(Cornwall Day 32) London

 Here I sit in a microscopic hotel room in London England, not terribly far from Heathrow. This has to be the smallest room ever. All of my relatives who stay here after a dream trip to Cornwall say the same thing. The smallest room EVER. But it isn't horrible, it's just mini.

I can think of nothing untoward about my preparations for departure from St Ives this morning. I was surprisingly organized and did not have to throw out huge amounts of perfectly good food that would otherwise have rotted. I'll bet there ARE huge amounts of perfectly good food rotting in plastic bags in the Biffa Bin Trucks down there - this very minute - because we ladies have left (It is hard to strike the right grocery purchasing balance).

When I arrived at the train station, I found that I had not been given a seat assignment. 

"Oh! No problem whatsoever, Madam," said the ticket collector, when I explained this. "There are plenty of available seats. No Problem whatsoever!" And I believed him.

At least, I believed him until he went on break just as a man came and took my seat from me. What!? All of this took time because someone had to be found who could lift my heavy bag from the overhead bin, then help me carry all my clobber to an empty seat. In the next car. 

I ended up with two very nice Australians (one whom had helped me with my suitcase) and a Brit, who were very funny but whom I COULD NOT UNDERSTAND.  I know they were funny, because the people around us kept laughing. They loved films, and fascinated me with the US movies they had seen and loved. They told me outrageous stories about how restrictive the Aussie government was about Covid. Aghast, I finally said, "But I thought Australia was a FREE country!" The Australians laughed.

The Aussies and the Brit all took my name down and said they would order my book ("The House by the Side of the Road") and read it. The Brit wondered if it was going to be a smash hit like a Lee Child book (the writer of the Jack Reacher novels). I hesitated and said, well maybe my book would fit better compared with something like a... Rosamunde Pilcher book. This started us on a Rosamunde tangent which lasted until the train announcer called out for "London!"

They all said they had never read a Rosumunde Pilcher book. WHAAAAT?!

See you along the way!
the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 31) Last Full Day

 Sunrise this morning

Because it is the last full day, a portion of it has been spent with Jean. When I first came into her life, she was as fit as a fiddle and needed no extra help. She, Eric, and Pennie called themselves "The Three Musketeers" and went places together. I was lucky to be a part of those times and places, and I think I almost became a fourth 'Musketeer'. 

Then something happened, and a foot turned the wrong way during the making of a nice hot cup of tea. A hip was broken (oh, sad day) and things spun downwards for a while. But not out of control! 

Some time during these events, Eric was diagnosed with Leukemia. It did eventually take him, and that first Musketeer is much missed. But Jean is made of stern stuff, and sits in her chair with her Bible, welcoming visitors ("Please excuse my dressing gown, haha"), sweetly thankful for the small bites the SconeLady brings up the hill (especially pork pies).

Her birthday is coming up, so I brought her gift and card and we sat in a circle eating muffins and drinking tea. When I got ready to go, her eyes looked the same way mine did. A little damp around the edges. We don't know what changes may come within a year, but have determined not to see that as a worry. Last year we didn't know either, and yet here she is and here I am. 

"Goodbye Jean!" I called, and walked outside to her big window, waving and waving. The dogs barked at a cat that wanted to get a bird, but we ignored all of that stuff and just - looked. Then I turned, and left.

Walking around to my favorite St Ives haunts took my attention for a while, and I saw Knill's Monument, Carbis Bay Hotel, Tesco's, Man's Head Rock (where Eric stood in 1943 when a German bomber destroyed the gas works), and the Tate Museum. I might even enjoy a Moomaid ice cream, today. Perhaps it will be dark chocolate sorbet. After all, it will be a while before I have another crack at this!

Tomorrow's departure will include a cab ride, a little train ride, a big train ride, then next day a Heathrow Express ride, and a plane ride, drawing ever closer to my own Musketeer, driving in circles at an airport, waiting for me.

See you along the way!
the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 30) Embarrassment of Riches

 

Being in a town filled with talent is just great. There is always something going on. Yesterday a friend said I should go see the Matt Carter Octet (an 'Octet' has guess how many people in it!) at the Western Hotel at 7:30, where you pay whatever you can, and just go on in. I figured it would be a sweet little local group that plays in basements, and did not have high expectations. 

I was the first to arrive, so I did what I always do - found the most perfect seat in the basement and put my feet up. Only it wasn't a basement! It was a decent staging area with tables, chairs, and the bar to order from and lean upon. THIS was where the people were clustering, and leaning. The bar maid was by herself and working her head off, but her customers were all very nice and gave her tips and teased her (I don't think people in St Ives worry too much about getting into trouble for teasing). The tables and chairs added up to about 75 potential listeners, and my perfect seating area was beginning to get crowded.

Finally there was a disturbance at the back, and eight young men walked onto the small stage, picking up their instruments and looking shyly out at us all. There was a baritone saxophone, an alto, and tenor sax (those three played in absolute tandem, with no mistakes or off-notes). Next to them was a trumpet (fabulous), and trombone (I could tell he had a leadership role because he made hand motions when it was time for somebody to do something). In the back was the drum and double bass, and to the far left sat Matt Carter at the piano. He not only plays, he writes much of the music they play. When you do that, you arrange each and every player's part, which means you must know their instrument. 

From the first note of the first song, we were all shocked. Soon every toe in that room was tapping, every face smiling, and every hand reaching into a pocket for cash to donate to this magnificent group. Matt introduced each tune, and the instrumentalist who would be the solo in it. He kept his eyes on that instrumentalist, nodding, smiling, encouraging as the thing went on and on. 

I could feel myself becoming a Groupie..

Then today my computer went bing! and a message came out that said, Organ Recital today at 1:00 pm. What! An embarrassment of riches! I had to get going because this was not something I wanted to waltz in late to. The St Ia Parish Church is awe inspiring, and an organ recital in it is every bit as awe inspiring. It would not be like a jazz Octet, of course, blasting out unbelievable tunes no one has ever heard before. But the organist was just as as talented. He is the organist at the Parish Church and had already made an impression on everyone who has walked through that door on a Sunday morning. 

It is time to turn a corner now, dear Readers, for my five weeks in St Ives is nearly done. I shall soon be in the arms of my sweet family. I can't wait to be in their audiences again, up close - their baseball games, ballet recitals, and choir performances. Nodding, smiling, and encouraging as darling life goes on...and on.

Grandma, the Groupie.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 29) Wild Church 2

Walking uphill to the Vicar's garden, a new feeling of resilience came over me, because - can you believe it? - I was not out of breath! Just a couple of years ago and I would have been positively gasping. (The secret is practice. You wouldn't have one without the other). So I almost skipped in through the garden wall and was met by a smile and someone calling me by name.

"How did you get here?" the lady with the pew sheet asked.

"I walked up."

"What? That's a long way, I'm sure we could arrange..."

But I said it was okay, that walking is all part of the fun of coming to Wild Church.

Approaching the tent, I knew right away that something terrific was going to happen, because I could hear the Vicar's wife and her friend rehearsing a song called "Power in my Slingshot". It tells the story of David vs Giant, and I already couldn't wait to hear it again.

After tea, and coffee, and cake-at-the-Shack, and as the little children stood together in the blue and white bus...there came the SONG. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ccq9Vbp8xYY

I was hopeless at the hand motions, but they very perfectly described the song's meaning. I wish you could see AND hear them doing it, but there was no decent way to video without being a rude American. But I highly recommend you hear it (click the link above).

After the message (Isaiah 40, "Surely the nations are like a drop in a bucket" - the utter Hugeness of God -), there were 'explorer zones' for people to join, participate in and learn more deeply. As my little group introduced ourselves, I was surprised to all of a sudden hear a familiar accent.

"You're an American!" we both said.

"California?"

"Temecula!?"

30 minutes from my home! The western US accent in the midst of these Manchester, Norfolk, Cornish, and Devon folk was a lovely cacophony! 

Participating both in the 'high' church of that morning (choir robes and such), and the brisk joy of Wild Church, is terrific. It is one of the lovely silver linings behind the covid-related-lock-downs for the people of St Ives. They all know it, and speak to it. And they are thankful for it, which means being thankful for the covid-related-lock-downs. 

You wouldn't have one without the other.

See you along the Way!
the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 28) Chorus of Angels

Today is Monday, so are you wondering what happened to the SconeLady on Sunday? 

This happened!

Once again under a clear blue sky, I stepped into the Parish Church. There was, seated in the vestibule and chatting, the Vicar. Again he greeted me saying, "Hello! In the choir again today?"

I certainly said yes I am, and the Vicar smiled and said we're glad you are. And after that I trailed along into the choir room.

There was a little pause and scramble before I could find robes (there are always two robes - red and white) because I think last week's weren't there. Eventually it was established that I could wear another size, which felt wedding-dress-sized ... with a train. But the ladies helped get me situated and properly clothed and, after a rehearsal, it was time to be blessed. The Vicar squeezed into the small choir room and prayed over us with thanksgiving. We stood a little straighter and held our heads a little higher as we followed the tall young man bearing the Cross in.

"Please turn to hymn number 148," the Vicar called, "omitting the starred verses." Then everybody turned to it, and the service began.

When people afterward asked how it felt to be in a Church of England choir, processing together behind the Vicar and the Cross, I almost answered, "It was so fun!" but stopped myself. It would sound silly, wouldn't it, saying that something like that, something solemn and meaningful, was 'fun'. 

But - that word was exactly how it did feel to be in a Church of England choir, etc. The swell of voices and organ together (oh that organist!), dog-Tess giving the tiniest little 'yip' as we passed, the sermon drawing attention to the utter Hugeness of God - all of it. Not so much 'amusing' or 'merry', as - blessed.

Having a father who insisted his children learned to read music, play multiple instruments, and be on a stage, opened doors for all of us. We joined church choirs, sang in worship bands, or recorded albums. Now we watch as children and grandchildren do the same sweet things, to the tune of a different generation.

Ah, lovely...in the year 2023, standing with a group of Englishmen and women singing their hearts out on something wonderful like "Holy Holy Holy", on a Trinity Sunday, in St Ives. Yes. Fun.

And next up? WILD CHURCH!

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 27) The Estates - Part Two

Continued...

In order to give you peace of mind, here is what finally happened:

1 I called my cottage friend and set the new time for 2:00.

2 the train reached Penzance.

3 the same train left for St Erth.

4 the same train broke down.

5 it hobbled back to Penzance.

6 I got off it and took a bus to St Ives. 

All through this long list of events, I thought my husband would have to come from America and rescue me with a white straight jacket! This idea of a straight jacket scared me so much that I got another idea: I would do what any tech-savvy (but slightly ditzy) American should do: GOOGLE IT. 

"Is there a train non stop from Lelant to Penzance?"

In all the 13 years I have visited St Ives, I'm telling you there has NEVER BEEN A DIRECT TRAIN FROM LELANT TO PENZANCE. Maybe there really was a direct train, but I just didn't know it. It was clearly a rotten way to find out.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

P.S. The cottage was viewed and all four stories admired. I don't know yet whether we will become "second homers" (and perhaps not yet, because four flights of stairs is likely a sad idea). But it sure is fun to look. Even if our tour guide's day gets wrecked.

(Cornwall Day 27) The Estates - Part One

 

It is hard to feel very sorry for those who live in the 'estates', because - well, it looks almost heavenly.

Our favorite walking tour guide pointed out last week that the people of St Ives cannot afford to live in it. This is because of "second homers" who swoop in and buy up the fishermen's cottages to refurbish them - having watched the British version of 'Fixer Upper.' on the British version of HGTV. This drives up housing prices, and then the locals (and their children) cannot afford to buy them and have to live in the Estates.

I have stayed in these St Ives holiday lets and wished I could maybe buy one, but made the mistake of mentioning this to our walking tour guide. It wrecked his day. But did I realize it was a major no-no to confess something like that to a LOCAL? 

Then I saw a British friend yesterday on the wharf. 

"Have I told you yet that we are selling one of the properties?" she asked.

"What!" I almost screamed. "Where?"

"Mere yards from here!" I hopped a little hop. "But," she continued, "we can't show you it until noon. Come see it then."

This means I had time to walk to Lelant and observe the silent beauty of Rosamunde's house. To be sure I was on time, I went to the little rail station nearby. And who, dear Readers, do you supposed I saw sitting on the railway bench? The Corn Flakes man! The one who had held forth that they would all end up eating government Corn Flakes in the end.

"You again!" he said as I appeared. "St Ives train? You'll have to get on the upcoming St Erth train, stay on it, and it will bring you straight back to St Ives. No problem!" What a relief. I didn't want to miss seeing the cottage.

The man didn't talk about Corn Flakes, but he did say the government had imposed a hose pipe ban on everybody in the country because of a drought. In case you are an American and aren't sure of what a "hose pipe ban" is, well I had to ask. A hose pipe in England, is just a hose. A hose pipe ban means people can't water their lawns, flowers, or pots, and cannot wash their cars (These restrictions don't apply to farmers, so they can carry on watering). The hose pipe ban really bugs this man, who said he was "cheesed off" about it.

But the really strange thing about this (long, and getting longer) story, is what happened next.

The St Erth train arrived, picked me up, and would take only 5 minutes to get to St Erth. I stepped into the train restroom. When I came out, it felt like we were going awfully fast for the little train to St Erth. We kept not slowing, and not stopping. What!?

After a while I looked out the window, and saw - ST MICHAEL'S MOUNT! What!?

I couldn't be at St Michael's Mount. Honestly, people, this was a crisis - not so much that I would miss a cottage, but that I must be missing my brain. How had I managed to reach St Erth, gotten off that train and onto the Penzance train (and not remember it), in the time it took to go to the bathroom?

I had to be in the Twilight Zone.

To Be Continued....

(Cornwall Day 26) Sunset in St Ives

June 1, 2023

Someone said, last week, that there are no sunsets in St Ives. I felt this could not be quite right, but was willing to consider all sides. Decades ago while living in New Zealand, someone told my American friend and I that, although the sun rises in the east and sets in the west in America, it does the exact opposite in New Zealand. We had felt this could not be quite right, but fell for it all the same. Thus becoming American laughing stocks.

So of course I knew there are sunsets in St Ives, it's just a matter of finding them. Which is simple. Half an hour before sunset time, I walked westerly until I came to the surfing beach. And there the sunset was, in all its glory.

And not only the sunset. There were hundreds of people standing, sitting, laying around on the grass, waiting for it to set. They were hushed. Their children were hushed too, as if something magical was about to happen. The Rather Stunning Son called just then, and (in hushed voices) we talked and I sent him photos of the great sinking orb out there, hovering above the waters. Magical.

St Ives is also exquisite when it comes to sunRISES - only you have to get up really early right now in order to see one. In fact, I have not seen one sunrise this trip. Which is strange, because I am an early riser. 

This sunrise photo was taken on October 6, 2021, at 7:57 a.m. Tomorrow's sunrise will take place at 5:15 a.m., so you see it is a disadvantage to travel to St Ives in the month of June, if you want to see a sunrise. 

When that magical thing happens, it reminds us that sunrises and sunsets happen every day, even when we don't see them. We know they are there, but maybe sometimes hidden. 

There is actually a better word for all this stuff, you know. All of the intricate, fabulous, phenomenal, surprising, revelatory stuff that is here - for you. Even when you don't see it:

Miraculous.

("The Heavens declare the glory of God, and the skies proclaim the work of his hands." Psalm 19:1)

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 25) Along The Way To Land's End

  Land's End

It is almost the end of Half Term. Yay. I want my streets back.

It's been fun, though, seeing so many children enjoying St Ives. I think I might miss them. It isn't their fault that their numbers have overwhelmed one of the grownups. 

Most of the babies I have seen have either been asleep in a pram with a binky in their mouths, or asleep in the arms of their young fathers because mummy is exhausted and still in bed. Very few of the babies have screamed.

The young school children have been fun, too. They have gotten redder as the days pass, and some of them are beginning to peel. I wonder if sun screen has been in their mother's needful bags? because just about the whole family is red. I mean, these people were red the FIRST DAY they came. No working up to it gradually. The backs of necks are particularly uncomfortable looking.

The middle school kids on vacation have been a blast to watch. I see them as I sit on an open top bus, watching the passengers board. Today on the way to Land's End I saw a tousle-headed boy of about 9 appear up through the bus stairwell (a little bit self conscious), and look for a seat. He was followed by a second boy, maybe 11 and also tousle-headed, coming up through the well after which a third, 13, appeared, and a fourth important looking kid of about 16, who looked responsible. Behind them, a haggard looking mother and father climbed wearily up. 

I had no end of a good time hearing their jokes, laughter, and all around good time. It gave me a positive feeling about the youth of Britain.

So tomorrow is changeover day, through which I hope to pass without losing anything. Last year there were the Apple Ear Pods which were left in the bed because I'd been listening to a Rosamunde Pilcher book, and forgot about the Ear Pods. The Pods were white and the sheets were white, which meant I didn't see them and the housekeeping people didn't either. 

Two weeks ago I left two plastic containers of the best chewing gum in the world ("Ice Cubes"), in a drawer. It was almost worse than the Ear Pods! This best gum in the world does not exist in the UK, and therefore the loss was distressing. There seem to be no lost-and-founds in the travel world.

My changeover day will be spent with Cornish friends, well away from the bustle of people down here packing up and leaving. By around 4:00, I should find out if I've finally got my streets back. I hope so, but... I still might miss those kids.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 24) Cape Cornwall

 

The combination beauty of sunlight and blue sea is enticing, it is true. I go out into it as early as possible, where it's just me and a dog-walker, or maybe me and a man pushing a pram. There are a lot of men pushing prams this week, giving their wives a lie-in.

But by 9:00 am, the tourists are out of bed and the SconeLady is squashed. Looking down Fore Street, I saw a mass of bodies ahead of me, bodies trying to pass each other and making no headway. In the midst of this a group of workmen began to hammer their way into the center of the road for work that evidently must be done now, right in the middle of Half Term week. To make matters worse, a dog backed up to the hole and USED THE RESTROOM IN IT (I really don't think it meant to be objectionable. It saw a hole).

The dog's owner whipped out his poo-bag and, red-faced, reached down in. I felt sorry as much for him as for the workmen. 

Watching the man with the bag and the dog, I made a command decision. I would go to the bus stop and just hop onto the first one that came. No matter where it went. St Ives excels in buses, and you almost can't go wrong. 

Right then a bus pulled in, and I could not believe it. It was a Coaster bus!

The Coaster is an on-off bus that travels the entire peninsula along the coast. You can see the ocean the entire time and get off whenever you want to, then just come back an hour later and get back on again. It's a great deal for 5 pounds. 

Instead of taking the entire circular route (which takes a few hours), I got off at St Just, walked the circle to Cape Cornwall, and went back the way I had come (they have clockwise and anti-clockwise buses).

You may have visited Cape Cornwall, or heard it mentioned in the song, "Cornwall, My Home":

I've stood on Cape Cornwall
In the sun's evening glow
On Chywoone Hill at Newlyn
to watch the fishing fleets go.

Watched the sheave wheels at Geevor

As they spun around

And heard the men singing 

as they go underground.

And no one will ever move me from this land.

until the Lord calls me to sit at His hand.

For this is my Eden, and I'm not alone,

For this is my Cornwall 

And this is my home.

-Harry Glasson

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNCcSJiZR1I

This song is my favorite of the Fisherman's Friends' songs, so it was lovely fun today to see where they filmed the song's video. 

St Just has an adorable town square that includes a clock tower, a medieval church, and a collection of tea shops, grocers, Cornish pastie shops, and others. The photo below of the Parish Church is lovely, but in real life it is breath-taking. If a church like this was in California, people would line up to go see it I'm sure! But there were no lines, today. 

I needed a place to eat my sandwich because it was a bit nippy outside. Coffee and tea shops look down on people bringing their own sandwiches in, even if you want to buy a pot of tea (my sister and I know this from British experience), so I hoped that the church might not mind if I did. 

It was a particularly delicious sandwich to which I have become attached - roast chicken, lettuce, tomato, onion and mayo. It would be embarrassing if I were to start eating it in a pew, and a church official came in and asked me to leave. But no person, official or otherwise, came in to say that and I was able to sit in those unbelievable surroundings, eating my chicken and mayo.

It became time to catch the clockwise bus back to St Ives. As I walked that short distance, the sun streamed out from behind the clouds. Then the clouds went away altogether, and those of us in the top of that bus had huge smiles. The beauty was overwhelming, as if it were Eden itself.

For this is my Eden, and I'm not alone,

For this is my Cornwall 

And this is my home.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 23) Fisher Grandchildren

 

There can hardly be anyone harder working than a Cornish fisherman. Every day my first steps take me to the pier, where I am almost sure to see this man in yellow, scrubbing, organizing, weighing, sorting, or answering the questions of tourists. It's all part of the job.

Some of these sightings take place when the tide is out, and I think, "Why would a fisherman be at the pier now, with no water to carry him out?" But Stuart always has plenty to do, tide or no tide, and the work is never really done.

Yesterday I arrived in the bright sunshine to find a little group clustered around him, the mother, father, and two children asking him about his catch. A group of seagulls also hovered with a lively interest, above. All of this interest was focused on a bucket of delicious looking crabs, their long spindly legs seeming to reach out in curiosity toward us. Lobsters squirmed around in another bin, their claws bound securely for safety, and a bucket of mackerel twitched together in the third. The children stared.

"What if they get loose?" asked the boy cautiously.

"Oh well, you see, we don't need to worry about them getting loose. This lot isn't going anywhere." A long crab claw reached out, as if on cue, toward the little girl. She squeaked.

Stuart saw me then and said, "Y'alright?" in the typical Cornish welcome. Once we had established that I was alright, the family said 'thank you', and slowly moseyed in the direction of the wharf. I made to follow, knowing how busy Stuart was. Then I remembered something. 

"How is your son doing?" Stuart's son is a younger fisherversion of himself. 

"Oh -" the man said, perking up. "He has a baby now, just three weeks old! The cutest little thing..." he forgot his catch and began flitting through a smart phone to find the one absolutely perfect photo of that 'cute little thing'. He finally did find it, and held the screen toward me. 

"She IS the cutest thing!" I said in all honesty. More digging revealed photos of his daughter's two children, every bit as cute. Those three grandchildren were the blondest haired, bluest eyed children I had seen since...since I'd left my own grandchildren in California!

"I spend all my extra time with these three," he said, checking his watch. "Better get workin' now so I can go back..." He bent over the lobster bin and heaved it into the truck.

Fishermen are strong and can heave bins of sea creatures into trucks and take them to market. They rise early and go to bed late. They put up with people who fiddle with their boats because their boats have to be outside all night long. 

The fishergrandfather's day is never over, because what about that 3 year old? and the 18 month old? and that cutest little 3 week old who is already starting to love her granddad? There's an awful lot of holding yet to come. 

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Cornwall Day 21 (Wild Church)

 

St Michael's Mount gleamed out like an emerald today, but this picture is deceptive. It is deceptive because there are no humans or dogs in it, and in reality there are humans and dogs EVERYWHERE HERE. We are trapped, I tell you - TRAPPED! We are ensconced in the half-term holiday, and there is no escape. It doesn't help that the weather is perfect every day because that only brings in more humans-and-dogs!

Yesterday I was able to escape the crush for a while, walking up the hill to St John's in the Fields Church of England, for Wild Church. Even the walk to Wild Church is enjoyable because the further up you climb, the fewer the crowds there are. Everybody wants to be DOWN.

I turned right and saw why they called it "St John's In The Fields" long ago. It looks exactly like a huge park with a very old church set into it. When you come up for Wild Church you will almost always see children playing, biking, and cheerfully working in the raised garden beds to the side. It is a child's paradise.

Wild Church takes place in the Vicar's garden. One approaches the Vicar's garden through an opening to the right of the church. 

When you enter the doorway you are given a welcome and a sheet to help guide you through the service. Then you are directed to the tea, coffee and cake shack, a very popular spot at Wild Church. Children think it provides a smashing start to the service. This time they had vanilla cupcakes with real whipped cream and fresh strawberries on top, and a huge chocolate layer cake. 

For a while, everyone was talking, milling around, making new friends, and looking at the variety of activity tables, which were not just for the children but for everyone. Everything at Wild Church is for everyone, which makes them all feel hugely welcomed.

The Vicar's wife is a terrific lady who sings, plays instruments, writes music, keeps a Spotify playlist, and includes everyone in the whole worship experience. There was a guitar, a keyboard, microphones, and a sort of box thing that a person sits on, and keeps rhythm on it with their hands. I don't know what it is called, but it was lovely because the Vicar sat on it and played it! 

After this, the Vicar spoke to us (the theme was The Holy Spirit's coming, at Pentecost - read Acts 2:1-31 -, as it had been in the morning service where he wore his robes and his shoes. At Wild Church he didn't). Much was said about Pentecost from others in the service, and in fact everything about the time together - and the Bible readings especially - supported the theme, tying it all together in an understandable way.

You need to know something here. There were lots of children there with their families - including grandparents (three cheers!). The children were not separated into another area to do children things. They were, for the entire time, in. 

Were they quiet? Well, not the whole time. But it didn't matter because whenever they made any noise, everything just kept going on as if they weren't making noise. No one was bothered by the noisy bits. It was very sweet and very much like Jesus, who is also wonderfully welcoming to children.

the Vicar

chocolate layer cake

The bus helped. What bus? you ask? Well, there was a blue and white wooden bus whose insides is actually a slide. The little ones loved it and spent most of the service in it. I was right in the line of sight of that little bus, and thought it hilarious!

When it was time to go I was able to say, "See you next week!" Smashing. 

So you see, my next Sunday will be a lively and a busy one. Singing in the choir at one church, having cake and tea at another! And maybe I won't even wear shoes - although that might shock my grandchildren. I can hardly wait.

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

the bus!

(Cornwall Day 20 ) Singing In A Church of England for the First Time

 

Yes, I sang in the church choir this morning, but there are sadly no photos of the event. This is because I couldn't figure out how to use a smart phone on a stage in an ancient Church of England WITHOUT BEING NOTICED (also there was the request that I be sure my phone was switched off. That ended any fiddling).

We met early for a rehearsal, where the music director led us through each of the songs expertly well. He is a Scott with a decently strong accent, so I did not understand quite everything he said. But one thing became clear. I knew none of the songs for the day. This did not trouble me, however, since my father taught all of his children to read music from an early age (a.k.a. the moment we were born). 

By the time we needed to meet in the choir room and prepare our hearts, the Scott had given us enough confidence to walk out there with heads held high. This is possibly the most important quality in a good music director - that, and being gentle with our mistakes. 

After all the years of sharing with you the joys of a Church of England processional, I finally got to be a part of one. I was toward the front of the double line and close to the cross as it floated on ahead, carried by a tall young man whom I had seen before. The incense, the cross, the music, the Bible, and the people all helped set that collection of moments apart in my mind. Unforgettable.

The choir surrounded this newcomer with kindness itself. Throughout the service, the lady next to me gave little helpful instructions to keep me in the right place at the right time. Another lady helped me get a glass of water to put near my seat on the pew. A man said he would print me off a copy of the liturgical pages and put them into a folder for me. That way I can be ready "next time you come!" Another lady said they would never let me sit alone in the congregation again. "She's one of us, now." It was the sweetest thing.

And, there was dog-Tess at her spot, watching carefully for her cue to stand. She did it without a hitch.

In the end, we processed back to the choir room where the Vicar blessed and thanked us as a group. He apparently does this every week, and no one takes off any of their robes until he is done. Then the robes come off because it is HOT in them.

Tomorrow I will tell you about the second church service I attended today. It is also the Church of England, but is called "Wild Church" and did not have robes. Wild Church was splendid in a different way. I am still humming the songs they shared, and the moments spent there are also set apart in my mind, and therefore, unforgettable.

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 19) Something I Have Never Done In Cornwall

If I hadn't stopped to admire and listen to the church bells along the way, I would have caught the train. Sometimes missing one thing is better than catching the other.

I lingered, thinking about tomorrow. Tomorrow would be a Sunday, and I would be doing something I had never done in Cornwall. Singing in the St. Ia choir! When you stay for the post-church cup of tea, you meet all sorts of fine people and give them a chance to figure you out a little. 

The organists's wife heard from dog-Tess's mistress that the American lady used to sing in a church choir long ago. The organist - who is no ordinary organist, but one with a reputation elsewhere who leaves the congregation wanting more every week - said, "Splendid!" when HE heard. All of this made the SconeLady feel welcome and excited about donning a robe, making the Processional, and following the great Cross as it traverses the nave to its rightful place. 

By now I have memorized all their choral responses, but might not know the hymns. Hymns in this country are often different to the ones in America. Sometimes the words of a hymn here are different to ours even though it has the tune we are used to. Then sometimes the tune will be different but the words are the same. Once in a great while you will find a hymn that matches both the lyrics and the tune, AND the title. And that is an especially red letter day, because one needn't look at the book at all, but can stand blaring it out with everybody else (Blaring it out runs in our family).

Pausing in the churchyard en route to the train, I suddenly remembered the time. 11:10! Train time is 11:12! Picking up the pace, I made my way down the lane in front of Rosamunde's house with only the tiniest glance (and it was looking gorgeous, by the way, in all that sunshine). And there the train was, already approaching, stopping, screeching, and then moving off. I watched it go.

"I'm afraid you've missed it, Madam," said a knowledgable man on the bench. He had been jawing with a group of other knowledgable people, discussing the dreadful mess they felt the government was making of everybody's finances. 

"They'll have us all eating Corn Flakes three times a day, at this rate!" he was saying, when I missed my train.

"But - Corn Flakes?" I asked, quaking a little because I am not knowledgeable in their politics (I did see Corn Flakes on their grocery shelf, though. Does that count?)

"Oh, I only meant that prices have gone up so high that Corn Flakes are probably the only thing we'll have left when the dust settles." There was a general consensus on this amongst the group.

"In the meantime," he said, brightening, "the best option for you today, is a bus. Go to the top of this hill, turn left, and cross the road. There is a bus stop that leaves every 15 minutes." 

I thanked him, climbed the hill and squeezed into a double-decker crowded with families. As the bus descended the main road into St Ives, the sidewalks were burgeoning with tourists. So THIS is half term holiday in England! There were children, dogs, pails, shovels, wind breaks, blankets, wet suits, swim suits, picnic baskets, water bottles, sun screens, and harassed parents/grandparents, all along the route. When the bus stopped, my fellow passengers and their stuff joined the throngs.

 I followed the general stampede toward the sand, and saw an interesting change coming over the children. Whereas they had squirmed, cried, and been annoying in the bus, the closer they got to the beach, the happier they became. 

They quit their quarreling and made a beeline straight for the water. I couldn't tell who was happiest - the kids or their parents, and it was probably a tie. But if somebody had asked me, I would have to say that absolutely none of them was worrying, at that moment, whether Corn Flakes would end up their final meal.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

(Cornwall Day 18) A Cottage As A Pension

 

Everything that meets the eye here is so old that it all looks quaint. It's sometimes hard to walk on (I would not recommend cobbles to just everybody), but it sure is cute.

We four were stretching out their departure times for as long as possible, as it is always hard to admit that our week is ending. We had done our wild swim, eaten our breakfast, packed our bags, emptied the cottage of all our clobber, and sat down at last, looking at this sweet quaintness. High on our list of must-do's for the morning had been going to the little Italian cafe for the best coffee in town, and sit 'gassing' in the sunshine. 

I asked Rosie, "Which is the strongest possible coffee?" not for the first time. I am always asking her these reminder questions, but she doesn't mind it and recommended a cappuccino with two shots, allowing me to add milk (apparently this is a no-no to coffee experts like Ted. One time he gave myself and the lovely daughter a minuscule cup of black Turkish coffee, and when we tasted it and gagged, we immediately begged for milk. I'll give you three guesses as to whether he allowed it).

The others got 'flat whites', and the Italian man said Goodbye and see you next year! and then we all trouped out into the sunshine.

A nice-looking gentleman settled himself nearby as we rested our heads, eyes gently shut and murmuring about what a fabulous week we had just had.

"And where are you from?" asked the man.

We explained, and he (approximately) said, "Ah, California...that must be nice."

The SconeLady is given this opinion by lots of people in the vicinity of St Ives. They often can't imagine someone who prefers the cooler shores of Cornwall to the enviable warmth of the great California. "It's nice, yes, but I do have a strong fondness for this lovely spot."

We learned that he lives in Cheshire, bordering on Lancashire, Staffordshire, Yorkshire, and ...  I've forgotten the last one.

"But I own a cottage here, so being retired I can come down anytime I want!"

This impressed the SconeLady, who has often brought up the subject. We learned that his cottage was "just two streets up from here" - wonderful! Near the sea! In Downalong! Mere moments from Italian coffee! 

"I'm going home soon, but in three weeks time I shall be back. Traffic doesn't bother me no matter how bad it is, because I always stop at a special spot and consider it to be part of the holiday!"

He did say that there are advantages and disadvantages to owning a Cornish cottage for the last 40 years. Some of these were enumerated, which should have been daunting to the novice sitting next to him. But ask me if I cared! No. I only thought of getting to step outside the door to this.

Our coffees were empty now and the clock ticked away, nudging us up from the cozy bench and our new friend.

"Well, our time is gone," we said, sorry to go. It's like this with new friendships along the way. There is always someone new to meet - and lose. "But it was very nice meeting you!"

More than one pair of feet dragged just a bit, along the cobbles.

Ted, who had pulled her roller bag over the cobbles for about a mile, safely situated Em onto the train. English trains always have a tale-tell bell that shrieks when the doors are about to close, and it shrieked at us now. Ted came off.

"Have a good ride!" we yelled.

"Enjoy your crab sandwich!"

"See you next time!" she called. There was a gradual move, and the end could no longer be delayed. 

English trains are never late when you want them to be.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady