After a good hour the lights of Bournemouth appear. The train journey takes only 28 minutes if you get a fast train, a fast train being one that mainly stops where I want to go.
There are many good reasons for going by train, keeping traffic off the roads, enjoying a faster smooth journey, looking at the scenery and into people’s back gardens… and of course people watching and eavesdropping.
Autumn 2024 and we are leaving the Isle of Wight. Our lovely little B&B is only minutes from the ferry. This time we have looked on line to check if the trains are running smoothly. They aren’t, it’s Sunday engineering works.
At Lymington we disembark and have plenty of time to file out to the car park and get on a comfortable replacement bus which leaves at exactly the same time as the train would have done. We enjoy a pleasant ride.
At Brockenhurst all was not going well. Confused people were hanging around outside the station waiting their turn to consult a chap with a clipboard and a phone. His jacket says ‘Bus Replacement Service Director’ or some such words. Also ‘on duty’ was a fed up South West Trains chap who wandered off at intervals and returned to make remarks such as ‘Don’t travel on a Sunday, I don’t know what they’re playing at’ and ‘Tell your friends Not to travel next Sunday.’ A young woman in a light blue tabard was trying to be helpful. These light blue people don’t seem to actually belong to the railways; at Bournemouth I had wondered if they were students on work experience as they were very young. I think they might be employed to pass on information, give stress counselling and to take the pressure off other staff.
In the meantime the Replacement Director was doing a grand job in an impossible situation with passengers going in different directions and not enough buses. He promised he would get us taxis if there were not enough bus seats. At one stage a coach turned up already full, turned round in the car park and looked like it was going straight back out again. The Director suddenly grabbed an elderly lady by the arm, frog marched her over to the coach and returned empty handed to address the crowd.
‘I know you’re all going to hate me, but that lady was traveling alone and had been waiting a while to get to Southampton, so I took an executive decision to put her in the only empty seat.’
We couldn’t argue with that and nobody did. We gradually herded ourselves into groups according to destination. A few taxis turned up and some left as The Director remembered who had been waiting longest. In the meantime more passengers drifted in or were dropped off by loved ones expecting to say farewell to them.
A black van with no windows turned up and our Bournemouth group was summoned forward, surely we were not going to be piled in the back of a van like prisoners? It turned out to be a luxury mini bus with tinted windows and curtains. There then followed a tour of the whole of the New Forest as we visited every tiny rural station and halt, seemingly only accessed by narrow winding lanes. At each one we dropped off or picked up someone. It was more than an hour before we arrived at Bournemouth station. The train journey takes 26 minutes. We got home safely, but had not even glimpsed a train all day, let alone been on one.
Did I venture on to a train ever again? Yes, but that’s for another episode…
Catch up with what is happening where you are or aren’t…
Which of these will steal your lunch?
Is this the smallest waiting room in the country?
New report on the dark side of toy rabbit life.
DIY ideas
Increasing numbers of home owners are putting their houses in light bulbs.
Enjoy a sunny trip to the seaside
But make sure you obey all the rules
A support group has been started for readers who never manage to complete the weekend puzzles in their favourite newspaper.The founder of the group said ‘People don’t realise what a devastating effect this is having on lives.‘
Where do you like to shop? Why not visit the popular Vintage Quarter?
Or follow Doctor Who to his favourite shopping location.
How has your week been? Have you been anywhere interesting?
And now we visit another viewer’s garden, someone who has created an interesting garden around his self built home on a brownfield site.
‘This is a small, unusually shaped piece of land surrounded by a main line railway, a motorway and a huge Amazon Warehouse. The house itself is certainly unique. Did the house inspire the garden or the garden dictate the house design?’
‘I created the garden first while we lived in the tiny caravan that is now my potting shed.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Two years.’
‘That is amazing, the luxuriant feel, the fact we are unaware of the outside world, shielded by mature trees and interesting boulders and you did all this by yourself?’
‘Yes, never done any gardening before, just went on instinct, buying plants and searching scrap yards to create unusual features. It’s been so good for my mental health, creating a garden that would bring joy.’
Two Weeks Earlier
Marcia peered out from the grim unfinished interior of Harry’s unfinished self build house, wondering how she ever got involved with him. The continuous rain had made his so called garden a quagmire; the new plants had given up the struggle to survive amidst the rubble. At least she had insisted on keeping her cosy flat. Marcia had no intention of staying in the squalid caravan he called a park home. As a high speed train raced by she missed half of what Harry was telling her.
‘Camera crew in two weeks’ time, what are you on about?’
‘Don’t you remember Marcy, I told you I had applied to feature on Gardeners’ World?’
‘But you haven’t got a garden, what on earth possessed you…?’
‘I couldn’t get on Grand Designs so I thought I’d show him, Kevin Grand McCloud. Just needs a bit of tidying up, didn’t know all the plants were going to die, a bit of topsoil should do the trick.’
‘Just cancel it Harry and concentrate on finishing the bloody house. I’m going back to my flat right now.’
‘I’m not going to cancel, they do those Flower Show gardens in a couple of weeks. Rick’s mate does Chelsea, or at least he drives the huge trucks that deliver trees. Don’t you worry your pretty head Marcy, I’ve got a plan. A bit of disruption, but we haven’t got any neighbours to annoy.’
Luckily for Harry there were major works going on at the motorway junction and nobody took any notice of the succession of trucks, cranes and pantechnicons making there way to the patch of wasteland that motorists and train passengers thought was part of the creation of a new slip road.
Harry got some of the blokes from work over to help and Rick got some blokes from goodness knows where to help with deliveries. The endless rain at least meant new trees and plants did not need watering in.
Two Days Earlier
‘There we are Marcia, all we need now is an adorable dog to complete the cosy scene.’
‘We haven’t got a dog.’
‘That’s okay, Rick knows where to get one.’
Two Days Later
Police are investigating a series of reports of audacious burglaries from country estates, professional gardeners and quarries. It is not known if they are connected. The thieves took mature trees, plants, sculptures and a Great Dane. One theory is that professional gardeners preparing for the garden show season have been targeted.
The ice rink and the Santa Express have gone, the trees are bare, even the artificial flowers are depressed, but the Bourne Stream is happy with the rain as it flows off to top up the sea…
Time to brighten up the house while you wait for spring.
