A Week in Windwhistle Cottage.

 

It isn’t clear whether Hawkchurch is Dorset or Devon – a bit of both I suspect.  It is a small lively village in a cluster of narrow lanes NE of Axminster, in fact our directions took us down towards Axminster and then a loop round to approach from the East side to avoid a shorter but more adventurous  scenic route along country lanes and over the River Axe.

 

The church is Grade 1 listed 12th Century – I went for a brief explore and was admiring a striking, stained glass window of scarlet roses when a friendly deacon told me it was to commemorate the rose- growing- rector who in 1894 planted roses round every door, so it was known as the Village of Roses.  You can just see on one of the photos the cottage on the right – near the church, has yellow roses – so perfect they seemed unreal in late September.  The deacon was worried that they may not have an organist for tomorrow's service; I really did intend to go but there was such a deluge and we had a lunch date for 12.30 so I'm afraid I was a fair weather Christian.

 

We had two enjoyable meals at our local Old Inn – warm and friendly with good, home cooking.  On our first visit the landlord came running up the village street after us, returning the sun glasses I had dropped.  It was a temptation to eat there every day – especially when we discovered the joys of the A35 but we did do some exploring.

 

The cottage was an- end- of- terrace, thatched, expertly renovated (two bathrooms, two bedrooms) and the most comfortable double bed ever.  I’m seriously thinking of acquiring a mattress topper of Duck and Feather down – 5” thick.  What do you think?

 We have a routine now which suits us and avoids heavy cooking and clearing.  A light breakfast, a good lunch out and a light supper, with occasionally swapping the lunch out for dinner.  Just as well as the cooker completely befuddled me; it was a touchy thing and I managed to get the flashing zero and then lost it.  And I never got to grips with a microwave.  An Aga leaves you in the 19^th Century.  Fortunately MTL applied his mind – although he is just as remiss as I am in not reading instructions.

 

I loved hearing the voices of the children as they went to the Village School, watching the many dogs being exercised in the fields behind us and the horses trotting through the village.  At times however there would be rush hour and an amazing number of commuters would belt through the village to say nothing of gigantic farm vehicles.  Not the time to choose to back out of the cottage drive.

 

Photos below – more later.