M, There isn't that much of a tale, but I'll tell you
what there is. The cottage was called "Fox Meadow". At least that's
what it was called in the brochure. Sometimes they use made up "cute"
names in brochures so it might really be called anything. It's somewhere near
Torrington, in Devon. It was one of the earlier summer holidays after N and the girls moved over to Ireland. I've just spent a fruitless couple of
minutes with Google maps, hoping I would recognise some place names, but no
joy.
I remember that we all met up at J's in mid-Wales and
then I drove to Devon. Went over the old Severn Bridge, and turned right along
the M5 through Avonmouth. Not a route I'd taken before, because it's just not
the way I would travel to the west country, especially if I was starting from
London. I remember that we paused somewhere for ice-cream. That delayed us.
Finding the cottage was a little bit of a struggle. It
wasn't near anywhere much and was tucked about half-a-mile up/down a lane which
turned into a bridleway. Effectively it was the end of a very long cul-de-sac. The
building was, or had been, a row of cottages, with what might have been a
cottage or might have been a barn at one end. We had the "barn" bit and
"the bat" and her son had the rest. It looked like two or three
cottages, but had actually been converted into one dwelling.
Anyway, "the bat's" name was Mrs Cameron and
the son's name was Fergus. Must be some Scottish connection there somewhere. We
turned up and they showed us the cottage (more of that later) and invited us to
drinks. Drinks were in a sort-of communal garden which stretched along the
whole of the front of the building. The whole set-up was very pleasant.
Our cottage was on two floors. Mrs C would have been in
her eighties. Fergus wasn't around when we first turned up and I noticed that
Mrs C didn't show us upstairs. She just indicated the stairs. I don't blame her
at all. The stairs were the kind that only just qualify as stairs, rather than
ladder and I had to duck near the top because of the slope of the roof. The
cottage was stone and cob with a thatched roof. The first floor was really part
in the roof and the windows were all very small. On the ground floor there was
a sitting room and a kitchen with a stone-flagged floor. Simple but adequate. I
remember that the bathroom was a bit primitive, but then what do you expect in
a place like that. Everything worked. Upstairs the floor was uneven and the
ceiling was low. There must have been an attic above the ceiling.
The garden was at the front of the building and the back
of the building was almost blind. The only window was from the bathroom. Close
by on that side there was a large pond which went along the full length of the
building. We gave Siobhan and Margaret strict instructions that they were to go
nowhere near the pond unless they were with Mummy, Daddy or Fergus. They
didn't. They were much more interested in the other side.
So much for the building, now for the inhabitants. I got
the idea that Mrs C some money. Probably from a deceased Mr C. She had some
idea of being an artist. I saw some of her paintings and also went to an exhibition
in Bideford where they were showing one or two that she had produced (among a
hundred others!). The paintings were alright but unremarkable. The kind of
landscapes that little old ladies paint. She really was daft as a brush. Fergus
was, or had been, a professional photographer and I got the impression that he
didn't really want to be there. I think something had gone wrong somewhere else
and that he had escaped to live with Mother. He did all the maintenance around the
place. Fergus would have been in his late 50's or 60's, and as I said had only
one eye.
Mrs C and Fergus seemed to be running a very small
small-holding as well. Or maybe they just liked keeping pet animals. They had
Mable the sow, a goat and a whole load of free range chickens. Siobhan and Margaret
loved the animals. Mable's name really was Mable. Siobhan and Margaret decided
that the goat must be called Gertie, so Gertie it remains. Mable was enormous
and black and very friendly. She would snuffle at the fence if you stood there.
Gertie as a great favourite. Siobhan and Margaret used to pull leaves (mostly
docks) and Gertie was happy to take them, which of course delighted Siobhan an
Margaret. Have you ever looked in a goat's (or sheep's) eyes? Most peculiar.
They have sort-of dumb-bell shaped pupils! The hens used to just wander around
the place and if we left the door open would sometimes come into the kitchen
and have to be shooed out again.
It was really a very nice place to holiday with small children.
Quite reasonable to let them wander around at the front on their own.
The nearest pub was a fair walk for me. I remember I
located it with an Ordinance Survey map and it was a mile-ish footpath all the
way, mostly through woods. Safe enough, but a bit of a challenge on the way
home.
One little detail that I've just remembered was that Fergus
told me that there was an attic that ran the whole length of the building and
that he had to go up there on crawling boards for some reason.
Anyway, that's it. Not axe-wielding or screaming madness.
Just a couple of eccentric people living in rather a nice place.
I enjoyed writing it anyway.
Cheers,
T
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