Day 11
With cases packed, we left the hotel in Torquay and those ubiquitous palm trees. It would be the last time on entering the lift (elevator) that we would hear a woman’s voice announcing slowly and distinctly in a very, British accent, that the doors were closing, and when stopping, that the doors were opening. The voice sounded like Eliza Doolittle having lessons from Professor Higgins! Sometimes we joined in, that’s if we were the only occupants!
It was brilliant sunshine, and quite hot. David drove us to Dorset, where we visited Thomas Hardy’s cottage. Although there was a most pleasant area where one could sit at tables, or in the café, and enjoy gardens and bird song, the trek up to the cottage took a while. We enjoyed the gardens surrounding the cottage, rather than the cottage itself. It was tiny. Climbing the stairs was a bit precarious, and the wooden floors in the three bedrooms were so uneven as to make one dizzy.
Thomas Hardy was born in Higher Bockhampton, Dorset – and the fictitious Wessex where he sets most of his novels is clearly inspired by south-west England. Son of a stonemason, and trained as an architect, he wrote in his spare time until the success of Far from The Madding Crowd (1874).
Beyond Hardy’s Cottage garden gate, Spring announces its arrival. Drifts of bluebells fill the orchard with a carpet of dusky sapphire. The delicate beauty of the native English bluebell is a treasure of the woodlands and creates a magical approach to the childhood home of Thomas Hardy. The breathtaking floral display can be seen from April onwards, and is a seasonal delight not to be missed. Source: National Trust
I have to confess I cannot recall reading any of Hardy’s works. I should rectify this!
We drove on to the little village of Tarrant Hinton and visited David’s cousin and her husband in their charming home, where we enjoyed afternoon tea and a stroll in their lovely garden. Afterward, we walked across the road to the medieval church of St Mary’s, which they attend.
Goodbyes and on to Frome (pronounced Froom). We checked into the Premier Inn, where we met Hilary’s brother, Roger, his wife Janet, and their daughter Alison for dinner. A lovely time of sharing and good eating, and since they were staying in the hotel too, we arranged to meet for breakfast.
