It didn’t occur to me that I was homesick until I went home. Having once lived in England, and having once left good and valued friends, only made coming home so very natural. My recent holiday to that island half a world away and travelling with left-behind girlfriends, their husbands, chatting hours and hours with missed sister-sisters over cuppas of coffee and sweets, was three glorious weeks of good fun, good food (yes, really good food!), especially brilliant weather, lots of laughter and a few tears thrown in because I cry at both hellos and good-byes, and sometimes tears for…just because.
The sounds of friends loving every minute of being together would be, at best, most difficult to capture except in the moment. The nattering exchange of everyday talk, the loitering-like walks, serious discussions about our children, politics and/or government, slogging walks along the South Devon Coast in search of a pub, anything and everything led us all to a sense close friendship and well-being.
Of never being apart.
It was lovely. Simply. Lovely.
From cathedrals and churches…
Even a few cemeteries. Just a few….
There’s more but for the sake of the ghoulish-shivers this may give My Reader, I’ll quit while ahead.