This part of the story is meant to be before ‘The Return to Greendene and is my memory of the last few days I spent that first summer at Greendene.
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My work in the garden and my lessons in the pottery continued. Sometimes I caught the bus to Horsley and Denis would pick me up in the battered old green van. Sometimes I got the bus and got off at Bookham and Mike would pick me up and take me in his car. We managed to get more acquainted, my silences and shyness began to wear off.
I spent morning hours out in the garden learning various aspects of cultivation, sowing, weeding and digging over the soil. I felt a great sense of peace and tranquillity wafting over me. Basking in the gentle routine and allowing the silence to enfold me like a mist and time dissolved away.
On damp days we sat ensconced in the gloom of the house, somehow grey wet days seemed greyer and wetter in the summer months than in the depths of winter. On the fine days we sat out on the little flat area of mown grass at the side of the house amongst the Sumac, hogweed and Chinese lanterns. It felt like the world had disappeared and we were in a garden of delights. Occasionally strangers trekked up the drive, who had lost their way and were trying to find the bridal path up to Mountain Wood. I wondered what they thought of the little house up the winding path?
We ate those plump angelic tomatoes on wholemeal bread and talked about pots, drank tea or homemade lemonade made by Denis’s mother. I spent time wandering around the house looking in the windows and enjoying the freedoms of being away from home, routine rotas and school.
Suddenly, it was the end of summer and that school life beckoned. It was decided we should have a final picnic out on the grass. A local family were invited and Denis and his mum provided various vegetables and salad stuffs. The family and I can’t remember their names, possibly the Robbs, came with baskets of provender, pies, flans and raspberries and cream. What a spread!
We sat on blankets languidly chatting and watching the sun slowly going behind the larch trees. We had brought out the record player and between Beethoven, Chopin and Vaughan Williams I played Simon and Garfunkel and Moody Blues songs. I have a strong memory of the haunting tune of the ‘Boxer’ drifting out over the field in the cooling evening with mist rising, a sign of autumn.
During the evening I had noticed one of the daughters of the family, she had beautiful silky hair trailing down her back and a fashionable loose fitting long summer dress with a printed flowers. She drifted amongst the hollyhocks and teasels like a Pre-Raphaelite maiden, an Alice in wonderland.
I was instantly struck with passion and followed her everywhere with my eyes, but I was completely tongue tied and lost for words. I was smitten and when she turned to me and approached, my stomach flipped and my mouth dried up and nothing came into my head to say. She remains now as a magical vision, lost in the mystery of time and will remain forever as a teenager in my minds eye, never ageing.
To be Continued:
Bobs Blog 