Though situated in the centre of my quirky little coastal market town, Beach cottage, (and its 150ft paradise of a walled garden), nestles quietly and serenely at the end of a dark, 17th century flagstoned passage … though just 30 paces from the high street.
It is my sanctuary. A haven protected from the hubub of summer tourists, Saturday shoppers and most town centre drama.
It is simply… HOME.
A home I will never take for granted.
Photo / Video Shoot
This morning, at 8am, I gazed out at the patio, deciding which electric steed I would take ‘down the Bay’. The Bay being West Bay, formally Bridport harbour.
Back in 1894, the powers that be at The Great Western Railway decided to call their new station “West Bay” to encourage tourist to visit their newly constructed route.
I had already decided I wanted to test my new 360 degree VR video camera on Christmas morning, imagining I could get some great footage of the cliffs and environs from a regular, favourite vantage point where the East pier juts out into Lyme Bay.
East cliff. Bridport harbour. (West Bay)
Eventually deciding to take Xbike, a light alloy rebuild with a lithium bottle and a rattly Powabyke front hub motor, I arrived at the inland end of the pier and dismounted, planning to set up my tripod, camera and equipment before enjoying the 100 yard walk out to the seaward end.
And then I saw them.
The Shelter
Two familiar figures huddled in the weathered black painted shelter that normally serves as a viewing area to soak up the fantastic visions of Thorncombe Beacon and Golden Cap, two enormous promontories, (cliffs), that majestically sit brooding over the beaches of nearby Eype and Seatown.
A fierce, cold wind was blowing from the West … straight into the shelter.
“Hi Brian”, I shouted over the din.
“Hey … Hi Chris”, the wind replied.
Brian is an unkempt, mischievous soul in his fifties who has been living on the streets of my town for the last year or two.
“What a fantastic venue to spend Christmas day on”, I offered approvingly, (given Brian’s circumstances), before we warmly shook hands.
“Yeah. We walked down here last night, Chris. Decide the shelter would be a good place to sleep in … and we had some business to attend to … so here we are”
I looked past Brian and waved to his companion sitting in the shelter drinking strong cider. Another local man I’d occasionally chatted to in Brian’s company in the past.
Then, after 10 minutes or so chatting, I patted Brian’s dog, said my farewells and continued out to the end of the pier to get my photos and video shots as planned.
Remembrance
While I was setting up, Brian walked the hundred yards to join me. He said, “Come with me, Chris. I want to show you something”
He gestured for me to follow and we walked back down the pier 80 paces or so until we were level with a couple of recently installed benches.
One had a brass plaque on it, with a bright red Christmas wreath placed neatly right of centre.
I read the plaque … “In memory of Christopher”
“You remember Christopher, don’t you?” said Brian.
“Yes”. I replied and found myself saying, “Of course I remember Christopher”.
I knew I could only ponder ‘I think I recalled who Brian was referring to’ but the importance with which Brian sought my emotional affirmation made me resist turning the moving moment into a question.
Brian read the verse on the plaque.
While he did so, (and listening), I watched the surf crash in on East beach.
“What a stunning location … to be remembered by, I mean”, I offered.
“Yeah. We decided last night.” (Pause). “We decided to bring him down a few beers and ...” (longer pause), “… You know.”
“Yes … I know Brian …. It’s a lovely thing to do … It really is”
Shortly afterwards, I left Brian and his companion, took some shots and then rattled my way home, determined to do something about Xbike’s noisy front hub … but not today.
Hamper
Then, on returning to Beach cottage, I opened up the kitchen cupboards and got to work.
First off, I chose two prestige cans of soup. (The type with ‘pull lids’ which I punctured with a braddle). I would heat the soup, still in their cans, using a boiling pan of water). Such an arrangement would mean they would travel well once wrapped in kitchen foil to keep their heat in.
I then grilled four rashers of smoked bacon (for sandwiches), though keeping the bacon on a low heat while I made a hamper of tinned corn beef, small tin of lobster, big tin of Oak ham, packet of Twiglets, block of cheddar, bar of milk chocolate, small Christmas pudding, three cans of 2% lager and 1 bottle of 8% rose wine.
I take Warfarin so have to buy lowish alcohol booze … unless the Devil or a girl friend tempts me otherwise!
Spoilt For Choice
Then it was a matter of choosing which steed to return to the Bay on.
I looked at the Xbike. Nope. (Too rattly). I looked at the Yamaha Easy. Nope. (Too sedate). I looked at “Aunty”. Nope. (Too much fuss loading her panniers).
That left “The boys”.
It would be either the blue Euro or the flash black one. I chose the blue one. (My cut down, minimalistic, fastest electric steed).
The shelter, benches and view looking West
My second visit to the pier shelter was met with much joy and mirth and my homeless friends were thrilled to receive their hamper … and while sharing a lager with them, (11:30am), I recounted a little homeless tale of my own.
Solomon
I told Brian and his companion that 20 years earlier, as a Local Government inspector, I had been responsible for solving a vandal problem at our bus station conveniences. (Open 24 hrs, the main blocks were often damaged).
Aware that we had an impending contract in the pipeline to renovate / improve them, I came up with the idea of designing a ‘bomb proof’ 24 hour disabled unit with stainless steel lined walls and tamper-proof fittings. That way, we could close the main facility in the evenings but leave the bomb proof cubicle open 24 hrs.
This was viewed as a ‘Judgement of Solomon’ by my delighted boss at the time because it satisfied councillors, (who had insisted we mustn’t renege on providing a 24hr service) and it satisfied us as a Local Authority because we got to close the main facility overnight as we had always wished to do.
Why was I telling Brian, (and you), this story?
Refuge
Because, only a couple of years after the vandal proof cubicle had been installed, on an absolutely freezing Christmas evening, I became homeless, (for reasons too left-field to relate here), and I found myself staring at the very 24hr unit I had helped to design.
… and for a short while, (just a day or two), though dressed in sharp black suit and crisp collar and tie, I too learned what it was like to be homeless … sleeping in a disabled cubicle that I myself had inspired and had built ... existing in the 20th century, (it was before the year 2000), yet finding myself living in a world that, somehow, no longer had a space or place for me. :-(
It was all a very long time ago and I, (obviously), recovered from that traumatic personal crisis but that experience taught me that… no matter who you are, no matter how fortunate, predictable or settled your life may be … you should never take anything for granted.
Home
I’m back at Beach cottage now. Cosy and warm preparing this thread for posting.
Brian and his friend are still out there … drinking strong cider … while celebrating, acknowledging and mourning the loss of … one of their own.
If I had to celebrate Christmas day huddled up in a windswept black timber shack on a pier, I’d probably be drinking strong cider too … and so might you.
Fortunately, I don’t have to.
Beach cottage is … HOME.
A home I will never take for granted.
It is my sanctuary. A haven protected from the hubub of summer tourists, Saturday shoppers and most town centre drama.
It is simply… HOME.
A home I will never take for granted.
Photo / Video Shoot
This morning, at 8am, I gazed out at the patio, deciding which electric steed I would take ‘down the Bay’. The Bay being West Bay, formally Bridport harbour.
Back in 1894, the powers that be at The Great Western Railway decided to call their new station “West Bay” to encourage tourist to visit their newly constructed route.
I had already decided I wanted to test my new 360 degree VR video camera on Christmas morning, imagining I could get some great footage of the cliffs and environs from a regular, favourite vantage point where the East pier juts out into Lyme Bay.
East cliff. Bridport harbour. (West Bay)
Eventually deciding to take Xbike, a light alloy rebuild with a lithium bottle and a rattly Powabyke front hub motor, I arrived at the inland end of the pier and dismounted, planning to set up my tripod, camera and equipment before enjoying the 100 yard walk out to the seaward end.
And then I saw them.
The Shelter
Two familiar figures huddled in the weathered black painted shelter that normally serves as a viewing area to soak up the fantastic visions of Thorncombe Beacon and Golden Cap, two enormous promontories, (cliffs), that majestically sit brooding over the beaches of nearby Eype and Seatown.
A fierce, cold wind was blowing from the West … straight into the shelter.
“Hi Brian”, I shouted over the din.
“Hey … Hi Chris”, the wind replied.
Brian is an unkempt, mischievous soul in his fifties who has been living on the streets of my town for the last year or two.
“What a fantastic venue to spend Christmas day on”, I offered approvingly, (given Brian’s circumstances), before we warmly shook hands.
“Yeah. We walked down here last night, Chris. Decide the shelter would be a good place to sleep in … and we had some business to attend to … so here we are”
I looked past Brian and waved to his companion sitting in the shelter drinking strong cider. Another local man I’d occasionally chatted to in Brian’s company in the past.
Then, after 10 minutes or so chatting, I patted Brian’s dog, said my farewells and continued out to the end of the pier to get my photos and video shots as planned.
Remembrance
While I was setting up, Brian walked the hundred yards to join me. He said, “Come with me, Chris. I want to show you something”
He gestured for me to follow and we walked back down the pier 80 paces or so until we were level with a couple of recently installed benches.
One had a brass plaque on it, with a bright red Christmas wreath placed neatly right of centre.
I read the plaque … “In memory of Christopher”
“You remember Christopher, don’t you?” said Brian.
“Yes”. I replied and found myself saying, “Of course I remember Christopher”.
I knew I could only ponder ‘I think I recalled who Brian was referring to’ but the importance with which Brian sought my emotional affirmation made me resist turning the moving moment into a question.
Brian read the verse on the plaque.
While he did so, (and listening), I watched the surf crash in on East beach.
“What a stunning location … to be remembered by, I mean”, I offered.
“Yeah. We decided last night.” (Pause). “We decided to bring him down a few beers and ...” (longer pause), “… You know.”
“Yes … I know Brian …. It’s a lovely thing to do … It really is”
Shortly afterwards, I left Brian and his companion, took some shots and then rattled my way home, determined to do something about Xbike’s noisy front hub … but not today.
Hamper
Then, on returning to Beach cottage, I opened up the kitchen cupboards and got to work.
First off, I chose two prestige cans of soup. (The type with ‘pull lids’ which I punctured with a braddle). I would heat the soup, still in their cans, using a boiling pan of water). Such an arrangement would mean they would travel well once wrapped in kitchen foil to keep their heat in.
I then grilled four rashers of smoked bacon (for sandwiches), though keeping the bacon on a low heat while I made a hamper of tinned corn beef, small tin of lobster, big tin of Oak ham, packet of Twiglets, block of cheddar, bar of milk chocolate, small Christmas pudding, three cans of 2% lager and 1 bottle of 8% rose wine.
I take Warfarin so have to buy lowish alcohol booze … unless the Devil or a girl friend tempts me otherwise!
Spoilt For Choice
Then it was a matter of choosing which steed to return to the Bay on.
I looked at the Xbike. Nope. (Too rattly). I looked at the Yamaha Easy. Nope. (Too sedate). I looked at “Aunty”. Nope. (Too much fuss loading her panniers).
That left “The boys”.
It would be either the blue Euro or the flash black one. I chose the blue one. (My cut down, minimalistic, fastest electric steed).
The shelter, benches and view looking West
My second visit to the pier shelter was met with much joy and mirth and my homeless friends were thrilled to receive their hamper … and while sharing a lager with them, (11:30am), I recounted a little homeless tale of my own.
Solomon
I told Brian and his companion that 20 years earlier, as a Local Government inspector, I had been responsible for solving a vandal problem at our bus station conveniences. (Open 24 hrs, the main blocks were often damaged).
Aware that we had an impending contract in the pipeline to renovate / improve them, I came up with the idea of designing a ‘bomb proof’ 24 hour disabled unit with stainless steel lined walls and tamper-proof fittings. That way, we could close the main facility in the evenings but leave the bomb proof cubicle open 24 hrs.
This was viewed as a ‘Judgement of Solomon’ by my delighted boss at the time because it satisfied councillors, (who had insisted we mustn’t renege on providing a 24hr service) and it satisfied us as a Local Authority because we got to close the main facility overnight as we had always wished to do.
Why was I telling Brian, (and you), this story?
Refuge
Because, only a couple of years after the vandal proof cubicle had been installed, on an absolutely freezing Christmas evening, I became homeless, (for reasons too left-field to relate here), and I found myself staring at the very 24hr unit I had helped to design.
… and for a short while, (just a day or two), though dressed in sharp black suit and crisp collar and tie, I too learned what it was like to be homeless … sleeping in a disabled cubicle that I myself had inspired and had built ... existing in the 20th century, (it was before the year 2000), yet finding myself living in a world that, somehow, no longer had a space or place for me. :-(
It was all a very long time ago and I, (obviously), recovered from that traumatic personal crisis but that experience taught me that… no matter who you are, no matter how fortunate, predictable or settled your life may be … you should never take anything for granted.
Home
I’m back at Beach cottage now. Cosy and warm preparing this thread for posting.
Brian and his friend are still out there … drinking strong cider … while celebrating, acknowledging and mourning the loss of … one of their own.
If I had to celebrate Christmas day huddled up in a windswept black timber shack on a pier, I’d probably be drinking strong cider too … and so might you.
Fortunately, I don’t have to.
Beach cottage is … HOME.
A home I will never take for granted.
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