Two Feet, Four Paws by Spud Talbot-Ponsonby

Author:Spud Talbot-Ponsonby
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Summersdale Publishers Ltd
Published: 2011-09-22T00:00:00+00:00

– 11 –

Carlisle to Liverpool

We found the essence of England in such villages as Drumburgh, on the still discernible line of Hadrian’s Wall: the churches, the manor houses, the greens opening up from muddy farmyards, the blossom, the bulbs, the bridleways and footpaths, and the suddenly quaint stiles, which Tess leapt like the superfit athlete that she was, displaying happiness with her usual innocent and enviable panache.

As the sun began to disappear a car pulled up and an elderly woman wound down the window. ‘Are you... Spud?’ She said ‘Spud’ hesitantly, worried that if I was the wrong person I might take affront at being referred to as a vegetable. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased I’ve found you. I’m Millicent,’ she said, putting her hand out of the window and shaking mine enthusiastically. ‘I spoke to your driver and the Parish have arranged a bed for you in Bowness.’

Millicent pointed us in the right direction for Mrs Chattle’s B&B and drove off with lots of good wishes.

There was no sign of Geoffrey in Bowness, but I found the appropriate bungalow. A wave of hot air came out of the hallway and Mrs Chattle stood there, eyeing Tess suspiciously and shuffling from foot to foot in her blue fluffy slippers. The carpet inside looked as though it had just arrived from the shop, and only a perfect cyclamen adorned the well-polished table in the hall. ‘You can come in. But your dog can’t. He’ll have to stay outside,’ she finally said.

There was simply no way I could leave Tess outside in the cold while I warmed up in the house, so we exchanged warmth behind Mrs Chattle’s empty flower bed until Geoffrey turned up. That night I opted to stay in the Spudtruck, as did Geoffrey, declaring that he slept better in the Spudtruck than he did in his own bed.

This wasn’t the only time we opted for the perhaps unsavoury Spudtruck. Over the last week we had been grudgingly offered two hotel rooms. But the grudge definitely took the pleas ure out of the treat, and had led to Geoffrey’s lesson of the week: ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learnt since I’ve been with you,’ he had said, ‘is that if you’re going to give at all, give with a good grace. Otherwise don’t give at all.’

Back on the coast at Silloth, I bent my head down into the strong southerly wind and began a relentless march intended purely to get us to our destination. The beach, the sea, the dunes and occasionally a fleeting glance of Tess as she chased the spume, were blown in and out of my view as we notched up the miles and the landmarks to Maryport.

We were back in coal mining area, which is the apparent reason behind the familiar grey colour of the sea; the colour I had witnessed due east from here four months previously. Between the railway and the shingle beach we followed a coal black path overgrown with autumnal grass which swayed and sung in the wind.

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