We arrived in the evening, and Colin and Jane led us to the grounds of their magnificent 18th-century mansion, where two quaint caravans–Holly and Rowan, were parked. Yes, the two caravans have charming names.
Rowan, the romantic, snug one, would be my den for the night. Bottle-green Holly, restored lovingly from the 1920s, is roomier than Rowan, so if you are tall, you might want to choose her!
The sky soon drew its starry blanket over the sky. Dew fell; I could hear it from inside my tiny, but warm and cosy caravan. Snuggling up with a book lit by moonlight from the little window, I felt like I was in the middle of an Enid Blyton adventure. Tall, dense Beech, Ash and Hawthorn trees formed a protective arch around Holly. Beside her, a gaggle of sheep rested their heads on pillows of grass.
It was impossible to resist stepping out sometime past midnight and just stand there, in the middle of a stillness that borders on the eerie and the ethereal…it has been a while, but the scene plays out in my mind with HD clarity even today. That’s the power of memories made in lands far away that bring you closer to yourself.
At the crack of dawn, the alarm rang out…in the form of a full throated cock-a-doodle-do. The grass was bright green and sun-gold once again. And soon, a sumptuous breakfast, including a batch of eggs freshly laid by the hens on the farm, was on the table at the well-equipped Stable Room!
I count it among my fondest travel memories.
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