Saddling Church

I hope you had a great weekend. I did. I was working on ‘The Eastling’ when not relaxing at the bar or entertaining at home, putting in a claim with EasyJet for my cancelled flight and listening to the party at LOS in Yialos at four in the morning. (I was awake anyway, and you can’t hear it from inside the house.) It’s hot here, of course, it’s August, and it’s busy in the harbour but more relaxed in the village, as always.

Now then, on my ‘Rainbow Tour’ (as I named it after Evita) we have reached the south coast, and from Brighton, I travelled to Romney Marsh, the ‘my home town’ of the Tom Lehrer song. [“No fellow could ignore, the little girl next door, she sure looked sweet in her first evening gown. Now there’s a charge for what she used to give for free, in my home town…” And other naughty verses.] So, today’s blog is about Saddling.

Saddling is a place that doesn’t exist. If you have read the first novel in the series, ‘The Saddling‘ you might even think that it’s a mythical place that our hero, Tom Carey, wandered into, arriving as he did through the mist and more or less stepping back in time. In the stories it is real but ignored and only connects with the outside world on its own terms, and we do have to wonder how can that be possible these days, but it’s a novel, so it doesn’t matter. The point is, the village of Saddling, where all four of the books will take place, was inspired by Fairfield church, seen in these photos, which is a real place. An isolated church more or less in the middle of nowhere that’s still up-kept thanks to local people and the Romney Marsh Historic Churches Trust to whom I will be sending a small donation when my pension comes in. It’s one of those places that has a sign outside: ‘If you want the key, it’s in the box outside the first farmhouse to your left’ which is about half a mile away or something. We didn’t go inside, my driver was keen to get on, but I did stand there for a while and take in some sights and sounds forgotten since youth.

We’d already had lunch in The Woolpack, a 15^th-century inn out near Brookland and had visited Brookland church which was open and came complete with an honesty box for someone’s locally grown marrows. If you are ever down that way, a day on the marsh is an experience not to be missed. We drove from Brighton to Hastings, through Winchelsea and Rye and then down onto the marsh; Brookland, Fairfield (take a map) and then onto New Romney where, that evening, I was to meet some friends we know from Symi.

I had a perfect stay at The Broadacre, a hotel I used to hang out at with my eldest brother in the 1980s. It’s only slightly changed now, very friendly and with everything, you’d need including very helpful staff, though it wasn’t costly. I had a room that opened onto the garden where I’d sit at night watching the foxes. I was rather impressed.

Later, I went to dinner with Christina and Roger at The Ship Hotel at the other end of the high street. It was in the children’s room of this hotel/pub that I, when about six, famously threw an older brother over a sofa and cut his head open. I don’t remember that apart from it being a story from my childhood. I think I have been long forgiven. On the way to dinner, we took the backroad to view the church and my father’s flagpole – one was erected in his honour after he died in 1997 to commemorate his work on the town and district council and his job as town mayor for four years. We found the church open, and so had a look inside where I enquired about the organ…

This was the instrument I learned to play on when I was 15/16 and the vicar, on hearing my ‘returning home’ story kindly let me play it. Later, she stopped me as they were about to have a service and then asked me to play the first hymn which I did rather badly as I’ve not played the organ for many years and I don’t like playing in public at the best of times. But, it was an experience, and Christina and Roger were able to get some photos and a short video for me – thank you!

And then on to dinner, where an old school friend popped up to make arrangements for the next day, and finally back to my foxhole for a nightcap and a sit in the garden at night to reflect on the journey so far. There are more delights of the marsh to come in the next couple of days.

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And so to the Seaside

As it’s Saturday and I usually only post photos on a Saturday, I thought I’d get a couple of days of my trip over with in one batch. I’ll put a little bit about each one as the caption for the photos and share some more of my holiday with you.

Next week, we’re going to Saddling, the imaginary village on Romney Marsh based around Fairfield church, which is not imaginary. I know that because I was there. But that’s for Monday. For the weekend, here are some of my personal photos from my trip and I’d just like to say thank you for bearing with me and, I suppose, traveling with me.

Although it was hot in the UK at the time, I had become chilly in the garden in the evening so an early morning dash to Primark for long trousers and a hoodie was called for. I’ve never queued to get into Primark before, so it was a bit embarrassing, but no-one saw me.

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Every Cloud Has A Silver Lining

The origin of the idiom “every cloud has a silver lining” is most likely traceable to the year 1634, when John Milton penned his masque, ‘Comus.’ In it, the quote appears as “Was I deceived or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night?”

There’s some info to get us going, and it’s appropriate to today’s travel post. You will remember I was left flightless like a Galapagos cormorant and had taken myself to the Plaza for a relax before heading back to the airport. My new flight was at 3pm, and I had, by now (Sunday morning) lost my Hilton room and train journey to Brighton. I spent some time chatting to the friend I was due to meet on Monday, and we eventually came up with a new plan. When I did get to London, instead of going to Brighton for the night and then racing back in the morning for our scheduled meet at 12.00, I’d stay in London. This is where the silver lining comes in, but first, you need to know what was going on with Mr Box.

Back in 1980, Pete and I appeared as Cox and Box in the one-act operetta by Sullivan and Burnand. (It’s presented on the programme as Gilbert and Sullivan because we were also in Trial By Jury in act two, but the libretto is by Burnand.) Actually, it is a one-act triumviretta as there are three people in it – and here’s another thing I just noticed. There was a TV version of the show made in 1982 with a guy called Russel Smythe as Mr Cox (my part). Russel was a friend of my uncle, and I used to go to the gym with him when I was in my late teens. That’s just one of many coincidences in this story. Anyway… Cox and Box were due to meet on Monday 30^th July outside the theatre where the show was first performed. But…

Mr Box, over for four weeks from New Zealand where he now lives, had taken as part of his family trip, a week in Italy. There were eight in his party (parents, sister, various children) and they were flying with Ryan Air. I know what you’re thinking, and you’d be right. Here’s a list of their holiday highlights: Ryan Air flight out, delayed. Arrive Genoa with all luggage missing. Hire car (minibus I guess) that was booked was not available. €350 taxi trip to Viareggio. Luggage arrived at airport two days before return journey when there were no seats left on the train back to Genoa. No hire cars suitable in Viareggio. Found one in Pisa. Drove to airport for return flight, picked up luggage but found the flight cancelled. No other flights out of Italy (for eight people) until Wednesday – return to New Zealand was Thursday/Friday. Train to Milan for overnight. Found flights for eight people leaving from Zurich on Sunday. Train to Zurich. Managed to fly back to London landing at 10.30pm Sunday.

By which time I had: Downloaded the EasyJet app and secured my boarding pass. Arrived at Rhodes airport, had lunch over the road, joined my comrades in departures where there was still the plane outside the window doing nothing and no sign of activity. Mr Lancashire was still on the phone suing anyone who would listen and threatening to burn down houses, Ms Italy was screaming at some poor floor sweeper, a few people had sourced more vouchers, and a few of us were just waiting calmly. At this stage, people started talking to each other and bonding, which was quite jolly and there were two factions; those prepared to go with the flow and those who wanted a riot. A policeman was called. I popped a couple more blood pressure tablets. Messaging Mr Box to keep him updated and he was sending back shots of wonderful scenery taken from a train travelling through the Alps. That party was happy then. Finally, staff arrived at the plane and eventually we were able to board.

The crew were great; a bit worried about their reception, but folks had calmed down now – I think the Astonomia had a word with Mr Lancashire and Ms Italy, and they were noticeably quiet. The captain explained what had happened (delays elsewhere had put them over their allowed flying time and no other crews were available), and then it fell to the cabin crew to explain that the trolley had not been restocked but what they had would be given away, apart from booze (eyed Mr Lancashire sideways). Took off. Landed, took the train to Victoria (only me, not the whole gang), tube to Temple, wandered up to the Travelodge in Covent Garden arriving around 8.30pm. Sorted rooms, waited for Box who finally arrived at 12.30 Monday morning – the others in his party had gone to Cambridge. Again, no point in him going there and then coming back the next day.

So, the silver lining for both of us was that instead of having only 21 hours together after 37 years, we had 34. By the time we’d stopped hugging and chatting, laughing and saying, ‘Oh my God, how long has it been?’ it was 4.00 a.m., and I’d had three hours sleep in the last 48, but I didn’t care.

Now then, the story of ‘Cox and Box’ (or ‘The long lost brothers’ as it’s subtitled) is that these two men share a room without realising it. The landlord, Bouncer, has kept them apart until they meet, and the farce ensues. The irony here was that Cox and Box were finally sharing the same room knowingly. (Earplugs in as Box snores.) Sleep at 4.00, awake at 7.00 as I’d forgotten to turn my alarm off, and one of the best days ever followed. More coincidences came into the script: We’d lost touch at 18, but he’d lived 20 miles away from me in the Lake District for a while, and two miles away from me in London where we went to universities that shared some campus space, he’d been in Brighton for a while about the same time as me… Anyway, there we were, reunited and behaving like teenagers again.

But more about that tomorrow as you’ll be getting reader fatigue now. By the way. Many of these photos were taken on my new phone, hence they are blurred and I’d not got the hang of selfies.

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Hello, I’m back

Well, I am back, but I’m not quite back up to speed. The next few posts are probably going to be about me, and my recent trip and so won’t have much to do with Symi, I’m afraid. I know many of my friends will have seen some of the photos I’m going to post over the next few days, but not everyone has. They won’t necessarily be in the right order or appropriate to the thing I’m writing about, but it will make a change from my usual balcony shots of Yialos. I’ve chosen quite a few from the trip and will try and go the events day by day, starting with the adventure which was a cancelled flight at Rhodes.

Only once before have I spent so long at Rhodes airport waiting for a flight, but that was by choice and another story. On the Saturday of my departure, I arrived in good time, as you do, and hung around waiting for the board to change to tell me a gate. It didn’t, but I went through to departures with over an hour to spare and had a wander around. There was an EasyJet plane just outside the window but nothing going on, so I sat in the café and then wandered hopefully to the gate… Where I met Christine from Symi, who was to be on the same flight. She told me there was talk of a four-hour delay. Bit of a bugger, but not to worry, I had the Hilton booked at Gatwick, and my first train journey was not until 10.00 on Sunday morning.

Then there were murmurings from the others at the gate, which I could see through the café window – I’d gone back for a glass of wine, thinking I had four hours to wait. Er, no, it’s probably not going tonight… News filtered through, and Christine found me offering me a compensation card from the airline as we were over four hours delayed by this point, around one in the morning. So, with my €9.00 credit, I bought us each a glass of wine and a packet of peanuts for €20.00… And realised that the cashier had charged me for the beer belonging to the man behind me in the queue. I became very Greek, rushed back, pushed in (politely) and babbled that she’d overcharged me. That was sorted out amicably and it wasn’t until I was back at my table that I realised I hadn’t even thought about the language, it had just come out in Greek. Mind you, I had been awake for 20 hours by then as I had been up at 4.30 in the morning, as is my wont.

The trouble with EasyJet at Rhodes is that they have no ground staff, so it was up to some poor local airport employees to break the news to a very fed up group of passengers that the flight was now cancelled. Well, you may have seen the TV programme about EasyJet, it was starting to get like that with people on the phone to… I have no idea who, threatening to sue them and eat their first born, bewildered others waiting for someone to tell them what to do, others shouting in a variety of accents to the staff who had no idea what was going on either… And a few of us, like me and Christine, who followed the calm inner voice of the seasoned traveller and discovered that the airport was arranging hotels and transport (always a bad sign). However, it was later deemed that this would be for families with children first, and everyone had to wait for the luggage to be taken off the plane, and it was now around 2.00, and the ground staff had gone home…

Luckily we only had hand luggage, and Christine knew the night porter at the Ermis hotel (Hermes). After a couple of calls, she grabbed the last two rooms there, and we set off in a taxi back to Rhodes Town. Had we waited, we discovered later, we would not have been free of the airport until 5.30, and then taken to a hotel with about 100 others to find it closed until someone was raised from their slumber to accommodate only 30 guests, and then back on the bus for the unlucky and, the last I heard, some of the passengers are still being bussed around the island looking for a bed and it’s over a week later.

The Hermes did it’s best. Christine had a pristine suite (internal rhyme there, note) while I took the last room to be had. I shan’t share the photo, but I walked in to find: the beds unmade (and dubiously stained), the towels and bathroom floor wet, the shampoo and soaps all used and a rather primal scent in the air. At least they’d flushed the loo. Kind of. I was a bit worried that the couple who had clearly just vacated after their night of passion had only stepped out for a fag and would be joining me very shortly. I slept worriedly for three hours on top of the spare cover from the wardrobe. I wasn’t going to make a fuss with the night porter whose fault it wasn’t, so I did what I could – it was after 3.30 by now, nearly 24 hours without sleep. In the morning I risked a shower and then dried off under the aircon before heading to the Plaza for some civility and to await the next stage of the journey.

Phew! More tomorrow.

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Time Off

Right, I’m off. Well, I’m off tomorrow and have a day of doing things today, like packing and finding the 100 leads and chargers one needs when travelling these days. If you want to keep in touch with Symi while I am away, then follow Adriana’s blog here: https://adrianashum.com/

There are also links over there on the right >> to the Symi chat forum and travel blog to keep up to date. I’ll leave you with a set of random photos, and I will be back to the blog around 8^th August.

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