About Grace Lessageing

I am writer of novels, short stories, flash fiction, blogs. I lead a creative writing group. I am an Ex infant teacher, living in Christchurch, Dorset, UK. My brand new novel, The Conways at Earthsend was published on January 28th 2021 can be found on Amazon, Waterstones, Hive and Goodreads and is available in either paperback or e-book versions. You can also read The Year of Familiar Strangers, available as an e-book from Amazon. You can visit my website: janedeans.com or my author page on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Jane-Deans-Novellist-Short-Fiction-and-Blog-102757711838272 Happy reading!

On and On and Up and Up!

Posted on October 29, 2023 by Grace Lessageing

We’re up at five am after a sleepless night in the not-very-gorgeous hotel at Kamloops, to assemble for buses to go to the station to climb back on the Rocky Mountaineer passenger train. We are seriously tired but today we’re to be in the first sitting for breakfast, which will surely lift us. There’s nothing like a few calories to gee up a flagging body. We leave our luggage in the lobby, confident, now that it will arrive at tonight’s destination before we do.

Today’s journey promises to be much more dramatic, since we’ll be travelling to and within some of the very best scenery along the route.

While we are breakfasting- enjoying treats from the same delicious menu as yesterday- we rumble out of Kamloops station past sidings and rolling stock. Some of the engines here have snow plough equipment on the front.

Soon we’re back out into rolling countryside, which becomes wilder and more rugged as we progress, the hills becoming higher, the gorges deeper. Sometimes we cross a river on a spindly bridge, the open sides dropping away in a breathless swoon of steep drop.

At last we’re high enough for proper mountains and at last, white tops, clouds swirling above- the fringes of pine trees ending where bare rock does not allow.

During the afternoon- and following another gourmet feast of lunch- some of our fellow passengers succumb to a snooze and I find myself briefly snatching the odd five minutes as lack of sleep catches up with us. But the scenery is becoming more spectacular as we roll on and I’m reluctant to miss anything.

We’re near to a town called ‘Field’ when the train does a spectacular thing. In order to gain height and pass through the mountains, it must enter the mountainside and run up a succession of three ‘loops’ in the darkness. Each loop provides a little more height. Of course, we’re unable to see anything at all until the train emerges from the final loop, but we do get a brief glimpse of the entrance, below us as we exit the mountain. These are the ‘Spiral Loops’. What an amazing feat of engineering!

We’re much nearer to the snowy mountain tops now, the sunshine punctuated by some showers and we have the sense that we are really here- right in the Canadian Rockies.

A delicious afternoon snack comes around- a choice of salty nuts or chocolatey nuts and raisins. It’s a welcome treat when we’re flagging from tiredness. To descend the steps to the footplate feels much chillier now that we’re higher up. The afternoon is ebbing away and there’s late sunlight as we draw towards Lake Louise, where some of the passengers are to be disgorged. Lake Louise is a hot tourist spot- as we are to discover later on in the trip!

But we stay as the twilight descends and at last we’re slowing down for Banff, where our train journey is to end. There’s a last farewell from the four staff who’ve looked after us for two days and a welcome comittee waiting beside the tracks to pipe us in! Then we’re stumbling down off the train and up into buses again.

It’s dark and I feel stretched with fatigue. The bus is to take us to the Rimrock Hotel, which we’re dismayed to learn is up and out of the town. We’d been hoping it was near the centre and walking distance. When the bus pulls up, however, we’re given bus passes for the shuttle that makes frequent trips to and from the town.

At last we’re into the hotel, which is, even from glancing round at the lobby, a vast improvement on last night’s! Having found our vast, comfortable room and checked that our luggage is there, we go down to the lounge area and collapse into a sofa before ordering a bowl of fries and a drink- some soporific calories before bed.

Once i’ve showered I clamber into the huge, luxurious bed and sleep and sleep and sleep…

Grace is the alter ego of novelist and short story writer, Jane Deans. To date I have two published novels to my name: The Conways at Earthsend [https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conways-at-Earthsend-Jane-Deans-ebook/dp/B08VNQT5YC/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2ZHXO7687MYXE&keywords=the+conways+at+earthsend&qid=1673350649&sprefix=the+conways+at+earthsend%2Caps%2C79&sr=8-1 and The Year of Familiar Strangers [https://www.amazon.co.uk/Year-Familiar-Strangers-Jane-Deans-ebook/dp/B00EWNXIFA/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2EQHJGCF8DSSL&keywords=The+year+of+familiar+strangers&qid=1673350789&sprefix=the+year+of+familiar+strangers%2Caps%2C82&sr=8-1 Visit my writer Facebook page [https://www.facebook.com/search/top?q=jane%20deans%2C%20novellist%2C%20short%20fiction%20and%20blog or my website: https://www.janedeans.com/

Long Train Running On and On

Posted on October 22, 2023 by Grace Lessageing

The Rocky Mountaineer is the only passenger train to run on this route- into the Canadian Rocky Mountains, but it is a very well rolled route for goods trains- and they are incredible. Sometimes we rumble past one coming the opposite way, sometimes we must pause for one to pass and, on occasions when the line splits into opposite sides of a valley, we see one from a distance, snaking along on the other track, These trains are huge chains of containers- up to 30 and can be 3700 metres long, taking many minutes to pass by. They are interspersed with two or three engines as they ascend and descend in a slow and stately manner. I wonder what they are carrying? Once or twice we pass one with open trucks full of coal- a slightly depressing sight!

Having breakfasted, we return to our upstairs seats and it’s not long before the top deck stewards are coming round to take drinks orders. Basically, you can have anything you like. The two British couples in front odf us, who have hooked up now are making the most of the largesse and digging in by working their way through the cocktail menu.

The landscape has become progressively wilder, although not yet mountainous. There are huge, tumbling rivers, hillsides coated with conifers, deep gorges- sometimes spanned by a spindly bridge. The waters are a deep, greenish blue and often churning with sediment. Sometimes, when the Rocky mountaineer rounds the bend in a cliff we get to see the front of it- an impressive view.

I’m up on my feet for some of the time, attempting photos, although I’ve discovered that photography is not easy on a train. At times I descend to the footplate at the rear of our carriage, which we are permitted to do, with warnings not to stick any part of ourselves out! But it’s no easier to snap views from here-

It’s early afternoon before we’re called to lunch, which is, again a culinary masterpiece. You have to be impressed by the quality of the meals being served from such a tiny kitchen.

The remainder of the afternoon passes with views, anecdotes from the staff, drinks and snacks and dodging about to try and photograph things. After a long day of clear skies, sunshine and great landscapes, as the sun begins to sink in the sky I remember that we’ve had a very early start and in spite of sitting around most of the time we’re feeling weary.

We roll into Kamloops. It’s getting dark- and late as we clamber off on to the tarmac at Kamloops Station and on to buses. We’re not going to be seeing anything of the town due to the late hour. We’re bussed up and around into an area where there are some hotels then the coaches begin to pull in and disgorge passengers. We arrive to ours. One of the great things about the Rocky Mountaineer is that your luggage arrives independently [by road] and is placed in your room, ready for your arrival. There is no checking in, so we can get our key and go directly there. This is easier said than done, though, as finding the way there is tricky in our [by now] addled state.

In spite of not eating an evening meal I’m too tired to eat, wanting only to shower and sleep, but Husband goes down to the bar in search of some sustenance while I shower. I’m not altogether thrilled with the hotel, since when I return to the bathroom before turning out the light there’s a huge lake in there, meaning I must use every available towel to clean it up. Then the sheets on the bed don’t feel crisp and nice as they should.

All this adds up to a sleep impoverished night- a night which will end at 5am in order for us to assemble in the lobby at 6am. Horrors!

Long Train Running

Posted on October 15, 2023 by Grace Lessageing

Our bus pulls into Vancouver station, along with the rest of the coach convoy. But there’s no platform. We’re facing the tracks, upon which sits a magnificent, gleaming, golden train, its tall carriages stretching both ways as far as the eye can see. In spite of the early hour and my tiredness I feel a frisson of excitement to see it, this iconic train: The Rocky Mountaineer. This is to be our conveyance for two whole days.

On leaving the bus, we must locate our carriage- marked on our boarding cards. Outside each, tall, double-decker carriage there are two stewards waiting to welcome us by the footplate and we must clamber up the iron steps to enter the ground floor. Inside, looking along the carriage, there is a panelled ante room lined with sofas and beyond, a dining compartment where window tables are set for four with pristine white tablecloths and gleaming cutlery. It’s a heartening sight!

There’s a semi-spiral set of stairs up to the seating area, reminding me of the double decker buses of my childhood. We locate our seats, which are large and comfortable. Before the train sets off we’re given information and instructions. There are four stewards in the carriage- two up and two down in the dining car. In addition to this there are kitchen staff in the tiny galley area, producing breakfasts and lunches. Each carriage is self-contained in this way- it’s a massive operation!

We move off, a slow rumble through the outskirts of Vancouver, past sidings and rolling stock, here and there passing elevated railway tracks, warehouses and retail parks, It’s not long before the first diners are summoned- and we must wait- except that while we are waiting, coffee and warm, delicious cherry cake is served to us, which revives me, although I’m hoping it doesn’t spoil the appetite for what is to be a very posh breakfast.

After a while we’re in the countryside, crossing a bridge over a wide river, a ‘skytrain’ winding above us, or following alongside the river. The travel is punctuated by snippets of information from the upstairs stewards, who regail us with stories and facts from time to time. There’s also an upstairs kitchen area from where drinks and snacks are dispensed, served to us in our seats whenever we like, however I’m not inclined to embark on cocktail consumption at this hour of the morning.

The passengers in our carriage consist of many British with a smattering of other non-Canadians; near us are an Australian couple, a German couple and a pair from a village a few miles away from us in the UK.

When we’re called down to the dining area we filter along to fill up tables. Besides the tables for four there are two odd tables for two, either side of the aisle. The German couple slide into one booth and we sit in the other. This becomes the pattern for the remainder of our meals. I’m a little disappointed not to be able to socialise so much, although Husband points out that the chatting couples are so interested in their conversations they’re missing the scenery and the sights- which is correct.

Breakfast consists of a fruit and yoghurt starter and a choice of main course, all immaculately presented and accompanied by tea or coffee and fruit juices. It is all delicious. Outside, the rolling countryside slides past…

Stanley Park and Goodbye

Posted on October 8, 2023 by Grace Lessageing

Our second and last day in Vancouver happens to be a bank holiday, although most stores and cafes seem to be operating normally, which is lucky- as I need to buy a raincoat. Once again we’ve woken at an indecent time, but on this second day we find a beautiful patisserie serving coffee and pastries, which sets us up for the day. I get the perfect coat, however the sun is out and the temperature balmy, so I am not convinced I need it [except that I will, later].

We’ve checked in for our next leg of the trip and the plan for this day is to walk to Stanley Park, a large area of parkland fringing the bay, around it and back. It’s heralded as a ‘must-see’ in Vancouver.

We need to be packed and ready to vacate our room early next day, to which end we return to hotel and do some preparing before we set off- as well as lunch, from the supermarket deli as before.

Leaving the centre of downtown Vancouver, the streets become leafy, the homes affluent and grand. The maple trees are shedding their leaves, producing a magenta carpet on the ground. We’re walking parallel to the waterfront, eventually arriving at the entrance to the park. There’s a wide lane next to the water, shared by walkers, cyclists, skaters etc. We turn left, taking care to avoid the pedestrian and cycle traffic. It’s busy! Near the entrance there are horse and carriage rides, as well as a cafe.

It’s a pleasant, green space for the residents of Vancouver. A few minutes in are the iconic totem poles, common in brochures of the city. Though they’re not authentic, First Nations’ totem poles they are fun and colourful.

There’s a lot more park, and it’s attractive enough, although there’s little else of great note. It has become very warm by now and we stop at a central cafe for a drink. We give the mini zoo a miss and turn towards home, as it’s quite a distance, this time sticking to the waterside until we reach the cruise terminal near our hotel, the Fairmont.

With an early start looming we opt to eat at the local pub, just along the road, then it’s back to the hotel bar for a drink and to bed.

I’m awake before the alarm, of course, which was set for 6am. We’ve to be down in the lobby for 7am, which we are- although not as early as everyone else, as the lobbly is full to bursting with luggage, luggage trolleys, hotel guests and porters. It looks like chaos, except that the guys mustering us appear to know what they are doing. We’ve only to show our boarding passes and our cases our whisked away. Will we see them again? I wonder…We join a queue for a coach, many of which are lined up outside the doors, then we’re allocated to one and clamber on. I’m relieved we’ve managed to be ready in time.

The coach moves on out into the city streets. Where is it heading? Ahh….that would be telling… [next week!]…

Vancouver on Foot

Posted on October 1, 2023 by Grace Lessageing

At Vancouver’s waterfront, seaplanes are taking off and coming in, giving short aerial tours of the bay. Strengthened with MacDonalds coffee and a pastry, we’ve opted to step out and wander in spite of the indecently early start brought on by change of time zone. The day started cool but as the sun gathers strength it feels warm and balmy. I realise I’ve one urgent task before we leave, which is to buy a raincoat, having foolishly left mine hanging in our hallway as I rushed out to the taxi to go to the station. But we’ll leave it until tomorrow, as I’ve no need of one yet.

The principal use of the quayside here is for cruise ships- mainly taking passengers to Alaska, as many of our fellow guests at the Fairmont are doing. Having looked at the terminal and front we turn along towards ‘Gastown’, an area not unlike Haight Ashbury in San Francisco, with characterful older buildings and quirky streets. Canada’s relaxed laws on cannabis use are much in evidence here, in the appearance of cannabis stores and in the aromas drifting as we walk!

It’s not far to the iconic gas clock, which blows a steamy whistle on the hour. The street architecture is older, the shops eclectic but with many cannabis outlets.

Buses here have racks on the front for bikes, which is a fine idea, and there are trolley buses, too, a sight I haven’t seen since my childhood in the UK.

We traipse around for a couple of hours. It seems a long morning, but of course it is, since we were up ultra early. As lunch time approaches we head for a supermarket we’d spotted on our first evening- just up from our hotel. It yields a wonderful deli which provides lunch. When we get back to our room I’m pleased to spot a fridge, so the guy at reception has been true to his word and provided one for my medication. Better still- we can store lunch items and beers in it!

Restored by lunch, we set off again, this time in the opposite direction and waterfront. Vancouver centre is almost an island. On the way from the airport, Pearl, our driver, had shown us Granville Island, accessed by bridge or a dinky pedestrian ferry, where food stalls cover a large area. Most of the tables, however are outside and the weather has turned gloomy and drizzly so we settle for a drink instead and decide to eat nearer home. The walk back is mostly uphill!

Later, we head back to Gas Town to find a resataurant and stumble upon an Italian bistro down some steps by the water. It’s cavernous and atmospheric and the food is delicious.

Vancouver- so far so good! We’ll see what tomorrow brings!

The Flight and the Fairmont

Posted on September 24, 2023 by Grace Lessageing

So, readers, it’s time to come clean. While you’ve been kind enough to visit Anecdotage and even, perhaps peruse the prose, Husband and I have been on far distant shores, in western Canada, touring part of the Canadian Rockies. This ambitious plan was hatched last year when we were thinking of big birthday [both] and wedding anniversary treats.

It’s a big trip. And I’m to discover that everything about this trip is big, including the Canadians themselves. This is first evident during our flight from Heathrow, when once we’ve boarded the Canada Airways flight to Vancouver [which is full] large bodies are squeezed into airline seats all over the place, not least next to myself. Husband and I are opposite each other with the aisle between- not a bad location for getting out etc. It so happens that the man next to me is, in fact British [from Devon] and very pleasant- even though he spills into my space. I’m glad of the aisle.

The cabin staff go through the motions on the 9+ hour flight but it’s clear they are air-weary, throwing out meals and drinks [drinks after the meal?] as fast as possible, unsmiling and bored. The food is terrible- some of the worst airline food I’ve ever encountered, but still…

At Vancouver the digital immigration is fast and efficient, the luggage not too long and soon we’re out in the arrivals hall where a smiling woman taxi-driver displays our name. Hooray! So far so good.

It’s a relief to step outside and sink into a taxi seat to be driven through Vancouver. The driver, Pearl is a fount of info as well as charming and chatty, sharing how much she enjoys British TV shows alongside points of interest. After the flight, and given that my home bedtime is approaching, it’s a lot to take in and I do my best to respond whilst also calculating the time!

The Vancouver suburbs, bathed in sunshine look leafy and well-to-do; streets lined with red maples, their leaves beginning to fall. Pearl tells us there’ll be some nice colour in the Rockies by now.

It’s about 45 mins in the heavy traffic but the tall towers of central Vancouver appear, shiny and reflective and contrasting with our hotel- the grand old Fairmont, an enormous brown edifice, then we’re plunging through a gap to an entrance [there are several] and stumbling out on to the pavement, grabbing cases, saying our goodbyes.

It’s all swish inside the lobby, with giant chandeliers and pristine marble floors. We stand in line to do all the form-filling stuff and at last we’re on our way to the room- up and up in the lift, along a corridor, along another corridor. The room is big and almost a suite- with a bathroom down a passageway. It’s furnished in huge, dark pieces and has a ‘fireplace’ of sorts. My first job is to stow my medication in the mini-bar, which, I discover is full of items and has not a cm to spare. OK. I remove a can from the door. Yikes! What have I done? The mini-bar has sensors inside indicating when items are removed! But it’s too late now. I insert my bottle and resolve to explain the dilemma at reception.

By now, though it’s still light and only mid afternoon in Vancover, it’s getting to the small hours in British time and we’re tired. Do we dare to get an hour or so’s nap? All advice is against doing such a thing, but we decide to clamber into the vast bed anyway and I’m soon asleep, to be woken by Husband after an hour. That’s all we’ve allowed ourselves. We shower and go out along our street, where it’s now twilight. It’s busy with traffic and pedestrians and there are bars and restaurants open, bustling with customers on this balmy Friday evening. A block or so along there’s a pub. Neither of us is hungry [even after ditching the filthy airline meal] but we go in, get a beer and people-watch a bit, staying as late as we’re able.

Of course, although I drop asleep straight away I’m awake at 2am and unable to drift back. We’ve both had enough by about 6am. We make tea [after a fashion, using tea bags from home and a water bottle for a teapot] and gradually greet the day. Outside it’s cool and we’re looking for a coffee shop nearby but MacDonald’s seems the only option- good enough coffee and a muffin thing.

We’re here for 3 nights and this is our first day- so best not to waste it sleeping!…

A Little-Trodden Footpath

Posted on September 17, 2023 by Grace Lessageing

At South Lychett Manor camping and caravan site they’ve thought of everything. There’s a shop and cafe [open until late], various food vans arriving to dispense pizzas, burgers or fish and chips, direct hook-up to TV, toilet blocks in every field [it’s vast]; not that we require many of these things, having shopped en route and not wishing to watch TV. But it’s good to know.

We’re directed and instructed, this being that kind of site. We’re used to the vagaries of sites, some regimented and unaware that you’ve stayed in more sites than they’ve had hot dinners, others lackadasical and laisse faire [park where you like!]. Out on the open field we’re surrounded by enclosed, clusters of tents housing extended family groups and it’s a great sight. I love to see families camping in tents, recalling the sheer magic of sleeping under canvas as a child, the shivering excitement of it and the gentle wafts of air as a breeze ruffles the fabric as you lie in your sleeping bag.

We wander along the road to the nearest pub for a beer and discover that tomorrow night’s meals finish at 6.00pm, but there’s another one a little further away, serving until late. Result!

For our day here we’re getting the bus to Wareham. The bus stops [each way] are directly outside our site entrance. We have our usual, leisurely morning then climb upstairs to the top of the bus, which sways and rocks its way round the lanes and back streets, stopping outside Sandford Holiday Park, where our driver alights to have a cigarette. In the seat in front of us, a small girl is being copiously sick, vomiting into a carrier bag, although the parents don’t seem perturbed enough to move downstairs, where the motion would be reduced.

Behind us an elderly, single man complains, huffing and puffing about the hiatus and the driver. I’m unsure whether he’s moaning and groaning to himself, or merely to himself. All life is on the bus!

At last we arrive to the outskirts of Wareham, where we search for the alleged footpath, locating it by a miniscule sticker on a lampost. To begin with, the path leads up and on to Wareham’s old city walls, but we overshoot our turnoff and have to backtrack to find our the way we’ve chosen, which heads out past meadows, through a copse and on until we reach the Wareham river. We stop for a look then turn right along by the river itself, at which point it gets tricky.

Reeds almost obscure the narrow path and tower above, almost meeting in the middle. Further on, nettles and brambles get added to the mix and it becomes ever more difficult to avoid either getting torn to shreds or stung. Both of us have worn shorts- and I have a vest top, too. We plough on though, stepping over, stepping on, shuffling sideways, gingerly pulling fronds out of the way. In concentrating on watching your feet, you risk stings and skewers at shoulder height. There’s no let up, except for an occasional clear pocket where a tree grows, but we persist, as there comes a time where it would be harder to go back than forward. We catch an occasional glimpse of the water through the curtain of reeds, nettles and brambles. It’s busy with river traffic today.

As we are nearing the end of the path we encounter a couple weaving their way towards us and we do our best to step back to allow them to pass, The woman is carrying a bunch of dock leaves and I desist from saying that these will offer no more protection than a lipstick against the menacing nettles. We have a short conversation with them, which results in their changing their minds about plunging along this footpath [which is reputed to be ‘major’].

Later on we get to relax in the pub with a hearty roast dinner with onlly a few tingly areas where skin was stung and a few scratches from brambles, but hey- we did it!

The Best Laid Plans

Posted on September 10, 2023 by Grace Lessageing

We’d planned to move from Symondsbury, Dorset, to Portland for a night or two. Our three nights were up and Husband’s idea was to stay at a pub stopover, where we’d be able to park up for a night for the price of a meal we’d get in the hostelry. We’ve done this before when travelling long distance and it worked well when we drove up to Shetland. On this occasion, however, we draw a blank. The pubs that had seemed to be offering overnight parking on Portland have been prevented- by what, we do not know- a by-law, perhaps?

Portland, of course has become famous- or infamous- for having to host the hostel barge, the ‘Bibby Stockholm’ where asylum seekers would be moved from their hotels. Opinions differ about the rights and wrongs of housing the refugees on the barge although those who’d moved in subsequently had to be moved again due to disease-ridden conditions.

We’re stuck with a conundrum. There’s just one night before we are due to move to a site nearer home and we’re out of time on Ernie’s Plot. After some research it becomes clear we’ll have to move into Somerset and to a pub with a campsite not far from Yoevil. It’s a pretty village and pub, although the rain confines us to van until we go to eat. Again, the pub provides a delicious meal and the site is fine for a night.

I’m impressed by the German family who were eating in the pub- a couple with two teenage sons. They emerge in the morning, after a rainy night, from two, tiny Quechua pop-up tents which [the parents] quickly fold away into the boot of their hire car before they all sit at a picnic table for breakfast; truly a minimalist trip!

It so happens that we’re close to Montacute House, a National Trust property with lovely grounds. We pack up and head off there, having coffee in the van then wandering the house and gardens which are formal and elegant. Built in 1598, the house belonged to an Elizabethan lawyer, Sir Edward Phelips. It’s popular today in spite of the intermittent rain, with children playing on the games lawn and the cafe courtyard busy with people lunching. We return to the car park and have lunch in the van before heading off to yet another National Trust property, Tintinhull Garden, a mere 7 minutes away.

We park and follow a path through an orchard meadow, through a gate, across a road to a lovely old manor house. The garden lies through an archway, a network of 7 garden ‘rooms’ in arts and crafts style. It’s far quieter than Montacute, a peaceful spot with a graceful pond and gazebo and wonderful large beds with rows of flowers and vegetables all mixed up together. Through a gate is a wilder area with fruit trees, including a mulberry tree groaning with fruit.

Our third site is to be much closer to home, back into Dorset to a village near Poole. It’s South Lychett Manor, an enormous, family friendly site with every convenience you can think of and quite a few you can’t. There is a grand entrance through wrought iron gates and a long driveway, an extensive shop, a pizza van and cafe. It’s a far cry from Ernie’s Plot but variety, as they say…

Affronts on Several Fronts

Posted on September 3, 2023 by Grace Lessageing

The day after the bramble debacle at Symondsbury, Husband’s wounds are on the mend, however we select the road option, rather than the footpath, for a walk into the village and a look round. It is all very cute in an ‘olde English’ way, yellow stone cottages with roses round the door, a rustic church, apple trees laden with fruit. Many of the cottages, though are holiday lets.

A signpost points to Symondsbury Estate and while I imagine this to be an unglamorous, new development on the outskirts of the village it is, in fact an attractive collection of buildings clustered around a square of gardens with a cafe, gallery and craft shops.

The gallery is so new as to be still in the setting up process, but is clearly displaying the work of a single artist and he is there. He’s painted the same view, a forest, many times over in different seasons and weather conditions. ‘Like David Hockney’ I say, since I know that Hockney has himself done this at his Normandy home- painted the same woodland scene in different conditions. The artist snorts in contempt- ‘David Hockney!’ he splutters. But a nearby woman [his wife?] quietly tells him that Hockney has produced some paintings this way- and he becomes silent. I feel it’s time to leave and we continue to the next unit, which has a collection of lovely textiles and items made from them.

From here, we find a path that leads into Bridport. This time it’s not a lethal mud slope to tip us into the brambles, but a meander across grass fields and an ancient sunflower field then on across a river and up a lane. Then we’re on to the outskirts of Bridport. We’ve visited quite a few times, so we’re not exploring on this occasion but take a short stroll up the main street, searching for a bakery without success, before returning to the supermarket to pick up a couple of items before climbing on the bus for a convenient ride back to our site.

We’ve booked a table at the village pub for our evening meal, [open tonight, unlike last night]. The Ilchester Arms has a modest menu but everything is delicious and I’m glad I chose the smaller portion of chicken for my main meal. Neither of us can cope with desert.

For our second day we’re off to Lyme Regis, again by bus, although when it arrives to our camp site stop it’s already almost full. Lyme is a very popular destination for summer visitors and when we arrive in the centre, the driver having negotiated the narrow, twisty street, the pavements, promenade, street and shops are all teeming with tourists.

Husband has suggested pasties on the beach for lunch today- an idea I’m not about to dismiss, so we head to the nearest pasty shop- one of about 5 pasty outlets along the main street- and take our still-warm pasties to the pebbly beach. We perch on the sea wall and keep a close eye on the marauding gulls which swoop and stalk around us in a menacing way. I’ve read that you should stare them out, which does seem to be successful in keeping them at bay.

We have a quick stroll then we’re getting the bus again, this time on to Axminster, which we’ve driven through many times but not stopped to examine.

It doesn’t take long to realise there’s a reason we’ve not stopped here before. Poor Axminster, whilst not unpleasant, has little to offer. A swift walk around the tiny centre, with its nice enough church, an attempt to get a coffee in a courtyard cafe where the woman serving is too busy chatting to akcnowledge our presence and a visit to the community hub-that’s about it; except for one outstanding feature. Down on the path to the station there is a patch of the most delicious blackberries we’ve tasted for years…

Then it’s back to Symondsbury-

The Plunge, the Path and the Prickles

Posted on August 27, 2023 by Grace Lessageing

Ernie’s Plot is a tiny, 8 pitch site for motorhomes, campervan and caravans. just outside Bridport in the south west of my county, Dorset. On a farm in the outrageously gorgeous village of Symondsbury, the pitches all face ‘Colmers Hill’, a hill rising up in the distance with a pathway leading up and a fringe of trees at the top. It becomes clear that it is also a local landmark, featuring everywhere on paintings, photos and much more.

On arrival to Ernie’s plot we are invited [by a notice on the gate] to enter and pitch up. Our pitch number is chalked up on a board and inside a tiny shed there are slices of Dorset Apple Cake in a basket for us to take as a welcome gift. Wonderful!

The 8 pitches are almost all occupied and ours is the end one. We all face a field of brown and white sheep, with hens in the background- a restful and bucolic scene, which, as it happens, is exactly what we need!

Once established, we opt to amble to the village pub, just down the lane and have an early evening beer. We make what transpires to be a wrong decision in choosing the footpath across the field instead of the lane. It’s fine at first- a narrow path along to a field with more sheep, across to the far corner, over a stile and upwards on a somewhat muddy and sloping track flanked by trees on one side and banks of brambles below. It’s tricky walking on a muddy, sloping path. As usual I have my camera in hand and I’m following Husband when he disappears from view, accompanied by a crashing sound and faint cries of ‘help, help!’.

Oh…I catch up. To my right, and below me, Husband is lying across the bramble patch, caught in multiple places and with blood running down his hands, arms, legs and head, much as if he’s been leapt upon by a hungry tiger. Horrors! He is unable to move, since bramble thorns have secured him firmly to the bushes. He is also below me, where I stand on the sloping, slippery pathway. It’s like the scene in ‘Alien’ where crew members are caught up in the creature’s web ready for consumption.

This is a conundrum. We are also alone. I’m aware I must not slip, as he has, as two of us caught on the brambles would not improve the situation. I move as far towards him as I dare and extend a hand, wondering if I’ve the strength to pull him out, then I can at least hold him and prevent further incarceration. Small movements cause him to yell as the thorns dig deeper but whilst holding him I can just about use my right foot to stamp one aggressive briar out of the way.

I exert all my strength and he manages to grasp a branch then prise himself forward in a gradual freeing from the brambles, until he is out, standing, bloodied but released. Phew! I delve into my bag, where I keep all my contingency items, one of which is a pack of wet wipes. Between us, we mop him up, which takes some time and at last he’s presentable enough to go to the pub [outside, at least]. it’s only a few yards to the lane and a few more to the pub…which is closed today…

Later, relaxing in the van, my principal regret is that I did not photograph Husband in the brambles, for which. dear reader, I am extremely sorry…

Anecdotage

Views from the Descent

Author Archives: Grace Lessageing