Bin Men

 

The Biffa bin men (or 'dust' men, if you like) are out in force today. They are never called 'garbage men', here. That would not be proper, I think. I have seen them at their work many times, but only just now became aware of the sign on the front of their truck: "Caution. Operatives At Work". They are unbelievably hard at it. The only complaint I might have is that there don't seem to be any bin (or 'dust') women anywhere. Have you seen one? I suppose women have enough to do with food before it becomes garbage that they don't like to see it in such a tragic state.

It is extremely important to be aware of when the bin men are coming, because the streets are so narrow that you might become squished. They would never want to squish you, but there are enough visiting tourists now (dare I mention Americans?) that safety around those trucks is a scary problem. The other day I was at the busiest intersection in town, the one near The Sloop, the Post Office, Whistlefish, and the building that played an important part in a Rosamunde Pilcher novel. In the Pilcher novel, The Sloop was renamed The Sliding Tackle (isn't that a great fishing town's pub's name??), and the building I am referring to, in the novel, was Warren's grocery. As far as I know, it never really was a grocery, but I do know that it used to be the Moomaid Ice Cream parlor, and very popular it was. 

I might as well tell you, the owner of the Moomaid building decided in recent months to do something else with his building besides serve tourists their ice creams from it. He thinks he wants to serve them Tapas now. So the Moomaid people had to go, and they have taken themselves down near the Guildhall, much to the confusion of the Americans. It takes at least a week to find all the things that have moved, and this is very disorienting.

Anyway, I was at that very busy intersection when I saw the red Biffa bin truck backing up. It was fascinating because there were taxis, white transit vans and baffled other drivers in front of and behind him. And, if I may be honest, on either side. But he zipped backwards without scratching or squishing any of us. I couldn't understand how, and as I looked at the Biffa driver, I said so. 

"How did you DO that?"

He smiled broadly and shouted, "I'm only the front driver, Madam. I've got a driver in the back too. He takes care of his business, and I take care of mine!" Other people heard this explanation, and were amazed. I believe fire trucks have more than one driver, but it's the first time I've heard of it in a bin truck.

One more key ingredient to the bin men here is that they are highly respected. With the amount of people sort of crammed into a small space around here, rubbish can become a horrendous problem. You should see all the directives we receive from the cottage management companies, complicated regulations that must be adhered to, or 'a fee' will be charged. Believe me, 'a fee' is the last thing I (or my husband) wants to pay.  On bin days these men come swooping in and save the day for us, taking all that nasty stuff away so the visitors for next week won't know a thing about it and can start all tidy. We love the bin men. 

The town of St Ives operates like clockwork, smooth as silk, as long as its visitors read the directives. If they don't, I may as well tell you right now that those Biffa men are buff, and I wouldn't mess with them.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

 

The Hamlet

It was Monday evening, and as I stood in front of the Royal Cinema I knew I had misjudged the weather. It was getting cold. In one way, cold was fitting, for the Choir would sing Christmas carols that night, and it promised to be dazzling. Still, I should have brought more warmth with me, as certainly the church at Paul wouldn't provide it. The doors would stand open, to help defeat the Virus.

'M's car pulled up, and I jumped quickly in (the cars of St Ives don't wait), and he accelerated up the hill. 

"Y'alright?" he asked kindly.

"Oh yes!" I said. "Always, on a Monday night."

                                                     

Presently he slowed, and then stopped in a place called Nancledra, where Choir member John lived. He climbed aboard, and we repeated our greetings all around. I said something about how cute his village was, and he gently corrected me, saying that Nancledra was not a village, it was too small to be a village. It was a hamlet. A hamlet is a handful of dwellings out in the country, with possibly a pub but no churches, Inns, or shops (I murmured that you wouldn't get many women into a hamlet). A village has shops, and pubs, Inns and churches, and more dwellings than a hamlet would have. And probably more women, Ha, ha.

So, in general, you have:

-a hamlet

-a village

-a town

-a city

And do you know how they define a city? It is a large town that has a Cathedral. A city cannot be without its Cathedral, and I think that is splendid.

St Ives is a town - a large town, but without a Cathedral. So it cannot be a city.

By the time we had settled all of these differences, we had arrived. For some reason there were a lot more observers that night. I am often the only one, and when they rehearse down in Mousehole (a village, by the way), I am invited to sit on the stage while the men sing at me from the audience. It felt funny to me, but to the men in the Male Voice Choir, it was as normal as apple pie.

The Christmas carols were beautiful. I recognized many of the lyrics, but not the music. British carols are often different to the American versions, maybe because the Americans switched things up a bit. They sang:

-Hark The Herald Angels Sing, Softly The Night is Singing, And We See The Little Child, Abide With Me, and Joy To The World. Joy To The World is the same as the American version, and I sang it out full force with them, from the back of the church. There were whoops and hollers from the visitors that night, to beat the band. I don't know how, but those two hours of Male Voices rehearsing always speed by like lightening, and it is a sad thing to leave. I have only one more Monday night left, but I am going to purchase their Christmas CD, and take them home with me.

At the very end, the president of the choir introduced a choir member who had been singing with them for 71 YEARS! Since 1950! They gave him a lovely enlarged photograph of the Mousehole Harbour (adorable, it really is), and then the clapping and cheering! It went on and on, and he was so pleased and honored, it was the absolute sweetest thing! What a lovely way to end the evening.

We drove at a tranquil pace down from Paul to Mousehole to Newlyn, to Penzance, to Nancledra where John got out, and then back to the Royal Cinema in the town of St Ives.

"Next week, then?" M asked.

"Oh that would be terrific. Thank you!" and I hopped out and away, down the hill toward the main road and through the tiny cobbled streets to my cottage by the sea. Unlocking the door, I flew in and put on every article of clothing I could find. My, but it was shivery. 

I looked again forlornly at the folder which contained directions of how to operate this cottage - the microwave, the oven, the hot water heater, the refrigerator, the television - and the HEATER - the one thing I had NOT been able to figure out. If you could see that instruction booklet you would understand me. It's not possible. And because the company is 'short on staff' at the moment, emergency calls only.

But I've got my trusty woolen blanket from The Minack Theatre, which will make a world of difference. In the meantime, I think - perhaps a hot water bottle..?

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Irreplaceable

As a former organ player, I am partial to them and grieve their gradual loss in the churches. They seem to have been replaced by things like guitars (don't get me wrong, I love guitars!), keyboards (them too!), and drums (well..). Because of this, it isn't often that you are invited to an organ concert, but I was, and I jumped at it. The organist for that day's Festival concert was the splendid Michael Hoeg, who lives in Cornwall but has performed around the world: Holland, Sweden, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Greece, America, France , the Czech Republic, Italy and Sinagapore as not only a solo organist, but as a pianist, conductor and accompanist. 

Michael Hoeg, and Frank

As I walked into the St Ia Parish church and was handed a program, I looked up and saw a familiar face; another organist, the man who would turn pages for Michael. This other organist's name is Frank, and I knew him because he once let me play an organ just a block away. A Methodist organ. 

 I don't just go around Cornwall playing people's organs willy-nilly. It happened because my husband, after the church service, walked over to Frank and told him I had been an organist a certain unknown number of years before. 

Frank was immediately interested.

"You did? In High School, you say? I don't meet many high schoolers who play the organ these days." Neither do I.

"Would you like to play this one?"

I was dumbstruck. To play that massive thing (which filled the entire front of the huge church with immense pipes pointing straight up), in front of those who were still finishing their tea and biscuits? Surely not..

But suddenly, "Yes! I would love to play it." There would never be another chance like this one. I played "How Great Thou Art" with my husband and Frank standing nearby, smiling to beat the band.

"This has never happened before," he said. "No one has come here and expressed interest in something so important to me."

It was the sweetest thing.

Bedford Road Methodist

Frank accompanying the Two Brothers, 2017

So here he was again, standing next to another massive organ and chatting with Michael Hoeg about something fascinating to them both.

Then it was time to listen, and from the first notes of the first song, Michael blew us all away. There were five anthems, by people from J.S. Bach to Finlandia, to some Good Friday music from Parsifal (Wagner). It was lovely, stirring, and uplifting. He played as easily as though he'd been doing it since High School, a certain unknown number of years before! And Frank stood to his right, always ready to nip in and turn the next page (there is a knack to page-turning in a concert, and Frank did it brilliantly).

At the end, I applauded until my hands hurt, along with everyone else in there. But for me, the applause was for two men, two organists who had given their lives -  and their years - to something so important to them both. 

That's irreplaceable.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Luggar in St Ives Bay

 

Further In

"You look lost," said a man. 

I was walking high above the town and had reached what you might call upper pasture land. It was further up than I had been in a while, and well out of the town. The man and his wife, who were also out 'walking high' had come suddenly around a corner to find me staring into my phone. 

"I am trying to find which direction might be the most fascinating," I said, and they laughed. "It's all pretty fascinating up here," said his wife. We discussed finding The Burrows in this direction, or Steeple Lane along there, which leads to Knill's Monument. I decided upon Knill's, and they went on the other way. 

Knill's is about as high as it gets, and the trek reminded me of C.S. Lewis' book "The Last Battle", when the Pevinsie children find themselves out of the Shadowlands and in the high Mountains (where Aslan is). Everything they had loved about England was even better there, clearer and sharper, and there was a wonderful resemblance between the two. And the great thing was that they could Run! and the running wasn't hard, because they had been fit for it, and could breathe as easily as if they were sitting.

Where I walked today, the fields were so blindingly green, and the horses so friendly, and the clouds so white and puffy that I felt it must almost be Narnia. I thought, just as Peter and Edmund and Lucy had thought, "This is my real country. I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now." 

It's like that when we finally stumble upon Narnia. 

Up, and up I climbed, finding it easier to take the steps and breathe the air, because I had been practicing. Along the way, I met other travelers who said hello, and smiled, and one even said, "I saw you in church this morning!" Her hair was blond, too, and she wore a beautiful flowing blue dress (out on the hills?) and she said she had been to the wedding in the Parish church at 1:00. 

"I hadn't time to go home between the service and the wedding, so I stayed there. I am heading home now." 

I laughed when she mentioned there was a wedding because our organist, at the end of the final hymn ("Onward Christian Soldiers") had surprised everyone by striking up the Wedding Recessional. The blazing intro to it gave me CHILLS with everyone cheering and applauding at the end. And now I knew why. 

She went along home and I strode off to the tip-top of Knill's, where one can see everything, every direction, north, south, east, and west, and there is no more climbing. One day, no one knows when, we will find ourselves out of the Shadowlands and in the high Mountains (where Aslan is). And we will be fit for the run, not because we are strong on our own but because we are made strong by Him. 

"Welcome, in the Lion's name! Come further up and further in!"

"All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before."

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

Knill's Monument

All Joking Aside

 

Once or twice each day, I walk straight up one of the many hills of St Ives. Straight-up isn't easy, but it is getting easier for me, now at the beginning of my fourth week here. The first day was appalling, with stops every half minute or so. Now, I can trudge along at a pretty quick clip, head down, hardly stopping. 

Today I entered the forested grounds of Tregenna Castle, and noticed again two signs (see video above) that sit just feet from one another.

"Dog walking is strictly prohibited," one sign said. And then..

"Dog waste only." This is printed on a small red/black bin evidently meant for poop from the strictly prohibited dogs being walked.

Okay. Is it a joke? I want to know.

Another sign that caught my attention my first day here is the banner high above Fore Street. Two years ago it said "WELCOME TO THE ST IVES SEPTEMBER FESTIVAL!!" Now it says, "PLEASE KEEP TO YOUR LEFT" in an attempt at social distancing. It might be effective if it were POSSIBLE to keep to your left. But there are crowds with perambulators and dogs and toddlers. There are shoppers criss-crossing that street continually to see if the other shop has a better price. Will anyone in those crowds keep to their left? Will they kindly NOT cross the road until they get to the end of Fore Street and then turn around and KEEP TO THEIR LEFT again? I gave it a try, really I did, that first day. The thing's impossible!

Is it a joke? I want to know.

The 'dog beach' is another poser. My sister and I noticed precisely which beaches were dog beaches and which were NOT dog beaches. There were signs on the not-dog beaches that said, "DOGS STRICTLY PROHIBITED ON THIS BEACH". We actually found only one real 'dog beach', the tiniest possible beach at the edge of civilization that had - I am not making this up - NO DOGS ON IT. Then we walked along the not-dog beaches, and I'm sure it comes as a huge surprise to you to learn that those beaches were CRAMMED WITH DOGS. Not that we minded. We didn't. The dogs of St Ives are the sweetest things in the world. The only trouble the dogs of St Ives have is with the other dogs. Today I saw two incidents of one dog biting another, resulting in yips and yaps, elongated barking sessions, and dog owners 'having a word' with the other dog owners.

Are those NO DOG signs a joke? What about the Keep to the Left signs? And are the poop signs a joke? Does anyone else get confused, back and forth? Not that it matters. It doesn't. It's all just part of what makes Cornwall a Lifestyle, not a Holiday. But which committee is it that gets to decide what bewildering directives will be printed and put onto signs in St Ives?

I want to know.

The Rather Stunning Son filming a dog of St Ives

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Ready Not Ready

It was time to go, only no one wanted to. 

We were ready on the outside - all bags packed, all food items cleared out, and all beds stripped - but we weren't ready on the inside. It seemed that every minute we had spent together in and out of that dream of a place had been faultless. We had visited the splendid Truro Cathedral and seen the baptistry opened up almost by magic, by two people simply lifting the top by a pulley system:

We had suffered through their Day 2 Covid test!

We had seen the wonderful Cornish Roots concerts at the Parish Church, and been thoroughly wowed.

We had watched sunrises and moonrises from up in the tippy-top of our three-story cottage.

We had eaten great food (mostly - with one possible exception being the Sunday roast, which the amazing Larry made three meals out of from our leftovers).

We had gone on long walks, talking and laughing along the way.

We had attended the best and most heartfelt Sunday church service, and been much encouraged.

We had watched as a Luggar boat came serenely sailing by on a perfect day.

We had spent a morning eating breakfast at the best place in town (I had made reservations 3 months ago), the Porthminster Beach Cafe.

We had found fisherman Stuart along the pier, and discussed the possibility of lobsters!

We had attended the rehearsal of the Mousehole Male Voice Choir in the lovely Paul church, and been treated with high respect.

We had visited the Leach Pottery, seen a Cello concert by candlelight, walked to Tregenna Castle on a clear blue day, and - perhaps the most amazing of all - been to The Minack Theatre and seen the HMS Pinafore! (we weren't allowed to film it, so I waited until the last actor had left the stage:)

And now, we were to go.

They would take the train to another city, and I? I was to move cottages. One of us said, "Maybe it should be two weeks next time?"

Someone else laughed, and said, "If they stop all the rigamarole, and all those hoops.." It was true. Coming here was made difficult, and we will perhaps need to recover just a bit.

But it's just plain fun being here. Many people asked us, "Are you here on holiday?" and we politely said, "Yes." But in actual fact, Cornwall is more Lifestyle, less Holiday. And the lifestyle has soaked in again this time.

We three climbed aboard the Great Western Railway together, to extend the 'holiday' just a bit. At Truro I got off, saying a quick goodbye before my throat closed in emotion and gratitude. 

It's hard to see the backs of some people.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Monarch Of The Sea

We had always wanted to visit the Minack. Have you heard of it? 

The Minack is an outdoor theatre in Cornwall built by one woman on the cliffs of the Lizard peninsula. The views are always spectacular, but it is entirely possible to find yourself in the rain, soaking yourself through. We shivered about this a little, checking iPhones for forecasts. But no one, not even the weather experts, knows in advance what the weather in Cornwall will or will not do.

We found where the website said, "Tickets", and clicked. For a while, though, the website offered nothing, since you can't really trust the virus to leave people alone when they are IN THE OPEN AIR. But, finally...

"You're not going to believe this!" I said to my sister when the Minack had finally decided.

"Believe what?" she asked.

"Believe that we are going to see the HMS Pinafore on September 22!"

Screeches erupted from her end of the line. "What?! You mean the real HMS Pinafore? The one Dad taught us all the songs to?"

"Same!" Our childhoods had been steeped in "Captain of the Pinafore", "Sweet Little Buttercup", and "I am the Monarch of the Sea", hilariously sung by sailors, pretty girls, the Captain, a lady of ill-repute, and the rather nutty Monarch. That old record album practically lost its grooves (and didn't get them back) as we played it ad-nauseum - until I feel certain our sweet mother developed a twitch.

And now we were going to go see it! My sister and I sat on the couch in our adorable cottage to figure out how to get there. We thought: bus. but then found out it would take two hours to get there and two hours to get back. Ok, so not bus. We tried to add in a train ride, but that only complicated our already addled minds, until I had a brilliant idea: taxi. 

"Taxi?" said my sister. "Isn't that, ahh, kind of expensive?" My fingers flew to the laptop, and I waited for it to answer.

"Ah... yes it is." So, not taxi. But the not taxi phase didn't last very long because we kept going back to the being-in-a-bus-getting-car-sick-for-four-hours phase. Since we really had no choice, we decided to throw caution to the wind and get a cab (the amazing Larry was strangely in favor of this plan. I figured out later that two sick women in the top of a double-decker bus had never been his idea of fun).

Our cabbie was a superior fellow, thrilled to find that we wanted to talk and not listen to our headphones like so many annoying customers do. We talked about kids, school, taxi-driving, people who lost their jobs but decided not to go back to work because they get more money from the government than they'd earned working (our two governments were identical in this scheme), and then - at the end - the conversation turned toward beer. 

But as the cabbie drew up to the Minack, we had to postpone the ins and outs of beer. Instead we saw the most gleaming panorama which was as striking as Nice, France! Or the Italian Riviera! Or even Greece! Massive, blue, and stupendous, the English Channel at its very best. 

This became the backdrop for the wonderful Gilbert and Sullivan production of HMS Pinafore, containing some of the greatest satirical songs known to man. As the Cambridge Players sang their hearts out, their audience joined in without being able to stop themselves. We certainly did not stop ourselves. 

I am the Monarch of the sea,

the Ruler of the Queen's Nay-vee.

Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants

And so do his sisters and his cousins and his aunts!

His sisters and his cousins (whom he reckons up by dozens) and his aunts!

Or, what the Captain says, here:

Bad language or abuse

I never, never use

Whatever the emergency.

Though "Bother it" I may

Occasionally say,

I never use a big, big D

All: "What, never?"

Captain: "No, never!"

All: "What, never?"

Captain: "Well, hardly ever!!"

At the end, our faithful cabbie drew up to let us in, turned around, and then drove us back to St Ives - talking all about the ins and outs of beer. Surprisingly he took us to the splendid Bier Haus, "the greatest beer restaurant ever." It might be the first time a teetotaler had ever been driven by a Cornish cabbie across the Lizard peninsula - and ended up inside a beer joint. 

But give three cheers and one cheer more for...... the Captain of the Pinafore!

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

And The Angels Sang

After the rehearsal of the Mousehole Male Voice Choir two weeks ago, I was wild to go again. We were invited, but getting there would be complicated. Buses are great but if you miss the last bus down the hill, it is a long dark trek back to civilization.

But we needn't have worried, for the excellent Tony came through and found us a ride. "M will collect you at the Royal Cinema at 6:30pm," he said. "Be ready to jump right in, though, because the cars in St Ives don't wait."

'M' duly collected us in his SUV, and we scrambled inside for what turned out to be a very civilized ride. I have been the passenger in other cars for these 9.2 miles, and not all of them have been so sedate. The lanes are narrow, the space for two cars minimal, and if it is raining, you might just as well go straight to prayer. 

But last night it did not rain, and M drove his car with scrupulous safety. He is owner and operator of a fisheries business, well-known in Cornwall, and had lots of specialized information we found fascinating. The subject of Pilchards came up, and M said that Pilchards were at first appreciated by some, but once they were rebranded into 'Cornish Sardines', the demand shot up and he was a happy man.

"Sardines?" my sister piped. "My husband brought 2 tins of sardines on the plane from America, because he was afraid there wouldn't be any here!" 

"What??" M said, much impressed. "You brought them all this way? Amazing!" 

The conversation picked up speed as my sister continued the theme of fish. "We purchased sea bass the other day from the outdoor seafood shop on the Harbour."

"I provide the fish for that shop!" he exclaimed. "The fish you had for dinner came out of our plant not far from here. If you look at the packaging, you will see my name." It was our turn to be impressed. 

"Wow," I breathed.

"Where are you three staying in St Ives?" he asked with interest.

We named the cottage and its location.

"What!?" he said again. "I was born into that house! We had it decades ago when it really was a fisherman's house. There were 10 of us in there - Granny, aunties, cousins, parents, kids - everybody who counted.

Good grief, we were riding in his car, staying in his house, and eating his fish! 

"Do you want to come and see the house?" I offered. "It would be interesting for you to see what these owners have done with it.." But we had reached our destination, and piled out of the car. Around us were Cornish men, standing outside the church where they rehearse, laughing in Cornish (there is a pub across from the church, and a few had already stepped discreetly in).

Some recognized me, their 'American roadie', and came up to say "Good to have you back, my Lovlie," or, "'Allo! Y'alright?" Yes. I was very definitely 'alright', standing in this group who had missed more than a year of rehearsals and concerts, thankful to be at it again.

To us, the rehearsal felt more like a performance with only a few lucky observers. Steven, as usual, directed them fabulously, and as usual, none of the roadies understood a word. But all of the songs gave me the shivers:

How Great Thou Art

Abide With Me

Oh Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go

And The Angels Sang

Lay Up Your Treasures in Heaven

Music makes me Happy, and

As I Went Down To The River To Pray.

We listened, and with the first 4-part harmonies coming out of that group of voices, we, and they, were back home. The time sped by, and as we were climbing back into his car, M said, "Y'alright?"

And yes, I was - very definitely, 'alright'.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The Turning of a Corner

We came through the doors a little late, but the church folk looked kindly at us, eyes sparkling above their masks. 

"I'm so sorry," I murmured as the lady handed us a hymnal and pew sheet. Prayers and confessions were being read, and I realized we had missed the processional, a true highlight. "I must have gotten the time wrong.." But the lady smiled and said, "No worries! Come along in." 

We did, and soon forgot any mixup of times. Today was clearly the turning of a corner, beginning with a thanksgiving from the heart of Father Nick, who expressed it like this:

"This is my first thought for the week in a pew sheet for what seems a very long time. The world, St Ives and our church have changed considerably over the last 18 months through COVID. Some people we used to sit beside are now resting in the eternal arms of God. We have all aged and been changed in some way by the experience of lockdown.

"As we look to the future, it is good to remember that God was, and is and is to come. He is timeless, ageless and working out His eternal plan in our lives and I his creation. A plan to prosper us and not to harm us. We can trust in Him today, tomorrow, and forevermore. 

Amen.

They were finally able to sing today during the services - and did they ever! You could hear the joy of it in their voices, being allowed to express their love of God in the old familiar way. Having been bereft of it for a year and a half, they would never take it for granted again.

We Americans felt privileged to participate, not from a distance but up close, understanding because we had been through it too; the initial fear, the isolation, the loss of fellowship, the loss of loved ones, and the waiting patiently for God through it all. And He's never left.

Thank you, St Ia Parish Church. We saw and experienced the love of Christ through you, today, as you gathered, and confessed, and praised. "The wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. James 3:13

Such things can't be locked down.

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

a doggie in St Ia Church

The Center Of Each

My friend, Jean. 

Carbis Bay. 

The Mousehole Male Voice Choir. 

Laughter. The undecipherable Manchester accent. And Cornish Methodists. All these things are close to my heart, and Jean is at the center of each.

It was while I was planning the next Cornwall trip that she fell. While fixing herself a pot of tea one fine evening, Jean turned around. Something in that movement started her tipping, and then she couldn't stop. There was a kind of 'crack', and it was, in fact, a broken hip.

Rising up, or rolling over, or moving in any way at all became obviously impossible, so she took hold of her pendant, the kind that if you give it a squeeze, an ambulance is alerted. She squeezed, and an ambulance was alerted, but - and this is the hard bit - there were 17 ambulances stacked up outside the hospital, and it would be 9 hours before one would reach her. 

When her daughter arrived, they two lay together on the kitchen floor, waiting and praying, praying and waiting. Jean was no stranger to ambulances, having been rescued before. Once, she fell over in her garden and couldn't get back up. Nothing broke, her head was fine, and she felt perfectly well. It was just that she couldn't 'shift'. 

"When the young men came to get me, they were so jolly (it was apparently complicated getting her back up and they had all got the giggles) that I thanked them over and over whilst they carried me into the house!"

But this time would be different. She has been in 3 different hospitals, had surgery, contracted two infections, and found herself in a ward with dementia patients. She didn't have anything against the dementia patients, but said, "It would have been nice to have someone to talk to."

I think that although she is so smart and alert, the hospital didn't realize she is actually 35, not 90!

She came back to her house, yesterday, and I am willing to bet that the nurses, the Sisters, and the doctors all miss her presence there. She is a light in this darkened world, and is not ashamed to say why that is. 

The Lord is her Shepherd.

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

 

Love Me, Love My Posse

When my sister and the amazing Larry arrived in town, a friendly Cornish cabbie picked us up from the station. It's fun when Cornish cabbies do this because they all have fascinatingly unusual accents, while thinking it is  actually our accents which are fascinating. This particular cabbie had a feel for the political, and told us all about how when Joseph Biden came here for the G7 summit last June, he brought with him an unbelievable entourage, a posse consisting of Secret Service agents, FBI agents, body guards, drivers, bullet proof cars, planes, helicopters, pilots, military members and equipment, bomb-sniffing dogs, boats, AND Air Force One. It's a wonder the man ever took a step.

Compare all of this to Boris Johnson's early morning beach walk, when he had all of one lonely policeman with him. The locals in St Ives and Carbis Bay thought it shamefully lopsided, and said they shouldn't have called it the G7 at all, but the G1 + 6.

The cabbie finally got us to our cottage, the most amazing and darling cottage on the Harbour. You can see it in the photo below. Just look for the tall yellow building, and identify a gabled window. That window is the 'tippy-top' of our 3-story cottage. Right on the sea! 

We walked, ate delicious takeout Thai food, and moseyed on down to an evening Festival concert by the group Cornish Roots, little knowing how splendid a concert it would be. We got good seats in the Parish Church, and mine was next to a teenage girl who appeared to be waving at one of the trumpeters. 

"Your sister?" I asked. 

"No. it's my mum!" But her mum was so young! 

When you see the video clip below of another trumpeter, you will see why we so loved this concert. It was the best of the big band era, plus jazz and 40's tunes which caused some audience members to get up and dance to the music! Hahaha, it was splendid.

Walking back in the soft evening drizzle, we couldn't stop talking about what a grand time we had been given. Coming from our family of musicians, those two hours bordered on perfection.

We drifted off to sleep deeply thankful for the gift this week is - and it is only just beginning. Oh! And you should just SEE the moon outside my window right now. It is awe inspiring with a star/planet hovering above it and the whole deal reflected on the water. Take a look at it tonight, when it comes your direction.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

my sister and the amazing Larry

A favorite gallery

Front room of our darling cottage

Charlotte's

      

As we left the cathedral, a discussion instantly began as to where, precisely, we should eat. Out of several choices, the two sisters leaned toward Charlotte's Tea Shop, just around the corner. It came highly recommended (by the SconeLady), so my sister said, "Let's just go look at it, and then decide." We went.

A lady passing by said, "If you're thinking of eating in there, do. It's excellent!" This was all the two of us needed to know. But the great Larry.. I think the word tea had done a disservice to his manly appetite.

"You don't have to have tea," I said hopefully. "Look! It says there is soup, and bread, and salads and such." My sister and I stepped inside and saw how absolutely adorable it is, with shelves of books, and antique furniture, and waitresses who look like they live in the 1800s. It could not have been any closer to the quintessential British tea place. An American magnet. We went back outside.

"It's so cute!" we said. Again, perhaps not quite the tone we should have struck.

So we turned away and walked up the High Street, looking out for the kind of place that might suit all taste buds. William IV looked promising. It was a new-ish pub with a beer garden and terrace so a person could sit there in the fresh air without feeling cold. And as the sky was clear and blue, it was perfect! the great Larry had done it again. Hit the nail right on the head. I would keep William IV in mind next time I ventured to Truro.

As the meal ended, my sister announced that it was time for their Day 2 covid test. A sudden pall descended - upon me, because I knew what was coming; and upon them, because they didn't. I had a private moment of hesitation because the thing wasn't the least bit easy.. it was uncomfortable. Perhaps even awful. But  I didn't want to say any of this out loud and discouragingly.

"Maybe I'll just stretch my legs while you .." I murmured, and walked in circles while listening for the inevitable blood curdling screams. Only those who travel overseas during this strange time will fully understand what I am saying. For the rest of you, I shall draw a veil. 

"You are going to feel SO GOOD when you get rid of these covid samples!" I said with a certain naïveté  My sister looked skeptical  but clutched the two test boxes that had to be turned into the Royal Mail. The Royal Mail HAD to scan them or the lab people would not receive them, and sooner or later, someone would come for my sister and the great Larry. So we searched Truro up and down for the right place, a Royal Mail post office with actual postal people inside of it. When we finally found it, those actual postal people told us to go someplace else. 

It was then that her teeth started grinding.

But we finished up encircling the Victoria area of town, stumbled upon the Royal place to put the sample boxes, then took ourselves back to Charlotte's Tea Shop and ordered a Cream Tea. Isn't that what you would have done? 

Charlotte's Tea Shop

A Cathedral In Truro

We met each other on the streets of Truro, she in her red coat and I, my swing dress. And there he was too, the great Larry with his British cap that blends right in and makes him look like anything but a tourist.

They had made it!

She saw me, lifted both arms in salute, and picked up her pace. I love her red coat because it means I can always pick her out in a crowd, and there will be crowds here. After disparaging the horrid and ridiculous hoops we had had to jump through just to get here, and with their Day 2 covid test needing to be taken today, we turned toward today's adventure: Truro Cathedral, the first of many 'larks' we have planned for the coming week.

But just getting to the Cathedral was scary, because Truro is busy and we kept being nearly hit by buses, cars, taxi, motorcycles, and even cyclists (please don't tell our mother) who seemed to think pedestrians do NOT have any sort of right away, and who really are just plain stupid. They thought that, because I kept forgetting to look the OTHER WAY from what we look in America. Every vehicle was in the wrong place, and somehow, nothing directional made sense.

"Look out!" my sister said (many times), and, "Bus!", as I stepped from the curb. At one point, both of her arms grabbed me literally from the jaws of death, placing me back onto the sidewalk as the white transit van sped past (there are a lot of white transit vans here, and they are always in a frightful rush).

We finally arrived for the 11:00 cathedral tour, the atmosphere blessedly quiet after that mad dash from the station. As we waited for our tour, from the sound system came the calming voice of (I assume) a priest, who welcomed us and led us all in The Lord's Prayer. I was touched by how many people around us knew the Prayer, and participated in their many different accents. Amen.

Our terrific guide gave us up-close-and-personal knowledge of this magnificent structure built between 1880 and 1910. The people of Cornwall donated their money and their skills, building huts to house themselves as the work moved forward. 

She shared so many details with us that, at this late hour, I would not do them justice here. But I will! And I need to share with you the splendid scones we ate afterward! And the adventure of completing their two covid tests and then looking for the Royal Mail, which was not where it was supposed to be, and took considerable walking, and backtracking, and phone calling, and not understanding why people from two countries with a shared language can never seem to understand each other.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady