A Place to Escape

Relax and let me take you to a place that doesn’t exist.

Close your eyes and listen.

The building is of stone, ancient bricks once lovingly laid to create a cottage with a thatched roof, that has been both a home and a place of work. The gable ends are home to house martins in the summer and the gap where time has parted the slates from the timber allow bats to hide in the attic, to roost and to raise their young in safety.

One level is enough. A large low-ceilinged timber clad room with a four-poster bed tucked in the corner, the kitchenet snuggled beside the fireplace and the little alcove by the backdoor trails through the scullery to an outhouse, now converted into a less than contemporary bathroom. The two comfy chairs, positioned just so by the huge daylight window look out across the decking to a wide sandy beach, rock pools and the wreck of a long-forgotten ship, now consigned to the memories of those that no longer tread this land.

Can you hear the waves?

And the mournful cries of the gulls caught in the wind?

Concentrate, as the tide ebbs from the bay and you will almost be able to smell the seaweed left to petrify in the heat of the sun.

The cottage stands alone on a deserted strip of land jutting out into the sea, cut-off from the world as the tide reclaims the tenuous spit of land that is only visible twice a day, providing perfect isolation. No cars, no place to land a boat, no access except from the air, except in emergencies. But who would know if there was one?

Wind generated electricity, no telephones, so no Internet, and none of the trappings of any modern existence. The range provides heating, cooks the home-grown food and boils the kettle for nettle tea, made with water hand-pulled from the well. The cat catches mice, the dog lives on scraps and the chickens and geese provide free-range eggs.

This was my perfect escape. Shut my eyes and take myself there, to a much simpler time, when modern life ganged up on me.

And back then it used to gang-up far too often.

Now all life has changed, and that escape is fast becoming a distance memory. The world has changed, the way of life has changed and more importantly, I have changed.

There are few people now left alive after the devastation of pandemic after pandemic. Global warming saw to that scenario, along with the incompetence of those supposedly in charge of dragging the masses through the crises and into a brave new world. They tried, I’ll give them that but as no one had ever experienced anything like the devastation the climate change wreaked on the whole planet, then as there really were no guideline to follow, all they could do was try their best, but in hindsight though their best was not remotely good enough. All the signs had been there but too many people in privileged positions of power chose to ignore them, or simply play lip-service to finding solutions.

My little bit of the world fared better than most. At least it has some of the basic requirements required for existence. The sun is hotter, rain comes in bucket loads instead of droplets and as to the wind well, not quite of hurricane proportion yet, but I wouldn’t rule it out.

So now there are only remote pockets of civilisation that remained. That too is a joke, as there is nothing civilised about the ways that are left, and existence is a hand-to-mouth affair by whatever means is available. I never thought I could actually kill someone for a scrap of food, but I now at least know the feeling when people try to steal the meagre vegetables stash, that I laughingly try to grow.

My house is right by the sea, ‘a prime location with stunning views’ had been the selling hook when I purchased it just a few years ago. The miles of beach are a mixture of golden sands and sea kissed pebbles, the dunes protect against the erosion of the waves and a freshwater stream feeds down through the mountains, before escaping into the ocean just a few feet from my door. Little did I know just how vital to my survival that clear water would be when I first moved here. Thankfully, with the loss of the majority of mankind, Mother Nature is well on her way to a full recovery, and so the water tastes delicious. Nothing could remove all the destruction man had subjected her to, but at least she can now breathe and gather the strength needed to survive, and in time to flourish.

On the meadows, wildlife is also doing well, too well maybe but with few left that can bring themselves to capture and slaughter anything for food, they are also gradually losing their fear of humans and some even actively venturing to live among us. Fish stocks are slowly rising, trout and salmon are in abundance in the rivers, and whales, dolphins and other previously elusive sea creatures are often spotted just offshore.

In the beginning I was counting the days of the disaster, then the weeks, then the years but now I can no longer remember a time when this wasn’t so. I was going to say it is the norm, but there is nothing normal about anything anymore.

Since digging up the back lawn and giving it over to the production of my vegetables, food supplies have become less of an issue. Thank goodness I had the foresight to buy in the seedlings, tubas and seed potatoes when there wasn’t a crisis and to stockpile packets of lettuce, cress and tomatoes, plus a variety of other edible stuff that’s easy to grow. The apple tree in the top garden is a blessing. Not only does it produce fresh fruit but also juice. The bees have taken some getting used to, pesky things kept stinging me, but we have a better understanding now and have even settled into a working relationship, of sorts. Chickens provide eggs, but try as I might, I cannot bring myself to the killing of anything, so no barbeque chooks for me, and as to the rabbits that now plague the green at the front of the house they are also safe as far as I am concerned, although I know they are not so lucky at the hands of others.

Thankfully, I have always enjoyed gardening which now is a good thing as my green fingers that once grew flowers and pretty stuff now cultivate the majority of my food. I am still not very good at it, but I get by and there is always the goat’s milk to sustain me in the lean times. Milking a goat is not as easy as you would think, first they have to be persuaded to stand still and then not to kick me, or the bucket, but they are poppets and I do love them.  I have three goats, the two nanny’s and a newly acquired ram. He’s a randy old bugger, so hopefully this spring there will be the patter of tiny hooves in the top garden. I’ll have to be careful though so I don’t end up overrun by them, as I said not many kills for food anymore so I guess I’d have to either give some away, or turn them loose on the green if I get too many. The laws as to grazing rights on the common ground by the beach were never revoked, lucky thing they weren’t really, although there is no one left to enforce that regulation or any others for that matter. As to the pets, well the dogs have adjusted well to a plant-based diet and the cats fend for themselves, after all there are plenty of bird and mice to catch.

I moved the bed to the front room downstairs and opened up the fireplace, I never knew it was all still there, but thankfully it was. There is no coal, but wood is still freely available for now. Not only does it give me some warmth but also everything can be cooked in one pot over the flames. Communal sanitation pits take care of that issue and with a quick dip in the ocean occasionally, I’m as clean as I ever need to be. As to light, well when it gets dark, I sleep.

I was always been known as a bit of a hoarder, especially as far as craft stuff is concerned so I think I have enough stock to outlast my remaining days, as is also the case for notebooks and pens. I still write. I write about my life as it evolves, the changes I have been forced to make and the way I have had to adapt. I have no idea if anyone will ever read my copious scribblings, but that is nothing new as I’ve always only ever really written for my own pleasure.

Naturally there are things I miss. Coffee, I thought I would never be able to function without it, but I was wrong. To start with I craved chocolate and gin, but now can’t even remember what they tasted like. I also miss travel. Being able to hop on a train or bus and visit friends and new places. It feels like being a kid again when there wasn’t even a bus service that came through the village. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel trapped, just nostalgic. There are far too many friends and family that are no longer around, so I cherish the ones that are. We don’t meet often, and there is now no way to communicate, so it even nicer when someone travels miles on horseback or by foot, knocks on the door and stays for a while.

Now, there are some things I have found that I don’t miss. The Internet and television mostly, although to be honest there were always times when I alienated myself from both of them anyway. Long before life stopped turning in the same way, I preferred to get lost between the pages of a book, of which I still have many new ones here to read and naturally I’ve got some well-loved classic that I am always happy to re-read again, and again.

I have to say I never imagined it would come to this, but to be honest I kind of like this simple way of life. We all now live in our own isolation, making do with what is available and constantly adapting to an ever-changing lifestyle. In the past, I’d often wondered at the mindlessness of the medical profession’s obsession with prolonging life, regardless of the quality, now that is not an issue. Granted some will die young because of the non-existence of those advancements, and the drugs that are no longer available, but natural selection is nothing to be sniffed at. Mother Nature knows what she is doing, she has proved that time and again.

So, what’s this all about all this? Nothing really. No doubt humankind will muck things up again in the future, of that I am certain, but one thing is for sure, it will now not happen in my lifetime.