Easter Sunday, 9th April To the Lighthouse

“Becky suggested that our holiday must be just like “To the Lighthouse.” Beatrice commented having just spoken to her over the phone on Easter Sunday.

In the background the kids are screaming “Over here! Over here!” as J. and Mattie kick a ball around the lawn and K.M. weaves in between them. L. is throwing Belle a munched up ganky ball, George is playing with a toy garage and R. is moofing somewhere in between.

Perhaps, if one were to come here sans enfants in November when the storms batter the village and howl around our roof top apartment; perhaps if one were escaping some nasty emotional trauma; perhaps if one were some renowned thespian preparing for a challenging play in the forthcoming season –then yes this would be the perfect place to contemplate Virginia Woolf's darkest feelings and frustrated sentiments.

Glancing around the place on a happy, bright Easter Sunday with the children all high on chocolate after a rather successful Easter egg hunt and us happily drinking shandy with Sally and David in the sun then, no, this place is far too innocent for the likes of Virginia Woolf. Definitely more “Five on a Treasure Island” than “To the Lighthouse”. Not that I have ever read a single book of Virginia Woolf. Its probably because I'm too scared of her. As David said, who is obviously brave and who has read her though “..we’re not exactly in the mood to reach for the nearest stones to stuff into our pockets.”

Easter Sunday is busy. We are not the only paying guests staying at The Woodlands. There are David, Sally, Sophie (11) and Mathew (8) who have rented the flat on the ground floor. Yes, yes, yes - the eight year old boy I was hoping for. I'm telling you everything was working out well. Gill also had her two little grandchildren for the week-end: George and Lilly, both the same age as K.M. and L. respectively.

The garden at The Woodlands slopes up in certain points. As well as freshly planted shrubs and bluebells there are a number of old established trees that grow up the slopes. From one of the branches of these old trees hangs a rope with a stick attached to it – fabulous to swing from. R. wandered his way up there so I followed just in case he got in the path of a swinging K.M. on the way up.

L., R. and I sat on the bench and watched K.M. swing back and forth. Below is just one of the great views over the bay. There is not a spot in this part of Cornwall, seemingly, which does not offer a view of the beautiful clear blue sea. Four year old Lilly came to sit next to us.

“Do you see that Lighthouse over there?” she asks me.

“Yes.” I answer.

In fact I spotted it on our first day here. It sits in the middle of the bay half-way between Cawsand and Plymouth.

“Well. I swam over there yesterday and back again” she told me not battering her eyelids and cool as a cucumber.

“Well done” I responded. “That must have been a lot of hard work. Did you know that I too swam out there only the other day and came across four mermaids on the way. Two of them had long blond hair that curled down their backs. One had red hair and the other dark black curly hair. Did you see them when you swam to the Lighthouse?”

“Yes” said Lilly. “I saw a mermaid and she had brown hair”.

“And was her fish tail made of silver or gold?”

“Oh silver.”

“Is she talking rubbish again?” George her older brother asked who had just wandered up from below. “You know you can’t swim to the Lighthouse Lilly.”

Lilly ignored him.

“Its my turn to go on the swing next.” L. wailed.

“OK then.” I say. “Come on K.M. give the others a go. Next L. Then Lilly and then George.”

“What Lilly before me?” George said looking incredulous.

“Yes” I replied. “She was here before you after all”.

Lilly still ignored her older brother and looked out to sea. Older brothers. “They’re all the same” I think. They have a real problem with younger sisters – especially if they seem to have a wild imagination.

In the end L. and Lilly, at four, are still too small to hoist themselves up on to the stick at the end of the rope and push themselves off. Next year perhaps. Next year, when Lilly manages to single handedly slay the sea monster that prowls the waters in front of the Lighthouse - then she’ll be able to swing on the rope together with L. and give her annoying older brother a run for his money. Perhaps Becky was right. There is a touch of “To the Lighthouse” about our holiday in Cornwall after all. But, in the nicest possible way.