The Flying Missile and the Fox.

The three of us – Jackie, Joy and I set off at 8.30 am with Joy at the wheel to arrive in good time at Taunton station for the Edinburgh train which would drop us at Cheltenham. Parking was fine and I got a ticket for ten hours - £4.60. Jackie’s daughter had booked the rail tickets on line and we were to collect the tickets at the station by means of a giant machine. This took a little time.

W expected to get three return tickets or maybe six each way tickets. In fact we got thirteen and there was much time spent with each of us perusing them, to work out why we had thirteen tickets. Jackie assured us we had already paid the correct amount so if they chose to give us extra tickets – tant pis – as they say in France. We decide to split them, with Jackie in charge of six and Joy in charge of the remaining seven.

What’s happened to Taunton station? It used to be a picture of blooming flower beds but there was not a bloom in sight. We estimated where our coach would be – wrongly as it turned out - and then had a long wobbly trundle through the coaches which seemed to be keen not to declare their identity. Eventually we found the correct coach and there were our seats - fully occupied. One look at our faces and as one man the interlopers rose to relinquish them. The girls were seated behind me and all was well until the affable ticket inspector appeared. There was some badinage about the number of tickets but he regretfully pointed out that the ones he required – Taunton to Cheltenham were missing.

Both Jackie and Joy then did a search of their equally capacious handbags whilst the ticket inspector’s affability faded somewhat. Together the girls decided that

‘Pat must have them.’

WHAT?

To humour them I did a perfunctory search and reminded them of the sharing out of the tickets. Then Jackie waved the paper work which listed all the bookings and the ticket inspector accepted that as proof we had paid for the missing tickets. He assured us that had it been another ticket inspector we would have had to pay again.

Moral: keep all paper work with you at all times.

Some time after 11a.m. we arrived at Cheltenham Spa and there at the very spot where we were going to dismount was a smiling Margaret. There were hugs and non stop chatter whilst she ushered us into the car and whisked us off to her new home. As we were admiring the front garden (Malcolm had brought with him a lorry load of his precious plants) Jackie sneezed, pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket along with the missing tickets.

Coffee calmed us down and we chatted non stop whilst Margaret and Malcolm prepared lunch, chicken breasts wrapped in bacon stuffed with delicious cheesy ooze, Cornish potatoes, broccoli, carrots and a yummy leek sauce. We christened the new dining room – each room had been stacked with furniture whist the extensions and decorations had taken place. All is complete now apart from the finishing of a utility room.

The reason for moving was to downsize and be near to their daughters. With all amenities close by, excellent transport and all that Cheltenham has to offer (the Literary Festival for instance which MTL and I enjoyed some time back) they certainly seem to have done the right thing and are both very happy.

There was talk of a drive round in the afternoon but the weather worsened and we were all happy to slump and chill with one of Margaret’s daughters (who we all knew) and granddaughter arriving to provide the cabaret. The garden and house were admired and gradually we caught up with the last six months. The three of us felt completely taken care of; Margaret had worked out exactly when we should leave for the station and meanwhile we would have a delicious tea – in the kitchen this time.

All too soon we were back on the station and Margaret insisted on phoning our homes to tell them the train was running late. The journey back to Taunton was much quieter – we could sit anywhere and the sun made it a lovely evening. The journey however was slow and wearisome, the sun was replaced by a harvest moon (according to Jackie) and we realised the drive back to Taunton would be in the dark. Not what we had planned.

We were just over the permitted ten hours but there were no penalties and we set off on the last leg of our journey. Joy was a little concerned about a red triangle on the dash board but all seemed to be working as usual so decided to ignore it. As we left the town and got on the bendy, hilly A358 a ‘Red Route’ we all screeched when a flying missile hit the windscreen and went hurtling past.

‘Oh I must have left my walking stick on the car.’ said Joy. The traffic behind caused Joy to drive a little faster than we would have liked but the rest of the drive was uneventful until we all screeched again. There was what looked like a dog sitting terrified in the glare of the headlights. Joy swerved violently into what would have been the oncoming traffic if our guardian Angel had been asleep. It was a fox of course and no way would you get an animal lover like Joy to do the ‘drive straight on’ theory of the safest way to deal with it.

We both agreed that Joy was a brick and also that we should not repeat the travelling experience. No-one spoilt us like Margaret had always done and we have been lucky to have her for so long in our lives. We could only be happy for her that all has turned out so well.

Some photos later.

P.S. Of course we had dessert - two - equally delicious.

P.P.S. We happened to cover the same road the next day with our French son. No trace of fox or walking stick and I think French son was teasing when he said he spotted an overturned car in a field.