Great Expectations

Great Expectations

“That’s the thing about this city, said Elizabeth, reading from William Epworth’s tour guide, it’s quaint, it’s full of history.  The whole of the surrounding countryside is spectacular. It is the smallest city in the United Kingdom and that alone should be enticement enough. It’s unique and the river Alun runs through. Thank you so much Bernard for picking this place for our anniversary.”

“I only hope  Elizabeth, that our friends will think along the same lines. We have been persuaded  into spending our holiday with them.”

They were going on holiday with the Warburtons.  Margery and Arnold had made their inclinations known for some time. They felt it was time to consolidate the relationship between the two families, since the marriage of their daughter Dorothy to Emanuel.  The different cultures of France and England needed some shared experiences in order to bond.

 “I’ve got the car Bernard,  it’s a Vauxhall, plenty of room for all the luggage.”

Bernard would have preferred a Peugeot with the extra space at the back for overcoats scarves, or rugs for picnics. He swallowed his pride with only a faint grimace to Elizabeth.

“Oh  good! I can take the first turn driving from Nefyn on the A496  half way to

Dolgellan.”

“I think not Bernard,  I  have registered the car with the car hire company in my name and Margery’s so we must be the only drivers. We’ll allow you to take it easy in the back, as passengers. Be our guests!”

Yes, thought Bernard but he was paying for half the cost and he preferred to be in the driving seat.

 Elizabeth and Bernard got in to the back seat and they set off.

 Elizabeth noticed immediately, that she could see nothing but the back of Margery’s head and head rest in front of her. She could not see much through the window. Margery and Arnold were sitting in the pound seats and there was no hope that things were going to change. There was no possibility of playing musical chairs and ringing the changes. She pulled a face at Bernard who had settled back into his seat and closed his eyes. He was lucky he could take a nap so easily. He had therefore not seen the look of pain on her face.

The road took them through Porthdinlaen   past  the 2km bay with its expanse of grey, green water. Arnold did not stop for a stretch of the legs.

“We’ll drive on to the next stop and have lunch.”

Unilateral decisions are the name of the game, thought Bernard.

 Elizabeth nodded off to sleep, only waking as they pulled in to the hotel at Portmeirion. This delightful Welsh village is full of inspiring shops, some selling Portmeirion   pottery, a prisoner shop selling  mementoes  from the TV series and a hotel, the Castell Deudraeth, of which the original building dated from the 18^th century.

Here Elizabeth and Bernard were obliged to defer to the wishes of the other two travellers need for food. Instead of exploring the town Arnold, being diabetic, was only interested in food on his travel agenda. He was not interested in tourist sites. This became more evident as the day progressed.

At  the Portmeirion  hotel. They ordered different dishes for lunch.

“I’ll have the crumbed chicken breasts with boiled carrots and peas,” said Margery.  “I simply love carrots and peas,” she  added  smiling.

“The same for me,” Arnold told the waiter, “You can’t play it too safe in this unfamiliar territory!”  He nodded with an air of superiority, at Elizabeth and Bernard.

 Bernard ordered faggots and Elizabeth the cawl. Faggots and cawl were traditional Welsh dishes, faggots, meatballs made from pig’s liver and cawl, a slow cooked stew, with vegetables and meat. The French were used  to  eating  frogs legs,  the welsh cuisine was quite ordinary by  comparison.

When the dishes arrived at the table, Margery said to Elizabeth.

“ Oh, do swap with me, the aroma from your stew is so delightful that I would love to do a swap.”

Elizabeth declined  saying ,

“Sorry Marge but I cook chicken breasts at home almost every week.  I may not get another chance to  eat  cawl  again for a long time. I  didn’t  come  to  Wales to eat chicken breasts!”

The cawl looked and smelled delicious, Elizabeth could almost taste the food  before  eating  the first mouthful. She felt a little sorry for her new relative who was so unadventurous with food.  It was plain too, that Margery changed her mind like the wind changes direction. The in laws didn’t appear to know how to enjoy foreign climes. They reminded her of other  friends who had told her whenever they went travelling, they always ate at McDonalds because  they  knew what they were getting at McDonalds.  Yes she had thought  then ,  ‘ hamburgers and chips.’

After the first night at Dolgellan, the tour went on to Aberystwyth.  Here, they were lucky enough to see  Red  Kites being fed at Blwch Nant-yr-Arian from the cafe, killing two birds with one stone.

They checked in to their guest cottage at St Davids round four in the afternoon. Elizabeth and Bernard were shown to a room in the rafters.

“We thought you would have a splendid view from the top, so we let you have that room, murmured Arnold. We are on the ground floor.”

Bernard put his suitcase down next to the door and standing up, cracked his head on a wooden beam.

“Damn it, to Hell!” said  Bernard ,  not given to using expletives.

“ I do wish Arnold would not always make choices for us!”

“Now here we are in St Davids, we can arrange to go to Handels Messiah at the cathedral on Sunday evening, it will be the highlight of our stay here. I can’t wait. It is such a joyful  oratorio, Bernard. Shall we walk to the cathedral and check the times for the performance?”

They heard the sound of song coming from the side door.

“For the lord God omnipotent reigneth

(Hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah)

Hallelujah”

 They sat at the back of the church and listened spellbound, to the music.  The sound filled the cathedral and soared up to the decorated ceiling. Smiling at each other they wallowed in it. They had gone unnoticed at first and were glad but after 25 minutes a churchwarden came  up  to  them  and asked them politely, to leave, as they were listening to what was  a rehearsal  for  the following evening. The little they had heard, was a taste of the forthcoming pleasure.

Back at the guest cottage, Arnold met them on the front steps.

“I’ve booked us a table for supper on Sunday at the Farmers Arms. It will give you a taste of being in an English Pub. Nice way to celebrate your anniversary, don’t you think?”  We can go around 7.30pm.

“Bernard, I really want to go to the Messiah performance,’ said Elizabeth, once they were upstairs, why do we have to go and eat at a restaurant. We have been stuffing our faces from morning noon to night and I feel  I need some cultural relief for a change. It was something I have looked forward to since the outset of our holiday.” She could hear there was a whine creeping in to her voice.

 “Elizabeth our son’s family, that’s us, have to learn to fit in with the extended family. We have to learn  to  compromise and get along together, we just have to put up with it. We don’t want to make enemies for life, especially seeing they are now close relatives of our son.”

The evening came and they walked to the pub which was not far from their cottage.

“Tell me Arnold,” said Bernard, “why are the rafters in the upstairs rooms so low. I nearly knocked myself unconscious on one of them.”

“Ha ha , that was the whole idea, not to knock you unconscious but because in Tudor houses the rafters were always built low in order to distract their enemies. The cottage we are in is a replica of the times.”

“More like ‘extract’  than’ distract’ I think.”

“Sorry old boy, should have warned you.  Part of the charm of these cottages is the architecture.”

The evening was spent in companionable enjoyment of each other’s company. The roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with carrots was enjoyed by all.

Not so bad after all, thought Bernard.

Elizabeth began to feel more relaxed. People and family were worth more than one evening at a concert.

As the Welsh Saint David had said,

“Be joyful. Keep the faith and do the little things you have heard and seen me do.”

This had become a favourite Welsh saying,

“Do the little things in life.”

“The thing about this place,” said Elizabeth, when they were packing to leave a few days later, “is that I enjoyed the build  up along the route, I was enthralled by the small part of Handel’s Messiah we heard, I loved the cathedral. I have learned to appreciate the little things in life, in this little city.”