Caught Out in Cornwall
“She was, as usual, on foot and slightly breathless. She and Trevor, like quite a lot of locals, did not possess a car. Many fishermen were happy to travel a hundred or more miles out to sea, but once back on land few of them left Cornwall. ‘You’re caked in mud,’ she commented with the wry smile of a woman who did not have a garden and who could not understand anyone wishing to mess around in one. ‘Still, you always were a grubby thing. If it’s not earth it’s paint. Why don’t you leave that and ...let me buy you a drink? The sun must be over the yardarm somewhere or other.’Rose had been pulling up the weeds, which, like a lot of the flowers, continued to flourish until late in the year. The wind had dried the grass but the soil was still damp so the groundsel and dandelion shoots came out easily enough. She had also cut back the fuchsia which grew so abundantly in West Cornwall and still bore flowers, even though her father had told her not to do so until February. There was a ‘Mrs Popple’ with its vivid scarlet and purple flowers which now stood taller than Rose, and the more subtle ‘Beauty of Bath’, the palest of pink and white.MoreLess
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