weekend recap + a trip down memory lane

This past Friday evening, the kids and I walked to meet T.J. for dinner after he finished surgery. This has quickly become a highlight in our week and the best start to the weekends.  The English summer weather feels more like fall in South Carolina which means it's been pretty close to perfect so we sat at a table outside. The kids played chess and T.J. and I filled each other in on our days while we waited for our food. Walking home we caught each others eyes and it is not lost on us how special and rare this short season is.  We're doing our very best to savour each day here. 

Saturday morning we woke up to cooler temps and rain, but that didn't stop Tommy's football training from happening. I suspect rather more than less of these practices will be equally damp. We came home and the rain demanded we have a cozy lunch of soup (again, is it August or late October?) and take a 2 hour nap with the windows cracked. A bit drowsy but not totally out for the count, we piled into the car and drove to meet old friends and new friends at "the oldest pub in England". While there are more than a few claimants to this title The Old Ferry Boat in St. ives is said to be circa 560 AD and is well and truly (maybe) haunted by the ghost of  Juliet Trewsley who died in 1050 and whose stone slab grave marker is in the middle of the dining room floor.  While it seemed very much like she knocked over a whole shelf of glassware behind the bar while we were visiting, it didn't spoil our fun evening out. 

On Sunday we took the bus to church and then afterwards we packed up sandwiches and snacks and hoped Daisy would nap in the car as we set off on a bit of a personal pilgrimage. I have been eagerly waiting to take T.J. and our kids to see where I used to live. It's about an hour and a half there but our first stop was a visit at Roald Dahl's museum in Great Missenden. We have all loved reading his books this year. The boys' first introduction to him last year was in The BFG, which is truly one of my favourite books. Our house here has a well stocked library and since arriving we've already worked our way through James and the Giant Peach and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. His museum is equally creative and funny and so delightful. The place smells like chocolate, the kids got to invent their own silly words, record a dream in a jar. We found out Tommy is almost as tall as Charlie Bucket and Daisy is shorter than an Oompa Loompa. 

From there we continued on to Gerrards Cross. As excited as I was to share this town with my family, at the same time I also kind of dreaded it. I knew it would have changed and grown over the years since my family moved away and going back would mean disturbing the picture perfect town I've stored away in my memory. Would it feel familiar, would I know my way around? We pulled into the village and parked on a side road and I walked briskly ahead of my gang to reach the High Street first. Since it was Sunday, the town was quiet and not busy giving me the space and a clear view down the street trying to orient myself, place myself there again as a teenager.  We popped into what used to be a favourite cafe and is now just a different cafe and grabbed hot drinks and sweet treats to fuel our walking tour.

To use a beloved British term, I was feeling a bit wobbly as I decided on the best course to take. We headed to the commons, a park space with meandering wooded trails that lead here and there throughout the town. We let the kids play on the playground before heading into the woods towards the path that would take us to my house. These fern covered forest floors I'm happy to say have remained as beautiful and enchanting as they are in my memory. We picked wild blackberries along the way before turning off onto the road, then right, then left and just a little bit further on. There. 

Quilon. 

The name of the house remains the same through its many owners but otherwise it was perhaps the place most changed.  There was a new gate on the drive, an addition added on over the garage, hedges grown up behind the low stone wall. Like every house I've lived in and left behind, seeing it again it all felt a bit off.  But! I could still pick out my bedroom window. 

We didn't linger too long, didn't pull the bell and ask to poke around like I'd have liked to. Instead we continued our loop back through the other end of town, swinging by our favourite pub but only for a picture outside.  I suspect certain parents of mine who are visiting soon may want to eat there so we had made a booking elsewhere.  Carrying on I pointed out the train station and the new grocery store. There's the WH Smith we'd pick out school supplies from, down that road is the tiny library, over there is the restaurant my sister worked in, the movie theater, the Indian restaurant we loved although it's got a different name now, same with the Italian spot. There were new cafes, new shops, and some places that seemed vaguely familiar but I couldn't be sure. We passed the spot where the after school bus would drop us off and then loaded back into the car. 

We decided to go to "the oldest pub in England" for dinner.  No, not the same one as the night before but one closer to my old home and a welcome stopover for many a pilgrim over the centuries.   I knew T.J. would love The Royal Standard  It looks exactly like how a pub should. Low ceilings you have to duck under the doorframes, uneven floors, fireplaces tucked into nooks with mismatched squashy armchairs. Dark, and candlelit with antlers and tapestries and portraits of unknown nobility covering the walls. We had classic pubfare and then made the journey back to our present day home in Cambridge.

It was good to go back. Who says you can’t go home, right? That was a happy season I’m glad to revisit any day. And now I’m happy to be making new memories in a different house that I’ll lock away in my memory, and protect and maybe embellish but always cherish.