Walking back in time (or The correct temperature to serve a pork pie) – by Alex Morgan

Today’s post is by Sheila’s cousin Alex Morgan. Alex wrote the novel “Tandem“, and is currently working on her next one. Thanks for the post – we love always love reading your stuff Alex!

Alex Morgan On the Wales Coast Path
On the Wales Coast Path

We spend so much of our lives moving at a mechanised pace – by car, bus, train or plane – that walking has become a luxury to be treasured, a chance to enjoy the birds and insects and be dazzled by hedgerows dotted with yellows, purples and pinks.

Trevor and I are on the Llyn Peninsula this week, staying in a little house on the beach, walking small sections of the gently undulating Wales Coast Path and marvelling at the wild flowers.

Alex Morgan Wild flowers on the Wales Coast Path
Wild flowers on the Wales Coast Path

Having grown up by the sea, I love watching the clouds creeping across the bay, the water shimmering in the changing light, and the small boats coming and going.

Me on North Berwick beach in 1965 with my mother sister and (second left) cousin Sheila
Me on North Berwick beach in 1965 with my mother, sister and (second left) cousin Sheila

The past few days have been as sunny as it gets in northern British summertime, and the back of my neck and the top of Trevor’s head are nicely red. Coming from even further north, this is as hot as I ever want to be.

Alex Morgan Bay at Porthdinllaen
Bay at Porthdinllaen

I can’t imagine what it must be like on the slopes of Kilimanjaro right now. The highest mountain I’ve climbed as an adult is Scafell Pike, and on the summer day we chose to do it, there was snow at the top and driving rain all the way down. When we finally reached the Wasdale Head Inn, I had to go into the ladies to wring out my knickers.

As a 12-year-old, I spent a miserable ‘holiday’ in the Cairngorms at Glenmore Lodge – a kind of prison camp for school children – and dawdled up various high things with my classmates. The names were lost on me, but I still remember the cold and mist, wearing a sweaty knee-length cagoule and eating a huge amount of sliced white bread slathered with sandwich spread.

Not long after that, I visited Sheila and Stewart in Canterbury. Jae was a toddler called Janey, and Gwen was a baby. We went for what felt like a very long walk one Sunday morning and, as I began to despair of ever getting any lunch, Sheila confided that she’d recently had a pork pie epiphany.

After years of feeding them cold to Stewart, it had suddenly occurred to her that they were actually meant to be served hot. So she’d heated one up for him – and was utterly crushed by his less than enthusiastic response to this culinary innovation.

Sitting here now on our roof terrace, almost forty years later, listing to the swoosh of the tide on the pebbles and the chatter of the drinkers outside the Ty Coch Inn, the furthest I feel like walking is the fifty or so steps across the slipway to place an order at the bar.

Porthdinllaen beach
Porthdinllaen beach

They don’t serve pork pies – hot or cold – or, thankfully, sandwich spread on white bread, but they do have excellent rare roast beef sandwiches and a fabulous choice of beers.

When Trevor and I get back to our terrace, we’ll be raising a glass to all three of you. Good luck, Sheila, Jae and Oscar – stay hydrated, and have a wonderful walk!

Your cousin, Alex

Alex Morgan On the roof of Moryn at Porthdinllaen
On the roof of Moryn at Porthdinllaen