I go to this bakery in Falmouth a lot. Himself buys their organic flour to make bread, and they make the best flapjack ever: full of fruit, seeds and not too sweet. Think I'll have to go down there later.... read about them here and in November's Cornwall Today.
THE IMAGINATIVE BAKERS - THAT SELL BOOKS!
Stone's Bakery in Falmouth is one of several artisan bakers emerging in Cornwall to make delicious products using high quality ingredients. Having started off two years ago from an industrial unit in Penryn and a stall on Falmouth Moor they have taken over a shop in the High Street and are selling out with their delicious baguettes, focaccia and sourdoughs, as well as speciality breads including garlic and thyme, and a spelt and honey loaf. They also sell a wide range of cakes, croissants and cheese straws and are renowned for their flapjack. And to cater for all tastes, they even sell books!
Oliver Kingdon, 29 and his wife Rosie, 28, seem a quiet, industrious couple but their faces light up when they start talking about their food. “We get our organic flour from three places – every mill produces a slightly different type of flour that suits different types of bread,” Oliver explains. “Stoates & Son are a Dorset firm that provide good wholemeal spelt and rye flour.”
“We did look into getting Cornish flour but there wasn't anyone who sold it on a large enough scale,” adds Rosie. “So we get white flour from Shipton Mill, and self-raising and plain flour for cakes from Doves. We tried them all out to see what suits which bread, and we've tried to go with smaller independent mills - they're more knowledgeable and specialised.”
“Organic flour has less pesticides, as wheat is a crop that is heavily sprayed,” Oliver continues. “The flavour from stoneground is better and they blend different types of wheat which have different levels of protein.”
“We wanted the flour to be organic because it tastes better,” says Rosie. “We're not completely organic because we wanted to keep our prices down but the flour is. And in some areas you don't necessarily taste the difference. We wanted to make our products at a price everyone could afford.”
The shop is open from Tuesday to Saturday from 9-4 but the hours are flexible. “There are always things to finish up at the back so if we're there we might as well sell things,” says Oliver. “We're happy for people to tap on the window!”
Oliver and Rosie Kingdon met at Hull university 9 years ago and have been together ever since. After leaving university, Oliver got a job at a small organic mill and bakery at Lincolnshire. “I'd always been interested in food, and I wanted to do something practical,” he explained. “I also did a Panary course which is like bakery school.”
“We liked the idea of being self employed and we both enjoy baking,” Rosie says. “It seemed something we could do on our own so we went from there.”
The couple moved to Cornwall two years ago. “We'd been here on holiday and wanted to live by the sea,” Rosie says. Initially they lived in St Ives, and named the bakery after the notorious Stones Reef off Godrevy Island. They found the industrial unit in Penryn, and set up the stall in Falmouth. “We liked Falmouth as a town,” says Oliver. “It's a year round town not just tourists, which is good for business.”
“We didn't want to take on a huge amount of risk so the stall allowed us to start off small and test the water,” explains Rosie. “If it hadn't worked, we would have done something else. In fact we built up a customer base but if it was really windy then the market would be cancelled and we couldn't trade that week. So we wanted something where we could be there 5 days a week, year round.”
This job is not for the fainthearted - Oliver starts baking between 3 and 5 in the morning, five days a week. “When we had the unit I slept in the day and never saw anyone,” he says. “I'm used to being covered in flour!” he adds with a grin. “But with the shop we get to know our customers and see more of each other.”
Rosie makes the cakes in the daytime in between serving customers. “There aren't many places where you can buy a cake which is just made out of the ingredients you'd have in the fridge,” she says. “If we have fat in the cake then it will be Trewithen butter, and eggs from Cornhill.”
“If there's chocolate then it's proper chocolate melted by us, not chocolate flavour,” adds Oliver. “We experiment a lot with the cakes but if they don't sell, we don't make them.”
The most popular items are baguettes, chocolate brownies and the longest cheese straws ever seen. “We use Trewithen butter in the croissants and cheese straws, and you can really taste the creamy flavour,” says Rosie. “They're made from a croissant base and we use Cornish cheese,” adds Oliver.
At the moment their favourite is a rye sourdough loaf. “We make it just for Saturday in an Eastern European style,” says Oliver. “It's a really moist, dark sticky loaf that looks like a little brick!”
They've found the other shop owners in the High Street very friendly. “Lots of them pop in to pick things up and the hairdresser is always recommending us to her customers!” says Rosie. “There's a strong sense of community along the High Street,” adds Oliver. “When we first started work on the building we got cards from some of the others saying welcome and lots popped in to say hi. It was really nice.”
This enterprising couple don't just sell their own baking and muesli. They also stock Kyfyth Kernow jams and chutneys, greetings cards by illustrator Beth Knowles, chopping boards and cutlery trays from Barncrest in Penryn who made the wooden shop counter. They even sell second hand books. “The books come from a friend who owns Beerwolf books on Falmouth market,” says Rosie. “They have a really good selection so we decided to stock them as well.”
Having their own business has been a steep learning curve but despite having proved such a success, they have no plans to change. “Some people expand too quickly and lose the quality of the product,” explains Oliver. “If we have an idea we can find out what people think of it immediately by having tasters on the counter.”
“We want to do something practical, not have to manage lots of people,” adds Rosie. “I enjoy serving the customers – if I make a tray of flapjack then a couple of hours later it's me that sells it – that's immediate satisfaction. Particularly when they come back and tell me how much they've enjoyed it!” She pauses. “The way the shop looks is just how we want it to look. It reflects us as individuals.”
Oliver and Rosie are conscious of needing a balance between work and their lives outside. “We've got to enjoy our work and our customers, but we also want to be able to enjoy the lovely place we live in,” says Rosie. And despite not wanting to expand, in one way they will, for Rosie is expecting a baby in December.
“I'll probably get more help in the shop and work part time at first,” says Rosie thoughtfully. “But we'll see what happens.” Oliver smiles at his wife and his eyes twinkle. “We'll just get the baby baking!” he says.
Stones Bakery
28a High Street
Falmouth TR11 2AD
07791003183
stonesbakery@hotmail.co.uk
Stones Bakery also attend St Ives Farmers Market on Thursdays
Thursday, 22 October 2009
Friday, 16 October 2009
It's Never Too Late
Last night we had a novel writing meeting, and one of those present was Nancy. My inspiration. She is in October's Cornwall Today.
After twenty years away, a 70 year old Cornish woman returned home
and embarked on her third career.
Nancy Kinnison has a lot in common with the late Mary Wesley, who once said, ‘Sixty should be the time to start something new, not put your feet up.’ Nancy agrees with this, having changed career – again – when she retired from teaching at 65. Her latest reincarnation is perhaps one of her hardest challenges. Becoming a writer.
‘I’ve always wanted to write,’ Nancy says in her breathless fashion. ‘I had a very encouraging teacher at school, then, when I was married, I started writing short stories. I always said that when I finish work I will write, and that’s what I've done.’
Nancy talks quickly, waving her hands as she speaks. She wears no makeup, and her jewellery is all silver; a pair of dangly earrings, a variety of chunky rings on each finger, and a pendant. She is short and stocky, with understated, comfortable clothes that struggle to contain her overflowing enthusiasm. Her eyes flash back and forth, missing nothing.
‘The worst bit about being a writer is the frustration of trying to put emotions into words that will evoke those feelings for a reader,’ she says.
Nancy moved back to Cornwall in 2004 because, “simply, it's home. But I'd lived in cities for 20 years and enjoy their facilities: that's why I chose to live in Truro. It's at the centre of Cornwall but only minutes away from the sea; the sound of breaking surf was a childhood lullaby.”
What did she miss about Cornwall? She laughs. “Everything! The people – their down to earth character and wicked sense of humour. The infinite variety of its landscape, and above all, the untameable and ever-changing sea.”
Nancy now lives in a small house on a quiet estate in Truro. Her living room is filled with novels, books on psychology, Cornish magazines and newspapers. A collection of fruit ripens on the window sills, next door to pots of basil and parsley, and above the television are a collection of photographs of her grown children and grandchildren. An ordinary house, you might think. But there is nothing ordinary about Nancy.
She was born and brought up in a small fishing village in Cornwall, and started pre-nursing training in 1950 aged 16 before doing her nursing training at the Royal Devon & Exeter Hospital.
When Nancy married a policeman in 1957 she worked as a staff nurse until she had children. When they were at school she returned to work, but not for long. ‘It was impossible to fit in with my husband’s shifts while the children were young,’ she says. ‘When they were older I did my Diploma in Nursing and worked at Treliske hospital as a night sister for two years.’
In 1976 Nancy’s marriage broke up. ‘My husband left when the children were 15 and 18,’ she says, the pain and anger still clear in her voice. As a result she left nursing and worked as a technician at Falmouth School. ‘It wasn’t the most fulfilling of jobs, but it was right at the time,’ she adds resolutely.
When Nancy was 45 she applied to Southampton University to read Sociology and Social Administration. ‘I’d always wanted to go to university but never thought I was bright enough.’ She smiles defiantly. ‘I was terrified. Most people considered going to university at my age ridiculous, but I thought I must try - and fail if necessary.’
So she’d never thought about going to university earlier? ‘Coming from a working class family, it wasn’t an option,’ she said. ‘But if I could change anything about my life I would have gone to university earlier. It was the first step to finding intellectual fulfilment.’
Nancy got her degree and secured a lecturing post at North London College teaching Sociology and Psychology. ‘I got a tremendous amount out of all my various jobs,’ she says, her eyes gleaming, ‘but teaching was the most rewarding. Having piloted a BTEC Nursery Nurse course, I applied for a job to set up a similar course in Bath. I stayed there till I retired in 1997.’
Most people would have some time off before starting on another career, but not Nancy. ‘The second Saturday after I retired, I went on a writing course and started writing,’ she says with her open laugh. ‘I wish I’d started earlier – someone told me it takes ten years to produce anything professional.’
But since then Nancy’s short stories have appeared in QWF (Quality Women’s Fiction), Woman’s Own, Fiction Feast, Yours and Family Circle, which has greatly increased her confidence.
‘I've joined various groups, attended a novel writing course and started writing my first novel,’ she says. The novel, the first of a trilogy, is set in the 1950s, about a young nursing student. ‘I wanted to show how different nursing was then compared to now,’ she explains.
The novel was interrupted when an ex-colleague asked her to collaborate on a psychology textbook for nurses. ‘If I’d have known how much time it was going to take, I probably wouldn’t have done it,’ she says. ‘But it’s in print now, so I've gone back to my novel which is such a relief!’
At 75, Nancy is aware that she has less time than some of us, but this doesn’t deter her. ‘I always knew that learning how to write would be a long slow process,’ she says. Her hard work was rewarded last year when a London literary agent asked to see the whole manuscript. 'She turned it down, but to have got that far is very encouraging,' Nancy says. And she is positive about the future. ‘In five years time I hope to be writing a bestseller - my third best selling novel!’
Nancy is an inspiration to anyone regardless of sex or age. So what advice does she have? ‘If you want to try something, do it,’ she says. ‘Get tuition, join groups – take whatever you're doing seriously.’ She looks up and smiles. ‘It’s all about having the courage to try. If there’s something you really want to do, go for it.’
After twenty years away, a 70 year old Cornish woman returned home
and embarked on her third career.
Nancy Kinnison has a lot in common with the late Mary Wesley, who once said, ‘Sixty should be the time to start something new, not put your feet up.’ Nancy agrees with this, having changed career – again – when she retired from teaching at 65. Her latest reincarnation is perhaps one of her hardest challenges. Becoming a writer.
‘I’ve always wanted to write,’ Nancy says in her breathless fashion. ‘I had a very encouraging teacher at school, then, when I was married, I started writing short stories. I always said that when I finish work I will write, and that’s what I've done.’
Nancy talks quickly, waving her hands as she speaks. She wears no makeup, and her jewellery is all silver; a pair of dangly earrings, a variety of chunky rings on each finger, and a pendant. She is short and stocky, with understated, comfortable clothes that struggle to contain her overflowing enthusiasm. Her eyes flash back and forth, missing nothing.
‘The worst bit about being a writer is the frustration of trying to put emotions into words that will evoke those feelings for a reader,’ she says.
Nancy moved back to Cornwall in 2004 because, “simply, it's home. But I'd lived in cities for 20 years and enjoy their facilities: that's why I chose to live in Truro. It's at the centre of Cornwall but only minutes away from the sea; the sound of breaking surf was a childhood lullaby.”
What did she miss about Cornwall? She laughs. “Everything! The people – their down to earth character and wicked sense of humour. The infinite variety of its landscape, and above all, the untameable and ever-changing sea.”
Nancy now lives in a small house on a quiet estate in Truro. Her living room is filled with novels, books on psychology, Cornish magazines and newspapers. A collection of fruit ripens on the window sills, next door to pots of basil and parsley, and above the television are a collection of photographs of her grown children and grandchildren. An ordinary house, you might think. But there is nothing ordinary about Nancy.
She was born and brought up in a small fishing village in Cornwall, and started pre-nursing training in 1950 aged 16 before doing her nursing training at the Royal Devon & Exeter Hospital.
When Nancy married a policeman in 1957 she worked as a staff nurse until she had children. When they were at school she returned to work, but not for long. ‘It was impossible to fit in with my husband’s shifts while the children were young,’ she says. ‘When they were older I did my Diploma in Nursing and worked at Treliske hospital as a night sister for two years.’
In 1976 Nancy’s marriage broke up. ‘My husband left when the children were 15 and 18,’ she says, the pain and anger still clear in her voice. As a result she left nursing and worked as a technician at Falmouth School. ‘It wasn’t the most fulfilling of jobs, but it was right at the time,’ she adds resolutely.
When Nancy was 45 she applied to Southampton University to read Sociology and Social Administration. ‘I’d always wanted to go to university but never thought I was bright enough.’ She smiles defiantly. ‘I was terrified. Most people considered going to university at my age ridiculous, but I thought I must try - and fail if necessary.’
So she’d never thought about going to university earlier? ‘Coming from a working class family, it wasn’t an option,’ she said. ‘But if I could change anything about my life I would have gone to university earlier. It was the first step to finding intellectual fulfilment.’
Nancy got her degree and secured a lecturing post at North London College teaching Sociology and Psychology. ‘I got a tremendous amount out of all my various jobs,’ she says, her eyes gleaming, ‘but teaching was the most rewarding. Having piloted a BTEC Nursery Nurse course, I applied for a job to set up a similar course in Bath. I stayed there till I retired in 1997.’
Most people would have some time off before starting on another career, but not Nancy. ‘The second Saturday after I retired, I went on a writing course and started writing,’ she says with her open laugh. ‘I wish I’d started earlier – someone told me it takes ten years to produce anything professional.’
But since then Nancy’s short stories have appeared in QWF (Quality Women’s Fiction), Woman’s Own, Fiction Feast, Yours and Family Circle, which has greatly increased her confidence.
‘I've joined various groups, attended a novel writing course and started writing my first novel,’ she says. The novel, the first of a trilogy, is set in the 1950s, about a young nursing student. ‘I wanted to show how different nursing was then compared to now,’ she explains.
The novel was interrupted when an ex-colleague asked her to collaborate on a psychology textbook for nurses. ‘If I’d have known how much time it was going to take, I probably wouldn’t have done it,’ she says. ‘But it’s in print now, so I've gone back to my novel which is such a relief!’
At 75, Nancy is aware that she has less time than some of us, but this doesn’t deter her. ‘I always knew that learning how to write would be a long slow process,’ she says. Her hard work was rewarded last year when a London literary agent asked to see the whole manuscript. 'She turned it down, but to have got that far is very encouraging,' Nancy says. And she is positive about the future. ‘In five years time I hope to be writing a bestseller - my third best selling novel!’
Nancy is an inspiration to anyone regardless of sex or age. So what advice does she have? ‘If you want to try something, do it,’ she says. ‘Get tuition, join groups – take whatever you're doing seriously.’ She looks up and smiles. ‘It’s all about having the courage to try. If there’s something you really want to do, go for it.’
Sunday, 11 October 2009
The Jewel in the Crown
We're now back from holiday and there's nothing like going away on holiday to really appreciate Home.
Don't get me wrong - we had a great time. The cottage was lovely, and had a very good range cooker that Himself fell in love with, and made great use of (so we were all happy) and a back yard for Mollie so she was happy. My mum came for half the week, various friends dropped in, we had cousins for supper, and a very good pub within a few minutes walk. Perfick, as Pa Larkin would say.
The weather could have been better, but there was one day that really stood out for me. Our cousins had told me about a Bronze Age settlement called Carn Euny – from there you can walk over to Chapel Carn Brea, one of the highest spots in Cornwall. I did this walk on the one really good day we had where the sky was dark blue and I could see for miles.
Himself looked at the map and said “you just go up to Carn Euny and go left,” as if I was in the middle of a town.
I grunted, he said he'd meet me at Chapel car park, and we both departed in opposite directions, Mollie scampering behind me. Well, suffice it to say that as I'd figured, it wasn't as simple as Just Turning Left. I found Carn Euny and that was an incredible sight – but from then on it got tricky. I looked at the map but the green lines indicating Public Footpath didn't bear any resemblance to the paths in front of me. So I retraced my steps and started again.
Then I found another map which seemed to indicate I was going in roughly the right direction, so I continued. After I'd been walking for about 40 minutes (Himself had reckoned the entire walk would be 30 mins), my phone rang. “Where are you?” he said in his I'm-not-worried-just-enquiring-voice.
“I've no idea,” I said. “I figure if I don't find you I'll retrace my steps.”
Silence. “Where's the sun?”
“On my left.”
Another pause. “You should be walking into it, Pop.”
We left it that I'd continue for another ten minutes and if I was still lost then, I'd go back.
But then I came to the top of the hill and the path curved into the sun. I took a deep breath and there was Cornwall laid out before me in all her glory. Scilly glimmered in the distance, Long Ships lighthouse stood proudly in the sea before me, a small airplane took off from Lands End runway, and I took a deep breath, breathing in that exhilarating air, and realised how lucky I was to be there, at that time, with the wind whipping my hair, the sun beating down on me – and Mollie wondering if I was whooping because I'd really flipped.
Looking round, there was such a dizzying sense of height and depth and space. And here, in an area that hasn't been overly farmed, and apart from the monstrosity that is Lands End, hasn't been mucked around by tourism, it's possible to see a glimpse of the real, rough Cornwall. The land as it was in the Bronze Age. An earthy, raw feeling that is simply very, very ancient and basic and simple.
And that glimpse – that for me was the real jewel in my holiday crown.
Wednesday, 30 September 2009
Many thanks to Debs who kindly passed this "Your Blog is Fabulous!" Award which stands for: Integrity. Commitment to Excellence. Stubbornly Optimistic.
THE RULES:
List five current obsessions:
Well – I'm scratching my head here because I'm trying to send everything to my editor before I go away tomorrow, remember to pack what I need for the funeral in Devon on Friday, and also thinking about what we'll need to take with us when we go on holiday on Saturday. Oh, and because I'll be doing a couple of interviews while we're away, I need to take notebooks, walk books and tape recorder. Plus list of questions for interviewees, spare batteries for recorder – all that sort of stuff.
So these obsessions might be a little distracted. Please help yourself to this award and meme - you deserve it!
In no particular order -
1.Writing. Thinking about writing or writing does, I realise, take up a lot of my life. Not that I'm complaining, but it does. I need it in order to breathe, to function. When I'm upset or confused I write something down to make sense of it. When I'm happy I write about it. In fact, here I am now rabbiting on about it. So yes, that is definitely an obsession.
2.My family and friends – my immediate family is Himself, Bussie the cat and Mollie the dog. I love them more than I can say. And I know you're not supposed to let dogs sleep on your bed, but I do sleep so much better with that hot little body squashed against mine..... As for my friends - where would I be without you all? Thanks for everything. Darn – this is sounding more and more like an Oscar acceptance speech.
3.Cruelty to animals – don't get me started....... just light the touch paper and STAND BACK!!
4.Himself would tell you about my over-sensitivity (frequently concerning how other people are feeling) which causes a lot of agonising. I'm currently thinking of a poor friend who has just borrowed my cat box to take her cat to the vet for The Last Trip.....
5.Walks – I spend a lot of time walking with Molls. As from 1st October the dog ban is lifted so we can go on the beaches – hooray! They are always a good place to think and explore thoughts. I have learnt a lot about friends on walks – it's a good way to share concerns and sort the world out.
6.Enjoyment. I am a firm believer in enjoying the small things of life, not the expensive ones (can't afford those). A good book, flowers on my desk, a nice bottle of wine, a piece of home made flapjack, a weepy movie, sitting in the sun with Molls.
See? Life can be fun on very little money! (Just realised that's six but never mind - you have one for luck.)
I will be back in a couple of weeks – have a good time everyone. It's bound to rain now I've mentioned the H word....
Friday, 25 September 2009
Fencing
In October's issue of Cornwall Today -
LEARN TO SABRE FENCE - A GREAT WAY FOR ANYONE TO GET FIT!
I've always been attracted by fencing for its skill, elegance and drama, so when I had the chance to try it out, I jumped at it. Arriving at Truro Fencing Club I was greeted by Maxine McCombie, a diminutive figure bouncing with fitness, who started fencing 6 years ago at the age of 23. She is a TFC club coach and ranked 10th in the nation in the Sabre category. “Fencing attracts many women - it's good for improving general fitness, co-ordination and agility,” she explained.
Jon Salfield, Head Coach, joined us as we watched the Performance Programme in training. “We have 7 people training towards the 2012 Olympics and aim to offer the most comprehensive sabre training available in the UK,” he said. This gives athletes the tools to achieve world-class results, and build a pathway for future generations of international fencers. “Truro Fencing Club have already achieved great successes and hope to build on these.”
But TFC are also a very inclusive and friendly club, keen to encourage fencers of all ages and abilities. Even crocks like me!
Jon explained, “Sabre fencing is such a dynamic sport. You only have a knife edge of time in which to hit the other person so you have to be so focused. You need to concentrate 110% of the time.”
I wondered if my brain cells were up to it, but after showing me the electronic scoring device, Maxine took me to the far end of the gym to put on the kit. “Fencing is very safe because we use safety equipment which is regularly updated,” she explained, and showed me the pieces of kit that beginners wear. “A chest protector (for women), a plastron, or under-jacket for the sword arm, and a jacket which is worn over the top made of Kevlar based material.” All of this is very lightweight cotton but, apparently, made of the same technology as bullet proof vests!
Next came a white glove like a gauntlet, worn on my sword hand and lastly, but most important of all, a mask made of very strong steel with a bib to protect the neck.
First of all Maxine showed me the salute, which is an integral part of fencing. “As it's a combat sport we acknowledge respect for our opponent.” I had to point my sword down towards the floor then bring it straight out in front, then bring the guard up to my nose and back down. “You salute your opponent before and after your fight and also salute the referee and salute at sword point. It's not a violent sport: you try and outwit your opponent.”
Once kitted up, Maxine explained the three types of sword in fencing. “The sabre is used with a cutting action of what would have been a cavalry sword to hit your opponent, whereas with the other two swords, the foil and epee, you can only use the tip.” We were to use a sabre which is a relatively new competitive sport for women, starting at the Olympics in 2004.
First of all she showed me how to place my thumb and hold the sword up in the air. Next came foot work which is quite specific. “As you're right handed, put your right foot forward and always keep it straight,” said Maxine. “Then your back foot turns out to the side at a right angle giving an L shape, then you bend both knees. That's your en garde position so that when you do your lunge you have a good starting position, and your sword comes out at the front.”
She showed me how to move my front foot forwards, then the back foot, and to move backwards start with the back foot, then the front foot. All footwork is a variation on this step, using different patterns and rhythms depending on how the fight's going.
Next came the lunge; the long attacking action. “Your back foot stays flat on the floor and you push forwards into a long stretch and your front knee is bent over your ankle. To get out of it you push backwards into the en garde position. Well done!” I glowed at the praise, though having done both ballet and yoga was a help.
Just when I thought I was making progress, we moved on to attacking. “In sabre the target area is everywhere above the hip line: arms, chest, head, even the sides and back, apart from the hands,” Maxine told me. First I had to hit her on the head, then the chest with the original cutting edge of the sword, and she showed me how to put up my sword to stop a hit. “The three areas to be hit are the head, chest and flank. So you need three main defense blocks, using your sword to stop your opponent hitting you. This is called a parry.”
A parry signifies the end of an attack, then it's time for the opponent to attack. She showed me another way to stop your opponent which was easy: “Step back, out of the way.”
Having shown me the sword work, I then added the footwork, stepping backwards to avoid Maxine, then lunged to attack her. I wanted to know when you hit each other? “When you move forwards, you have the attack,” said Maxine as our swords clashed – she's a very clear and patient coach.
“As soon as you've made me miss or defended, then it's your attack and I have to defend myself, so priority is given to the attack. You can't just hit.” So that cleared that up.
“You're constantly working with the balance of attacking without getting too close,” explained Maxine. “Basically it's attack, parry and change of rhythm.”
I could see that in fencing concentration is vital, as is timing, footwork and lightning-quick reactions. Maxine nodded. “I love the competitiveness and the activity: it's adrenaline fueled but you have to keep your head working. You compete against yourself to improve and your opponent, so they push you to deliver your best fencing.”
By this time I was on an incredible high and my head was spinning: I'd never realised fencing was so complex. But Jon and Maxine are excellent ambassadors of the sport. Their enthusiasm is so contagious, you really want to have a go.
www.trurofencing.co.uk or ring Jon on 07779 130942.
info@trurofencing.co.uk
Truro Fencing Club was founded in 1970 and now has over 100 members. It costs £25 per month or £15 for children for 2 practices per week, overseen by 5-6 coaches and includes clothes and equipment. The club meets on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays and new members of any standard are welcome.
FACTBOX
Fencing can be traced back to the 12th century and was one of the disciplines at the very first Olympics in 1896.
Sabre
The fastest of all the fencing weapons, and the only one which uses cutting actions as well as point attacks. The sabre is descended from the eighteenth and nineteenth century heavy cavalry sword. The target for sabre is above the waist, and simultaneous hits (within 120 milliseconds) are decided by 'right of attack'. Any contact is a valid hit at sabre, ie. no particular level of pressure is required to score a valid hit.
Epee
Heavier than the foil and with a larger guard, the epee is descended from the dueling rapier of the sixteenth and seventeenth century. Hits can be scored anywhere on the body and must be made with the point. For a hit to be valid it must be delivered with at least 750 grams of pressure (this is detected by a spring loaded tip which is wired to an electronic scoring box). Simultaneous hits score one point each.
Foil
A light weapon, developed from the small-sword of the eighteenth century. Hits are made on the torso with the point, and simultaneous hits are governed by 'right of attack'. This means that the fencer who initiates an attacking movement will score the hit, unless the defender first deflects the opponents blade, or makes it miss. For a hit to be valid it must be delivered with at least 500 grams of pressure (this is detected by a spring loaded tip which is wired to an electronic scoring box).
LEARN TO SABRE FENCE - A GREAT WAY FOR ANYONE TO GET FIT!
I've always been attracted by fencing for its skill, elegance and drama, so when I had the chance to try it out, I jumped at it. Arriving at Truro Fencing Club I was greeted by Maxine McCombie, a diminutive figure bouncing with fitness, who started fencing 6 years ago at the age of 23. She is a TFC club coach and ranked 10th in the nation in the Sabre category. “Fencing attracts many women - it's good for improving general fitness, co-ordination and agility,” she explained.
Jon Salfield, Head Coach, joined us as we watched the Performance Programme in training. “We have 7 people training towards the 2012 Olympics and aim to offer the most comprehensive sabre training available in the UK,” he said. This gives athletes the tools to achieve world-class results, and build a pathway for future generations of international fencers. “Truro Fencing Club have already achieved great successes and hope to build on these.”
But TFC are also a very inclusive and friendly club, keen to encourage fencers of all ages and abilities. Even crocks like me!
Jon explained, “Sabre fencing is such a dynamic sport. You only have a knife edge of time in which to hit the other person so you have to be so focused. You need to concentrate 110% of the time.”
I wondered if my brain cells were up to it, but after showing me the electronic scoring device, Maxine took me to the far end of the gym to put on the kit. “Fencing is very safe because we use safety equipment which is regularly updated,” she explained, and showed me the pieces of kit that beginners wear. “A chest protector (for women), a plastron, or under-jacket for the sword arm, and a jacket which is worn over the top made of Kevlar based material.” All of this is very lightweight cotton but, apparently, made of the same technology as bullet proof vests!
Next came a white glove like a gauntlet, worn on my sword hand and lastly, but most important of all, a mask made of very strong steel with a bib to protect the neck.
First of all Maxine showed me the salute, which is an integral part of fencing. “As it's a combat sport we acknowledge respect for our opponent.” I had to point my sword down towards the floor then bring it straight out in front, then bring the guard up to my nose and back down. “You salute your opponent before and after your fight and also salute the referee and salute at sword point. It's not a violent sport: you try and outwit your opponent.”
Once kitted up, Maxine explained the three types of sword in fencing. “The sabre is used with a cutting action of what would have been a cavalry sword to hit your opponent, whereas with the other two swords, the foil and epee, you can only use the tip.” We were to use a sabre which is a relatively new competitive sport for women, starting at the Olympics in 2004.
First of all she showed me how to place my thumb and hold the sword up in the air. Next came foot work which is quite specific. “As you're right handed, put your right foot forward and always keep it straight,” said Maxine. “Then your back foot turns out to the side at a right angle giving an L shape, then you bend both knees. That's your en garde position so that when you do your lunge you have a good starting position, and your sword comes out at the front.”
She showed me how to move my front foot forwards, then the back foot, and to move backwards start with the back foot, then the front foot. All footwork is a variation on this step, using different patterns and rhythms depending on how the fight's going.
Next came the lunge; the long attacking action. “Your back foot stays flat on the floor and you push forwards into a long stretch and your front knee is bent over your ankle. To get out of it you push backwards into the en garde position. Well done!” I glowed at the praise, though having done both ballet and yoga was a help.
Just when I thought I was making progress, we moved on to attacking. “In sabre the target area is everywhere above the hip line: arms, chest, head, even the sides and back, apart from the hands,” Maxine told me. First I had to hit her on the head, then the chest with the original cutting edge of the sword, and she showed me how to put up my sword to stop a hit. “The three areas to be hit are the head, chest and flank. So you need three main defense blocks, using your sword to stop your opponent hitting you. This is called a parry.”
A parry signifies the end of an attack, then it's time for the opponent to attack. She showed me another way to stop your opponent which was easy: “Step back, out of the way.”
Having shown me the sword work, I then added the footwork, stepping backwards to avoid Maxine, then lunged to attack her. I wanted to know when you hit each other? “When you move forwards, you have the attack,” said Maxine as our swords clashed – she's a very clear and patient coach.
“As soon as you've made me miss or defended, then it's your attack and I have to defend myself, so priority is given to the attack. You can't just hit.” So that cleared that up.
“You're constantly working with the balance of attacking without getting too close,” explained Maxine. “Basically it's attack, parry and change of rhythm.”
I could see that in fencing concentration is vital, as is timing, footwork and lightning-quick reactions. Maxine nodded. “I love the competitiveness and the activity: it's adrenaline fueled but you have to keep your head working. You compete against yourself to improve and your opponent, so they push you to deliver your best fencing.”
By this time I was on an incredible high and my head was spinning: I'd never realised fencing was so complex. But Jon and Maxine are excellent ambassadors of the sport. Their enthusiasm is so contagious, you really want to have a go.
www.trurofencing.co.uk or ring Jon on 07779 130942.
info@trurofencing.co.uk
Truro Fencing Club was founded in 1970 and now has over 100 members. It costs £25 per month or £15 for children for 2 practices per week, overseen by 5-6 coaches and includes clothes and equipment. The club meets on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays and new members of any standard are welcome.
FACTBOX
Fencing can be traced back to the 12th century and was one of the disciplines at the very first Olympics in 1896.
Sabre
The fastest of all the fencing weapons, and the only one which uses cutting actions as well as point attacks. The sabre is descended from the eighteenth and nineteenth century heavy cavalry sword. The target for sabre is above the waist, and simultaneous hits (within 120 milliseconds) are decided by 'right of attack'. Any contact is a valid hit at sabre, ie. no particular level of pressure is required to score a valid hit.
Epee
Heavier than the foil and with a larger guard, the epee is descended from the dueling rapier of the sixteenth and seventeenth century. Hits can be scored anywhere on the body and must be made with the point. For a hit to be valid it must be delivered with at least 750 grams of pressure (this is detected by a spring loaded tip which is wired to an electronic scoring box). Simultaneous hits score one point each.
Foil
A light weapon, developed from the small-sword of the eighteenth century. Hits are made on the torso with the point, and simultaneous hits are governed by 'right of attack'. This means that the fencer who initiates an attacking movement will score the hit, unless the defender first deflects the opponents blade, or makes it miss. For a hit to be valid it must be delivered with at least 500 grams of pressure (this is detected by a spring loaded tip which is wired to an electronic scoring box).
Flushing Walk
A WALK ROUND FLUSHING AND MYLOR HARBOUR
Taking in woods, the coast, ice cream and a bowling green
This is one of my favourite local walks, as there are beautiful woods, wonderful views of the Carrick Roads, all kinds of boats, Falmouth docks and St Just in Roseland. Or if you're my dog, Mollie, it's wonderful for rabbit hunting and swimming.
Flushing was named Nankersey by Dutch engineers from Flushing in Holland who built the three main quays in the village. The grand houses on St Peter's Hill, the road that leads into the village, were owned by captains of the packet ships (mail-boats) that docked in nearby Falmouth.
In the 19th and 20th century, the village's economy mainly relied upon fishing, the two farms (Trefusis and Tregew) and Falmouth Docks. There was also briefly a copper mine on Jericho beach, but this proved to be unworkable commercially.
Flushing is also famous for its carnival week at the end of July and for the excellent Nankersey Choir which performs all over Cornwall. Falmouth Boat Construction Company has built traditional wooden craft since the early 1880s, and during the war years, motor torpedo boats were produced. There is a passenger ferry to and from Flushing Quay to Falmouth's Prince of Wales Pier which acts as a school bus for many children.
One sunny afternoon, my husband, Mollie and I drove from Falmouth on the A39 and at Penryn turned right signposted Flushing 2 miles. Several hundred yards later we turned right again, following signs for Flushing and Mylor Harbour, and at a T junction on the outskirts of Flushing, we turned right and headed down into the village where you can park on Flushing Quay.
Husband was going off to the pub (no surprise there), so Mollie and I retraced our steps past the Seven Stars pub and turned right into Kersey Road, up the hill to a housing estate where we turned up a Public Footpath by a road sign saying Orchard Vale.
This steep path was fringed with bluebells, ragged robin and campion, and led over a stile to a huge field with ploughed rich earth like chocolate fudge. The path ran round the edge of this massive field with clouds leaving magnificent sweeping shadows, and looking up I saw a herd of Friesians silhouetted against the sky like a still life painting. Mollie bounded ahead, like a cross between a rabbit and a sheep, as we clambered over an overgrown stile, across the top of a field of potatoes, and into a private drive. We turned left here, by a cattle grid, to the end of the drive, crossed the road and took a Public Footpath sign to Trelew on our right.
A blaze of buttercups greeted us, a cross sounding pheasant squawked his disapproval, and I saw my first foxglove of the year. At the bottom of the field we turned left into a wood with masses of wild garlic and a Cabbage White alighting on a tired looking bluebell. A stream rippled on our right as we splashed our way down a stony path, but sunshine dappled the trees, cheering our afternoon.
Passing through a five barred gate, we continued along an even muddier path round to the left, over a stream which led to a gateway where we turned right, along a private drive and right again into Church Road. Here an elderly lady greeted a very muddy Mollie with delight and even gave her a back rub, ensuring a friend for life. Regretfully leaving her behind, Mollie and I headed up the hill, where there is a raised pavement useful if you have children and dogs: the road is narrow and there can be a fair amount of traffic. As we walked along, swallows darted in front of us and a blue tit perched on guttering in front of us to have a drink.
The path opens out into a creek and we continued up the hill, round the back of some houses and came to another road. Crossing this, we entered Mylor churchyard through a wrought iron gate, walked down some steps and past a daisy strewn bank to the Ganges memorial, erected in 1872. This lists 53 young cadets, aged 15-17, who died while training for the Royal Navy on HMS Ganges from 1866-1899. The majority died from measles, scarletina and influenza, and 8 were either killed on board or drowned.
St Mylor Church, founded in 450 AD by a Celtic Bishop, is very popular for weddings, and today was beautifully decked with flowers from a previous wedding. Back in the churchyard we passed a blazing scarlet rhododendron that reminded me of flamenco skirts, and emerged into Mylor Harbour.
There are several eateries here but today my husband was sitting outside staring wistfully at the boats in the marina. “There's a lovely day boat down there that would just do us,” he said.
I grunted, made a note to get a lottery ticket, and went to get something to cheer him up. He can never resist a good vanilla ice cream, so we sat in contented silence, licking our ices and listening to the clink of rigging. Up the river a fishing trawler was coming in, gulls screaming overhead, desperate for fish scraps.
Leaving husband behind, Mollie and I wiped the last of the ice cream from our mouths (and whiskers in her case) and walked past Restronguet Sailing Club on our right. Dogs are requested to be on leads here as there is an outside picnic area and Mollie for one is always keen to hoover up other people's tea.
Past the sailing club was a yellow waymark arrow which we followed through a field full of catamarans leading to a stile which led to the first field on the Trefusis Estate. Looking out to the left we could see Restronguet, Loe Beach, a distant Trelissick House with its magnificent porticos and further on St Just in Roseland.
Squelching our way through the mud, we walked through a succession of fields, one of potatoes, the next studded with buttercups, thistles and speedwell. This part of the walk is good for those who like flat walks and up on our right were woods with a thick carpet of bluebells. We were drawn there to inhale the wonderfully deep scented smell, and there in front of us was a small rabbit, gazing raptly ahead. It thumped its back feet, then dived down the nearest rabbit hole, disappearing before Mollie could chase it - to my relief.
The next field was reached by crossing a fast running stream good for thirsty dogs. Around us spring was bursting out everywhere, each tree a remarkably different shade of green, reaching young fingertips to the sky. The last of the blackthorn was turning brown, and at our feet new ferns uncurled like babies' fists.
Looking out, St Mawes Castle came into view, then St Anthony lighthouse; further on was the famous Black Rock marker, then Falmouth castle, the docks and Falmouth itself. The St Mawes Ferry was returning to Falmouth on one of its half hourly journeys, and ahead was the distinctive cream coloured Falmouth Hotel, then further round the observatory, recently sold as a pricey dwelling. We emerged onto the broad green sweep of Trefusis Point and saw Falmouth ahead of us, leading round to the marina and Penryn River.
Walking through a gap in the hedge we arrived at Kiln Beach so Mollie could have a swim (this private beach is dog friendly all year round), but you can continue along the field and into the woods. Either way leads back to Trefusis Road which we walked along until we reached Flushing Bowling Green on our right at the end. Climbing up here we had the most fabulous view over the roofs of Flushing, over to Falmouth and up the Penryn River. We sat for a moment and enjoyed the view, before following the path down the hill and emerging by Flushing School. Here we continued down the road, to emerge by the Seven Stars pub where we found my husband sitting outside enjoying a peaceful pint.
We joined him, reflecting on the fact that though we love Falmouth, Flushing comes a good second best. And it gets the evening sunshine, which Falmouth doesn't. Sitting in the early evening sun with a drink takes some beating. Especially in this country.
FACTBOX
OS Explorer 105 Falmouth & Mevagissey
Length: 4 miles
Duration: Approx 2 hours; moderate/easy going, can be very muddy in places
St Mawes Ferry - www.kingharryscornwall.co.uk/ferries/st_mawes_ferry
Flushing Ferry - www.falriverlinks.co.uk/client/ferry_timetables/timetable_flushingferry.html
Restronguet Sailing Club - www.mysailingclub.org
St Mylor church - www.stmylor.org.uk
Castaways wine bar – 01326 377710
Mylor Cafe – 01326 373712
Seven Stars, Flushing – 01326 374373
Taking in woods, the coast, ice cream and a bowling green
This is one of my favourite local walks, as there are beautiful woods, wonderful views of the Carrick Roads, all kinds of boats, Falmouth docks and St Just in Roseland. Or if you're my dog, Mollie, it's wonderful for rabbit hunting and swimming.
Flushing was named Nankersey by Dutch engineers from Flushing in Holland who built the three main quays in the village. The grand houses on St Peter's Hill, the road that leads into the village, were owned by captains of the packet ships (mail-boats) that docked in nearby Falmouth.
In the 19th and 20th century, the village's economy mainly relied upon fishing, the two farms (Trefusis and Tregew) and Falmouth Docks. There was also briefly a copper mine on Jericho beach, but this proved to be unworkable commercially.
Flushing is also famous for its carnival week at the end of July and for the excellent Nankersey Choir which performs all over Cornwall. Falmouth Boat Construction Company has built traditional wooden craft since the early 1880s, and during the war years, motor torpedo boats were produced. There is a passenger ferry to and from Flushing Quay to Falmouth's Prince of Wales Pier which acts as a school bus for many children.
One sunny afternoon, my husband, Mollie and I drove from Falmouth on the A39 and at Penryn turned right signposted Flushing 2 miles. Several hundred yards later we turned right again, following signs for Flushing and Mylor Harbour, and at a T junction on the outskirts of Flushing, we turned right and headed down into the village where you can park on Flushing Quay.
Husband was going off to the pub (no surprise there), so Mollie and I retraced our steps past the Seven Stars pub and turned right into Kersey Road, up the hill to a housing estate where we turned up a Public Footpath by a road sign saying Orchard Vale.
This steep path was fringed with bluebells, ragged robin and campion, and led over a stile to a huge field with ploughed rich earth like chocolate fudge. The path ran round the edge of this massive field with clouds leaving magnificent sweeping shadows, and looking up I saw a herd of Friesians silhouetted against the sky like a still life painting. Mollie bounded ahead, like a cross between a rabbit and a sheep, as we clambered over an overgrown stile, across the top of a field of potatoes, and into a private drive. We turned left here, by a cattle grid, to the end of the drive, crossed the road and took a Public Footpath sign to Trelew on our right.
A blaze of buttercups greeted us, a cross sounding pheasant squawked his disapproval, and I saw my first foxglove of the year. At the bottom of the field we turned left into a wood with masses of wild garlic and a Cabbage White alighting on a tired looking bluebell. A stream rippled on our right as we splashed our way down a stony path, but sunshine dappled the trees, cheering our afternoon.
Passing through a five barred gate, we continued along an even muddier path round to the left, over a stream which led to a gateway where we turned right, along a private drive and right again into Church Road. Here an elderly lady greeted a very muddy Mollie with delight and even gave her a back rub, ensuring a friend for life. Regretfully leaving her behind, Mollie and I headed up the hill, where there is a raised pavement useful if you have children and dogs: the road is narrow and there can be a fair amount of traffic. As we walked along, swallows darted in front of us and a blue tit perched on guttering in front of us to have a drink.
The path opens out into a creek and we continued up the hill, round the back of some houses and came to another road. Crossing this, we entered Mylor churchyard through a wrought iron gate, walked down some steps and past a daisy strewn bank to the Ganges memorial, erected in 1872. This lists 53 young cadets, aged 15-17, who died while training for the Royal Navy on HMS Ganges from 1866-1899. The majority died from measles, scarletina and influenza, and 8 were either killed on board or drowned.
St Mylor Church, founded in 450 AD by a Celtic Bishop, is very popular for weddings, and today was beautifully decked with flowers from a previous wedding. Back in the churchyard we passed a blazing scarlet rhododendron that reminded me of flamenco skirts, and emerged into Mylor Harbour.
There are several eateries here but today my husband was sitting outside staring wistfully at the boats in the marina. “There's a lovely day boat down there that would just do us,” he said.
I grunted, made a note to get a lottery ticket, and went to get something to cheer him up. He can never resist a good vanilla ice cream, so we sat in contented silence, licking our ices and listening to the clink of rigging. Up the river a fishing trawler was coming in, gulls screaming overhead, desperate for fish scraps.
Leaving husband behind, Mollie and I wiped the last of the ice cream from our mouths (and whiskers in her case) and walked past Restronguet Sailing Club on our right. Dogs are requested to be on leads here as there is an outside picnic area and Mollie for one is always keen to hoover up other people's tea.
Past the sailing club was a yellow waymark arrow which we followed through a field full of catamarans leading to a stile which led to the first field on the Trefusis Estate. Looking out to the left we could see Restronguet, Loe Beach, a distant Trelissick House with its magnificent porticos and further on St Just in Roseland.
Squelching our way through the mud, we walked through a succession of fields, one of potatoes, the next studded with buttercups, thistles and speedwell. This part of the walk is good for those who like flat walks and up on our right were woods with a thick carpet of bluebells. We were drawn there to inhale the wonderfully deep scented smell, and there in front of us was a small rabbit, gazing raptly ahead. It thumped its back feet, then dived down the nearest rabbit hole, disappearing before Mollie could chase it - to my relief.
The next field was reached by crossing a fast running stream good for thirsty dogs. Around us spring was bursting out everywhere, each tree a remarkably different shade of green, reaching young fingertips to the sky. The last of the blackthorn was turning brown, and at our feet new ferns uncurled like babies' fists.
Looking out, St Mawes Castle came into view, then St Anthony lighthouse; further on was the famous Black Rock marker, then Falmouth castle, the docks and Falmouth itself. The St Mawes Ferry was returning to Falmouth on one of its half hourly journeys, and ahead was the distinctive cream coloured Falmouth Hotel, then further round the observatory, recently sold as a pricey dwelling. We emerged onto the broad green sweep of Trefusis Point and saw Falmouth ahead of us, leading round to the marina and Penryn River.
Walking through a gap in the hedge we arrived at Kiln Beach so Mollie could have a swim (this private beach is dog friendly all year round), but you can continue along the field and into the woods. Either way leads back to Trefusis Road which we walked along until we reached Flushing Bowling Green on our right at the end. Climbing up here we had the most fabulous view over the roofs of Flushing, over to Falmouth and up the Penryn River. We sat for a moment and enjoyed the view, before following the path down the hill and emerging by Flushing School. Here we continued down the road, to emerge by the Seven Stars pub where we found my husband sitting outside enjoying a peaceful pint.
We joined him, reflecting on the fact that though we love Falmouth, Flushing comes a good second best. And it gets the evening sunshine, which Falmouth doesn't. Sitting in the early evening sun with a drink takes some beating. Especially in this country.
FACTBOX
OS Explorer 105 Falmouth & Mevagissey
Length: 4 miles
Duration: Approx 2 hours; moderate/easy going, can be very muddy in places
St Mawes Ferry - www.kingharryscornwall.co.uk/ferries/st_mawes_ferry
Flushing Ferry - www.falriverlinks.co.uk/client/ferry_timetables/timetable_flushingferry.html
Restronguet Sailing Club - www.mysailingclub.org
St Mylor church - www.stmylor.org.uk
Castaways wine bar – 01326 377710
Mylor Cafe – 01326 373712
Seven Stars, Flushing – 01326 374373
Monday, 21 September 2009
Old Friends
Last night my mum rang and I could tell from her voice that it was bad news. It was. My oldest friend – who has lived in Australia for the last 30 years – has just lost her mother. She went into hospital for a routine assessment and then Lin's Dad got a call to say she'd died.
This has upset me more than I could have believed. I hadn't seen Lin's Mum for about 15 years, and Lin and I don't keep in regular contact (her working hours preclude writing letters or emails) and the time difference – essentially when we're up they're in bed – make phone calls difficult. But her family and mine became intertwined from when we were both 4. As we're now both 51, that's quite a long time.
My mum and hers met at the school gates when Mum was shoving a weeping me into the playground, feeling like a monster. Lin's Mum came up to her and said, “This is my third child and I still feel terrible. Shall we go and have a cup of tea?” And from then on we were all good mates.
So I can only imagine how poor Lin is feeling right now. To lose your mum is bad enough. When you're the other side of the world it's so much worse. Trying to organise her several jobs, looking after all the animals while she's gone – whether to bring her son with her – all these things to take into account – as well as trying to get a flight. And the fact that here - “home” - isn't, of course, and hasn't been for so long.
From my point of view, this is also a sharp and painful nudge as to how I will feel when my own dear Mum goes, and none of us like to be reminded of that sort of thing.
I waited till I thought Lin would be back from work to ring her. For some reason I was extremely nervous – wanting to say the right thing. I dialled, fingers shaking, and listened while the phone rang and rang on the opposite side of the world. I could imagine her coming in, running to grab it – but the answerphone clicked in and that oh so familiar voice apologised for being out and told me to leave a message.
I got as far as, “I've just heard about your mum and I'm so so sorry,” and that was it. Tears welled up and clogged my throat so I could hardly speak. I left a strangled message, put down the phone and wept for her, for her poor dad, for the rest of the family – and for my inability to say the right thing.
But at least she knows that I'm here and that I'll be at the funeral – and that I really do care.
This has upset me more than I could have believed. I hadn't seen Lin's Mum for about 15 years, and Lin and I don't keep in regular contact (her working hours preclude writing letters or emails) and the time difference – essentially when we're up they're in bed – make phone calls difficult. But her family and mine became intertwined from when we were both 4. As we're now both 51, that's quite a long time.
My mum and hers met at the school gates when Mum was shoving a weeping me into the playground, feeling like a monster. Lin's Mum came up to her and said, “This is my third child and I still feel terrible. Shall we go and have a cup of tea?” And from then on we were all good mates.
So I can only imagine how poor Lin is feeling right now. To lose your mum is bad enough. When you're the other side of the world it's so much worse. Trying to organise her several jobs, looking after all the animals while she's gone – whether to bring her son with her – all these things to take into account – as well as trying to get a flight. And the fact that here - “home” - isn't, of course, and hasn't been for so long.
From my point of view, this is also a sharp and painful nudge as to how I will feel when my own dear Mum goes, and none of us like to be reminded of that sort of thing.
I waited till I thought Lin would be back from work to ring her. For some reason I was extremely nervous – wanting to say the right thing. I dialled, fingers shaking, and listened while the phone rang and rang on the opposite side of the world. I could imagine her coming in, running to grab it – but the answerphone clicked in and that oh so familiar voice apologised for being out and told me to leave a message.
I got as far as, “I've just heard about your mum and I'm so so sorry,” and that was it. Tears welled up and clogged my throat so I could hardly speak. I left a strangled message, put down the phone and wept for her, for her poor dad, for the rest of the family – and for my inability to say the right thing.
But at least she knows that I'm here and that I'll be at the funeral – and that I really do care.
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