The Great and Terrible Oath

It started with Helen, whose anti-rural-living views were well known to all; she had always, everyone knew, regarded the countryside as a muddy, grubby, inbred thing best avoided. Yet here she was, saying out of the blue, “I think we should move to the country".

She said it as we were returning from a weekend in the Cotswolds. Of course it was the Cotswolds: the place all Londoners want to live but none do, instead popping there at weekends to drive around in a queue of Porsche Cayennes believing they have made their lives simpler. We too had been enjoying the simple life, in a sprawling country pile belonging to a friend’s family, its garden a riot of meadow flowers and triffid-like artichokes. We had visited a couple of beautiful rural churches, and a local village fair with a dog show and a prize for Most Abundant Peapod (that’s not the Crufts name of one of the dogs, by the way).

So there we were, heading back London-wards, when she uttered that simple phrase. If you were ever a fan of Michael Moorcock’s History of the Runestaff novels (Oh alright, just me then) you will recall how, early in Book One, Baron Meliadus swears a great and terrible oath which alters the future course of events and ensures that nothing will be the same again. Well, this was a bit like that.

Not that it seemed so at the time. My response, inwardly was “Don’t worry, back to normal tomorrow.” I had married a wholehearted and deep-feeling individual whose pronouncements on the world are subject to revision at a moment’s notice if her feelings are stirred up in a different direction. And even supposing she didn’t snap out of it, I could still withstand her entreaties. Had I not stood firm for four years against her desire for a pet dog? (Her finely wrought logical argument in favour of getting one was “Just imagine his little face!”)

Typical city scene

I knew, though, that opposition to her scheme - which by Beaconsfield Services had honed itself down to Style of House, Distance to Nearest Station and Colour of Sofa - would lead to an entrenched position on her part. Whereas I only needed to say “Sure, why not?” for her to abandon the project entirely.

“Sure, why not?” I said.

“Great, let’s start looking for somewhere next weekend” she replied.

I had no choice but to continue my reverse psychology strategy. I joined her in browsing country properties in the Sunday papers, debated teak versus oak as suitable garden furniture material, and provided cartographic and logistical support when it came to calculating journey times to London.

And then one day, many months later, I woke up with a curious feeling. I got up slowly: the feeling remained. It remained with me through breakfast and beyond; there was no avoiding it.

I wanted to move to the country.

Typical rural scene

Don’t ask me for a well argued logical reason. I have none. I simply found myself yearning for space, for fields ruffled by the elements; to be walking along a muddy path, with a dog (a dog!) by my side.

It’s possible others would find this yearning in me less surprising than in Helen. I have always been a lover of yomping across the landscape in walking boots, reciting Shelley’s Ode To The West Wind. But since returning to London in the mid 80s I have never wanted to live in the country. Well, I did now.

I raced to find Helen. I found her listening to Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony and hand whittling a wooden spoon to hang in our rustic kitchen.

“I want to live in the Cotswolds,” I announced.

“The Cotswolds? Oh no, I’ve changed my mind.”

Taut as a taut thing, I waited for more.

“I think we’d be better off in Dorset.”

And so it was decided. Until the next decision.

Comments

  1. Wow Phil. Suitably gob smacked but with so much change in the last year perhaps I shouldn't be surprised by anything. After all we moved back to London to enjoy easy access to theatres, restaurants and culture and see how that worked out :-)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Pics please!! I drove past your old house the other day and wondered where you were...Anyway, good timing for rustication!! Xxx

    ReplyDelete
  3. Nice job, I recognise our own ebbs and flows - and tactics! I like where we are now, within walking distance of the downs, but Putney in 15mins. I guess all couples wonder about different paths they could have travelled together. Sliding doors needed!

    ReplyDelete
  4. We are excited for you both and look forward eagerly to more instalments, as the realities of getting connected to the interweb before 2023 and turning the disused tennis court into hanging gardens are laid bare. Failing that, Dorset Knob jokes are always funny.

    ReplyDelete
  5. I can’t wait for the mortgage episode

    ReplyDelete
  6. Greetings from the sprawling country pile! so happy to hear this news....

    ReplyDelete
  7. I seem to be joining as e17highsthotmeals..... but don't let that put you off! Great read & v excited as my brother is in Dorset too! Not sure how you sign up for more installments but looking forward to reading them. Shenagh xx

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Of Grime, Agas and Woodlice

Your sanity may be at risk if you apply for a mortgage

Why townies view the country through a landscape painter's lens