Summer Walk

We had a week of glorious weather but it's gone cold and grey now, as it does. Still I thought I'd share some snaps from a walk on one of the sunny days:

I love bluebells. The trouble is I always try to pick them and they only last a day, if that, once picked.

The green of the grass here never fails to stun me. It's so vibrant, verdant, overwhelming, and lush. It almost makes all the rain worth it. Almost.

The hazy sunlight makes this photograph hard to make out, but if you can imagine a warm(ish) afternoon, and the sunlight giving everything a softened, almost sepia kind of glow, like one of Instagram's special effects, but for real.

If trees could talk, I would love to know this one's story. It looks like its trunk is having middle aged spread. It must be hundreds of years old.

Reflections on the Pub

The other night I went to our local with a friend and as usual came across several people I know inside, making it a bit of a cheerful gauntlet to run as you chat to everyone before you get to sit down with your drink. The pub in our village is somewhat of a community centre; people gather for meals, for drinks, even for school meetings. The Village School Association has long held its meetings for parents and teachers in the pub, most people with a pint in hand. Very civilised, I say.

I don't go to the pub very often; at most every three months or so. The last time I went I was waiting outside for my friend when a dear lady walked by with her dogs and, eyes twinkling, said "The vicar's wife standing outside the pub! That's one for the books!"

Another time I managed to go to the pub without seeing anyone I knew inside; my friend and I had a nice chat and the next morning, on the school run, a different friend came toward me, finger wagging. "You were seen in the pub last night!" I stared at her, flummoxed. "Who saw me?" I demanded. It turned out I'd missed the person who knew me sitting in the corner. News travels amazingly fast in a village like ours. I've barely thought something myself before someone else seems to know.

In my novel Rainy Day Sisters, set in the fictional village of Hartley-by-the-Sea, I've named the pub The Hangman's Noose and it is modelled on the pub in our village, but with a more atmospheric name! I did an Internet search of some of the most interesting pubs in England and here is a selection:

The Signal Box in Cleethorpes, which is in an actual signal box, and at 8' by 8' is the smallest pub in England:

Then there's The Crooked House in Dudley, which is indeed quite crooked:

Some other pubs with interesting names are: Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, The Blind Beggar, Dirty Dick's, Bag O'Nails, The Bird and Baby (also known as The Eagle and Child, in Oxford), The Dirty Habit and, here's an oxymoron, The Jolly Taxpayer.

In the village where we're moving to, our local will be called The Shaven Crown, which is a reference to a monk's tonsure from days of old. It looks quite spacious and comfy (we've been there for lunch) with vaulted ceilings and open fires. But I'll miss the cozy, crazy warmth of our current local, and the fact that when I go in everyone (almost) knows my name.

Books! And More Books!

Last Saturday my lovely friend Marian invited me to sign copies of my latest release, The Lost Garden, at her bookshop in Whitehaven. My husband came and helpfully took this photo:

It was a fun afternoon as I always like chatting about books and writing, and there was homemade gingerbread and chocolate cake to boot!

The Lost Garden takes place in the fictional village of Goswell, which bears a not-so-startling resemblance to St Bees. I do find a lot of inspiration here!

In other news, May soldiers on, grim and grey, but I am trying to find the silver lining in that if the weather was gorgeous it would be even harder to leave in two months' time!

Another village life

As I mentioned in my last post, it has been a very tumultuous month, with many ups and downs, and much (too much!) emotion. But at least one thing is settled; my husband has found a job and we will be exchanging a Cumbrian life for a Cotswoldian (is that even a word?) one.

It feels very odd and unsettling to contemplate moving. We came here four years ago intending to stay for decades, hopefully until my husband's retirement. It felt wonderful, like sinking into a hot bubble bath, to know you didn't have to move. To consider the next few years and be able to build into people, places, institutions and ideas, knowing you would be there to see things through.

In what felt like a moment all that comfort and security was gone, which I suppose shows me how fleeting and temporal this life really is. That notion has been brought home to me by my father's illness as well. How is it that one moment you can feel as if life stretches before you in an endless golden line of days, and in the next it feels as if it has been all snatched and scattered?

Well, back to the good news, or goodish news. We are moving to the Cotswolds, near Oxford. I'm not exactly sure what village we'll be living in, as we are still looking for a house to rent. But I suspect it will look something like this:

And yet I shall miss our village's steeply winding street, the glorious view of the fells and sea, even the bitter wind! I shall miss everything here, because I came here expecting to stay and now have discovered I can't.

But life is funny that way. Our ways are not God's ways, and I trust that He knows what He is doing in this as in all things. But it still feels hard and disappointing now, even though I am grateful that we have somewhere to go. And so my Cumbrian life will become my Cotswold life. I don't think I shall change the name of my blog, but watch this space for the further adventures of a village life!

The comfort of a village life

It's been a long time since I've written, and that's because a lot has happened. A lot of not-so-good things. In mid-March the school where my husband works and children attend announced quite suddenly that it is closing in July due to dwindling pupil numbers. This came as a big shock to everyone, because from the outside the school looked like it was doing well. It certainly came as a shock to us!

What has happened over the following few weeks demonstrates the power of a village community. Over 700 people came to a meeting immediately following the announcement to find ways to keep the school was open. A 'Rescue Team' was formed and has been campaigning tirelessly to keep it open, and many, many people have volunteered to help. You can learn more about it here.

However, two days ago the Governors of the school announced they would not rescind the closure notice, and so the school is, in fact, closing. What this means for us is that we will lose our lovely village life, and move elsewhere--watch this space!

The other very hard thing that happened was last week my dear father was diagnosed with leukaemia, with a prognosis varying from a few months to a year or possibly more. This also came out of the blue, and was (and is) very hard to bear. My father is the most wonderful person, so funny and wise and loving. My children adore him. I flew out to be with him and my mother last week:

While I was away my village community rallied around to help my family, taking care of children, making meals, and writing us cards of care and support. I am so thankful for everyone here. They have proved stalwart friends in both good times and bad.

Meanwhile spring has burst upon us at last, and the sunshine and warm(ish) weather is a balm to my wounded soul. Plus I have lots of new books out, which is always exciting. My romance set in a small town in Vermont is out now:

You can buy it on any ebook platform. I also received ARCs of my novel for Penguin/NAL, Rainy Day Sisters, which I am very excited about. Coming to a bookshop near you in August!

Meanwhile I am enjoying the sunshine and treasuring the days, because I am realising how precious and fleeting time is.

Beach Walk

The other day it was cold and brisk but also sunny, and I took advantage of the rare bout of rays to take a few photos on my usual walk with the dog to the beach and back:

The tide was out which leaves a lovely stretch of flat, damp sand, scattered with tide pools and rocks. The dog loves wading into the pool, even in subzero temperatures! I do not.

I'm not actually much of a beach person, although my limited childhood experience of the beach was the Jersey Shore, which might explain why I never took to it. An empty beach in winter, though, is something else entirely.

The dog surveys her domain and I enjoy a moment of solitude in an all too busy day, before heading home as the light starts to fade.

That is my house in the distance, by the church, looking, to my mind, very Wuthering Heights-ish alone in its little moor!

And so ends another walk. I'm looking forward to spring.

Harbingers of Spring

Today the air was cold and sharp with the promise of snow, at least another dusting, but in our garden I found this lovely promise of spring--even if it doesn't arrive here for awhile yet!

I've never seen snowdrops in the US, and I do enjoy this little reminder that spring will come eventually, even if it is cold and only early February. I'm looking forward to getting out in the garden and working on my vegetable plot. I am a mediocre gardener at best; I don't have a good instinct for plants and growing things and my weeding and pruning are rather slipshod but I do enjoy it. And last year we ate green beans, lettuce, onions, potatoes and a few knobbly carrots from my efforts outside, and I was very pleased.

And meanwhile I'll enjoy these: