The Cabin stands alone on a dramatic crumbling cliff face. The rocky sea shore is reached from the Cabin via a steep path and jetty. A discussion had gone on earlier with residents, National Trust staff and visitors, about how the artist ladies years would have lived, survived, and responded to the simpleness yet diversity of the environment. It was said villagers helped them out with a supply of water carried in large jugs. I notice how even the most small movement makes a differences to the feel of the place, and take me time trying out jugs before deciding which to take to the seashore with the teapot and cup.
On exploring the terrain of the beach, I notice set below the Cabin is a waterfall on the underside of the cliff face. In the amazing underworld of the canopy of craggy rocks and plants which appear to cling for dear life on to each other, I place on a sheltered stone a small person called Miss Dolly. She is there to bear witness to the domestic work at hand. Carefully unwrapping the blue teapot from the whicker basket, I reach out and raise it's never seen the daylight for fifty years to the stream of water. The thundering force and spray cleans and drenches both the pot and myself. Later Stuart was a bit concerned to hear about the adventure, and shared the nature of the shifting cliff and apparently the out of bounds waterfall. He recalled his memory of using the toilet in the house on the cliff above which had emptied directly into the waterfall below. Why, I thought, didn't the sign on the beach give this information, instead of saying the water was not for recreation!
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Washing - one flowered blue teapot & a thundering waterfall.
Later back at the cabin, the places feels refreshed, different. Other items are temporarily taken outside and carefully giving an airing, including the clothes airer, bag, boots, and Burberries, whilst inside the kitchen a small lady seems to be getting into everything.
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Playing - collection of china & odd broken thingamajig
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