A storm over Kimmeridge Bay, waking up to adventure
Last year, in a stormy February, I drove to Kimmeridge with Anne - the village is overlooked by the Purbeck Hills - the road from Church Knowle and Corfe Castle snakes through silent woods, winds down steep chalk slopes, crosses fierce streams in small forgotten valleys - tumuli line the high ridges -
Kimmeridge Bay is just over a mile away from the village - the roof of a cottage in the village was being re-thatched - you could see bundles of slender reeds, stacked upon the scaffolding - the icy drizzly gale lashed our faces -
We walked into the churchyard - dark yews sheltered the lichened gravestones - there were beautiful pale wild primroses amongst the grass - snow drops were like tiny delicate jewels upon a Victorian grave -
Inside the church, it was dark and calm - stained glass windows glowed in the shadows - I saw the haloes of sacred figures - there were tombs underfoot - on the walls were the memorial tablets of the gentry - vases contained arrangements of flowers and dark leaves -
Kimmeridge Bay is just over a mile from the village - we walked towards there, by way of a footpath, skirting sodden fields - Anne turned back - the rain and the gale increased in violence - I was drenched by the time I stood at the sea's edge -
I looked down into the furious water of the bay - there were crescents of stinging foam - I could hear the waves pounding upon the rocks and shingle - the long salty blades of grass were blasted by the turbulent air - I could see, on the headland, the shape of Clavell's Tower - it was built around 1820 by the Reverend John Richards Clavell of Smedmore House as an observatory and folly - Pesvner says that the tower has a scholarly mixture of motifs, as befits a folly -
I then saw, darting across the mad waves below, the brave spectacle of two windsurfers - I could see their sails, one blue, one yellow - the two taut figures shot from one side of the bay to the other, skillfully, crazily - flying past the sharp rocks, whirled from one wave crest to another -
I suddenly felt full of excitement - I could feel my skin tingling - I thought of all the adventures one could have - how it was never too late -
Last year, in a stormy February, I drove to Kimmeridge with Anne - the village is overlooked by the Purbeck Hills - the road from Church Knowle and Corfe Castle snakes through silent woods, winds down steep chalk slopes, crosses fierce streams in small forgotten valleys - tumuli line the high ridges -
Kimmeridge Bay is just over a mile away from the village - the roof of a cottage in the village was being re-thatched - you could see bundles of slender reeds, stacked upon the scaffolding - the icy drizzly gale lashed our faces -
We walked into the churchyard - dark yews sheltered the lichened gravestones - there were beautiful pale wild primroses amongst the grass - snow drops were like tiny delicate jewels upon a Victorian grave -
Inside the church, it was dark and calm - stained glass windows glowed in the shadows - I saw the haloes of sacred figures - there were tombs underfoot - on the walls were the memorial tablets of the gentry - vases contained arrangements of flowers and dark leaves -
Kimmeridge Bay is just over a mile from the village - we walked towards there, by way of a footpath, skirting sodden fields - Anne turned back - the rain and the gale increased in violence - I was drenched by the time I stood at the sea's edge -
I looked down into the furious water of the bay - there were crescents of stinging foam - I could hear the waves pounding upon the rocks and shingle - the long salty blades of grass were blasted by the turbulent air - I could see, on the headland, the shape of Clavell's Tower - it was built around 1820 by the Reverend John Richards Clavell of Smedmore House as an observatory and folly - Pesvner says that the tower has a scholarly mixture of motifs, as befits a folly -
I then saw, darting across the mad waves below, the brave spectacle of two windsurfers - I could see their sails, one blue, one yellow - the two taut figures shot from one side of the bay to the other, skillfully, crazily - flying past the sharp rocks, whirled from one wave crest to another -
I suddenly felt full of excitement - I could feel my skin tingling - I thought of all the adventures one could have - how it was never too late -
No comments:
Post a Comment