The shock of abrupt re-entry into civilization …

…after Purbeck!
In the 1990s, our younger two children were still little, my husband had ceased to be a secondary school maths teacher, and we ran our own business from home. He’d been given an old Litho printer to see if he could get it working, and we had invested some money from selling our house in typesetting equipment – not metal letterpress by now, but before full computerisation  took place.

An elderly gentleman who lived at Harman’s Cross in the Purbeck peninsula in Dorset, contacted him to see if he’d publish his memoir. We weren’t publishers, but  my husband gave him some advice about the editing he needed to get done with help from someone. The gentleman replied that it sounded as if my husband was the one to help him, and invited ut to come to stay for a few days with our two young boys.

So started a wonderful friendship (and a new lovely extra grandad for the youngsters) and a love of a very special part of the country.

Running our own business it was difficult to get away for a whole week, but we had many long weekends or mid-week breaks down there with the two men at times closeted in discussion about clarifying the order of the events of the autobiography etc. But plenty of short walks up Purbeck Downs (‘See Brownsea island down there in Poole Harbour?’ ‘Look! There’s another view of Corfe Castle on its mound’); different sections of the cliff path; Corfe Castle itself [once a civil war re-enactment]; run up the road to see the steam engine change line to return to Swanage; Studland – heath and beaches, all seasons; Arne RSPB nature reserve; even Swanage beach and piers, with views  of the Isle of Wight; and seeing the great concrete globe  on the cliff above, and the lovely sound – which we couldn’t photograph! – of the crashing waves.

Even the bungalow had a lovely long corridor the boys delighted in, and a little copse attached to the garden.

Eventually the book was self-published with my husband printing it. (printer, large typesetting-film-developer, and washing machine squeezed into our square utility room, having got back into a house of our own again). I remember my young son “squaring up” his pile of little cards like he saw his Dad doing to piles of printed sheets:  bang, bang!

And then we still continued with our regular short visits – my husband sometimes preaching in the little village chapel, or just going back to deliver a new print run.

The journey down to the Purbeck Peninsula when we arrived each time was through lovely countryside, passing Wareham Forest, and we all loved what we called the ‘Wupptee-do Road’ as it had a number of jerky bumps unexpectedly like going over a hump-backed bridge (helped by careful driving and a responsive car  – grab your tummy!). And then the lovely drive to the village of Corfe (who will be the first to see the castle ahead?) and on.

But at the end of each stay we’d give them the pleasure of the short chain-car-ferry crossing, Studland–Sandbanks. It was a nice finale to a real, if short break each time.

But Oh, the shock of arrival in Sandbanks, Poole, Bournemouth and the busy roads home!! Change of pace, noise, the end of holiday, concentrated civilization and everyday work again!.

[IP: transition, sudden change of place/state of mind …]

PS I should have mentioned that 'back home' was in a town in Sussex at the time.