The finding of a hidden key opens the long held shut green door of Bucks Mill Cabin. The stone dwelling, tied as though to the edge of the sea, once a place to air fisherman's nets, became a creative retreat for artists' Judith Ackland and Mary Stella Edwards. Each summertime the ladies would make pilgrimage to enjoy their simple home and belongings, a world filled with open spaces, endless skies, tides and ever changing nature. It is said they would enjoy the art of just sitting, looking out from their kitchen table into the landscape, a peg on which to hang their inspiration and imagination. A place to create and contemplate; their very own tiny storytelling enclave.
The world of the cabin changed, loss entered and time stopped still. Fifty years later, entrusted to the National Trust, the cabin breathes a sigh of relief when new creative incomers are invited to respond to the history, stories and present time. Now early autumn, a window is once again opened, sea breeze and warmth move through the dusty sad rooms. I am there with friends Jan & Karen; we stand quietly and resonant with the sense of place. I decide to respond by donning the damp closed on Thursdays coat and, for some reason only known to me, place on my head a protective food net. On discovering a small book of words on the kitchen shelf, I sit on the wooden chair and gaze at the peaceful view and ponder on the word HOUSEHOLDER.
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Found - a key, coat, net, small book with word - householder! The small kitchen felt as though the women artist's could return at any moment. In the one downstairs room the simple shelves, cupboard and furniture held safe everyday cooking, mending and cleaning items. The wooden table, under the newly opened window with the ever changing coastal light, became my storytelling surface. Each day we subsequently visited the tired worn grainy table seemed happy to be of service once more. One day, a rather large man was to visit with his wife. Sitting down on the wooden chair, he grumbles, oh my back aches. Why don't you just sit there and paint? suggested the small smiling wife. I am going down to the seashore to paint, and, on her way out, enquires about the lined book on the table. Is that the visitor's book? she says brightly. Karen, who had welcomed the couple with the history of the place, informs protectively that it was an artist's journal and a research project is underway. There is a moment to discuss the purpose of the wooden letter N and then the man decides to make himself more at home and re-arranges his body comfortably on the small wooden chair. Leaning forwards heavily on the table, seemingly lost in his own world, he appeared not to notice me standing on the low stool photographing the arrangement of borrowed and found items. The gentleman adjusted his glasses and head to one side, hummph, he says helpfully, that table is crooked!
Later, a couple of women friends from childhood discover the cabin is open as they walk down the path; one is carrying a swaddled infant and comments immediately on the table arrangement, in particular the small egg coddled baby looking out to sea. The other visitor remarks on the sounds I make when describing the discoveries in the cabin, she is apparently from Berkshire and the BBC. They appreciate the space and the baby gurgles. I explain I am thinking about giving a few items an airing. I invite them to suggest what I could take on a journey? I have a thing about jugs, says one woman, upending a small china blue and white cream jug on the shelf. Oh look, she notices, does this one have the name of Ming on it? We laugh, oh yes, perhaps it could have been made by Mrs Ming of Bideford. The other lady selects a very dusty flowered blue teapot from the top kitchen shelf, whilst Jan lifts off one of the hooks a plum tea cup. The items are carefully wrapped in a blue scarf and placed in a whicker basket for a trail down to the sea shore. |
