Time bandit

I woke up today feeling fairly rough. My throat has been swollen at one side for a couple of days now and it’s painful for me to swallow, so I stayed here at the caravan all day while Mum, Dad and Andrew went for a walk from Owlands along Ansett Scar. They said it was still and very hot, and quite tough going, and I was glad I’d decided to stay behind.

Rob and Carol went for a walk along Blea Gate after the others had left, returned to pack their tent and finally set off home at one o’clock, leaving only a flattened patch of grass at the back of the caravan to say they were ever here.

All day the wind roared fiercely through the treetops and battered the caravan and it was brilliantly sunny.

I fell asleep in the afternoon and woke up when Mum and Dad came back, by which time the sun was casting long shadows. Langbole Hill directly opposite, framed in the caravan window, was furrowed with light that picked at the ditches and mounds which corrugate its surface. The valley here is narrow and the slopes opposite looked sharp and near, green against the pale sky, striped with dark shadows of trees and walls.

We took a last customary stroll along Blea Gate and were rewarded with a sighting of the female deer, which spotted us immediately and bounded away into the open fields past unconcerned cattle and grazing sheep. We’ve seen deer every night since we arrived, and we’ve decided they must lie up during the day in a large patch of deep meadowsweet which clings to the slope that drops into the fields from Blea Gate.

As we walked back I caught myself wondering how much I’ll go through before I’m walking along this path again. I’ll be sad to be leaving Calverdale; I’ve enjoyed this week. It's flown by.

How swiftly time robs us, leaving only memories and wistful final evenings of sun and shadows. I wonder if the Honeycotts take this place for granted. I suppose they must, for unlike us, they’ll have nothing with which to compare it.