My journey to the Seven Sisters along the south coast of England, back in 2013, keeps coming back to me. Maybe I'm watching James Herriot working in harsh Yorkshire conditions in an episode of the TV series All Creatures Great and Small, and remembering all that verdant Sussex farmland we walked through to reach the shore that day. Maybe I'm watching a movie like "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire," in which Harry and his friends travel there to see the Quiddich world cup. Maybe I'm watching the Agatha Christie's Poirot episode that was set there, or remembering how Sherlock Holmes retires to a cottage there in the movie "Mr. Holmes."
Maybe I keep remembering it because the day was so memorable.
We didn't have a car that trip, so we took the bus out there from Brighton. We didn't pack a lunch, because we didn't have a fridge in our room. We didn't eat until late afternoon, because after our long walk through the wind and rain, there was nothing but a tea shop and a big carver restaurant nearby, and we wanted something easy but nourishing, like sandwiches of burgers.
Still, we'd had a feast for the senses. We'd talked to farmers, fellow walkers, and locals giving their dog a good long walk. We'd walked along a muddy path beside blackberry bushes, and people building a fence. We'd stopped to photograph cows. We'd seen this place of wild beauty, collected seashells, and tried to repair an umbrella that broke in the strong winds. We'd experienced more in just those few short hours, than we do in some weeks.
So after boarding the bus for the return trip to Brighton, we remembered our ramble through the fields to the coast, and watched outside as the bus took us through small towns and villages. We were looking for something simple "cheap and cheerful," but saw nothing that appealed. Finally, when we reached the town of Rottingdean, we disembarked. The town was on our itinerary, as we wanted to visit the Rudyard Kipling gardens, which we had heard were beautiful. But first, food!
From the restaurant of a hotel, we watched the rain pelt the outside patio and beat against the windows. We heard the gusts of wind grumble and roar. But we were warm and dry inside, enjoying our plates of fish and chips. We took our time, ordering a second pot of tea, as we were having the second and final meal of the day, a late lunch or an early dinner, or "Linner" as Lionel would have called it, in the sitcom "As Time Goes By."
As we were leaving, we asked a worker for directions to the Rudyard Kipling gardens. It took him a little while to connect the author's name with a nearby park, but we told him the address, and he finally made the connection. Then he said, "Oh, they'd be closed now."
And then it hit us, as we walked outside, how late it was. The streetlights were on, and the drivers returning home after their workday had their headlights on. The bus had been an enjoyable, and social, means of transport, but all the little stops it made cost us in travel time. So we didn't get to see the Rudyard Kipling gardens.
Perhaps some day I'll return to Rottingdean, and see the gardens named after the famous author. I read The Jungle Book and The Second Jungle Book recently, so Rudyard Kipling, and that day trip to Seven Sisters has been on my mind. It's interesting that the town made such a lasting monument to him, even though he only lived there three years. But then, just as that was a highly memorable trip for us, Kipling's stories will never be forgotten.
Dragon Dave
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