Sally picked me up the next morning, and then we drove to her 'special place', near her home, which she'd been itching to show me. She knew, that more than anything, I had wanted to see my favorite flowers in bloom, and so she was excited to show me a beautiful bluebell wood, which she's very fortunate to have within a couple of minutes of her home. She quickly led the way to the edge of the trees, and studied my reaction at my first sighting of bluebells in nearly 6 years. They were, quite simply, glorious. I walked slowly along the path, surrounded by a carpet of blue,delicate, nodding bells, exuding the most memorable aroma in the the world. No perfume has ever captured the fragrance of the English bluebell, and to experience it firsthand stops you in your tracks. It's intoxicating, and so wondrously captivating, that all I could do was stand still and breathe it in.
I took many photos with my iPhone, but admittedly, some were blurred, and so was my vision, since my eyes had filled at seeing this picture of perfection. Sally told me that a group of residents, of which she was a member, had purchased this land, cleared out all the rubbish, lined the paths with fallen logs, and put up fencing, with special gates that bikes couldn't fit through. And their dedication was apparent. Not a dropped food wrapper, drink can, or any form of vandalism was evident. There are CC cameras hidden in the trees and the area is regularly maintained.
We walked around slowly, listening to the birds and just relishing the joy of being surrounded by these quintessentially English spring flowers. There is an invasive Spanish variety that has been creeping into the country's woodlands, but these are slowly being eradicated, and there was no evidence of them here. There were birdhouses dotted among the trees, dead tree stumps left for insects and birds, a small pond created for wildlife, as well as notice boards, showing visitors the types of wildlife that have made this woodland their home. Sally was obviously very proud of this natural treasure, and I shared her delight. It really was impressive how her group had transformed and saved this natural beauty.
Very reluctantly, we left, and made our way to our destination for the day, Sissinghurst Castle. I'd not been here since my 20's, on a visit with my parents, but had remembered how lovely the gardens were.
As we entered the grounds, the colors of the gardens were vibrant after the recent rain. The sun shone brightly, twinkling from reflections on the old cylinder glass in the windows of the 16th century tower, the only existing part of the castle. I don't recall ever having climbed this tower before, but today, I romped up 3 levels, of a tight, narrow stone staircase, and then trudged up the last steps to the parapet, where I had a grand view of the gardens. After quickly shooting shots of the grandeur below, I ran back down to join Sally, where my speed then slowly considerably as we ambled through the flower beds, the meadow and along the river, appreciating the warm sun, the gentle flow of the river, birds twittering as they passed overhead, and the emergence of Spring that surrounded us with fresh, vivid colors and scents.
After leaving Sissinghurst, we drove to Tenterden, a town that I used to love for shopping, and had been to many times with friends, or Mum, when I lived in England. We trawled up both sides of the High Street, looking in all the shops, but I only came away with a hair clip.
We looked inside St Mildred's Church, to escape the heat, but also because neither Sally and I had ever been inside it before. It dates from the 12th century, with intricate carvings of wood and marble inside. The 15th century ceiling is incredible, a 'wagon' ceiling, made of hand carved wooden panels, each one slightly different. The pulpit is 19th century and equally impressive.
Our final stop was back in Maidstone, where we walked about the town, stopping for another Costa coffee, which is delicious, and evidently regarded more highly than Starbucks, since there are far more Coast coffee shops than Starbucks. We strolled around Brenchley Gardens, another haunt from our biker days, where we'd laze about on the Victorian bandstand, drinking Thunderbird wine on Saturday afternoons. I was happy to see that the gardens are now in far better shape than they used to be, and seem to have become a little oasis in the busy town.
Sally and I spent our last evening together at a local pub, but neither of us were in the mood for drinking, knowing that I'd be leaving Kent the next morning. It was a solemn time, and try as we might, we struggled to be cheerful. Who knew when I'd next be back to my home town? It was with a hanging head that I made my way to bed that night.
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