10. Henry
10
HENRY
W andering around the village harvest festival was a delight for the senses. It was a crisp, bright autumn Sunday and Henry was dressed warmly, aware that he would be outside for most of the day.
He stood in the village square and turned slowly, soaking up the sights, sounds, and smells. The salty tang of the sea lingered in the air, along with the earthy musk of cobblestones drying in the sun. Stretching away from the pretty coastal village were country lanes and rolling fields with patchwork meadows. Stone farmhouses and large barns dotted the landscape that was divided by hedgerows and bathed in shades of claret, ochre, orange and green. Further still, lay more villages and towns and if you kept going, as a crow flies, you’d reach the northern coast of Cornwall.
Stalls lined the pavements, brimming with local produce. Baskets of fat orange pumpkins, ruby-red apples, dark green cabbages, and potatoes of varying sizes sat on trestle tables. Scrumpy cider, elderflower cordial, ginger beer, and Cornish seaweed gin filled baskets on one stall. Another was selling baked goods: Cornish pasties with crimped edges and flaky golden pastry, fat shiny scones that looked irresistibly fluffy, clotted cream fudge with various additions like dark chocolate chips and rum and raisin, and apple turnovers stuffed with fresh white cream. His mouth watered as he gazed at the produce and pastries, the drinks, and treats.
People wandered around the stalls and the harbour dressed in waxed jackets, cosy knits, boots, and hats, carrying pumpkin spiced lattes, hot chocolates and mulled cider. Children queued for face painting, hot dogs, crepes and turns at crabbing and parents chatted to friends and neighbours, smiling and raising hands when they spotted Henry walking among them.
He stopped to buy a pasty and a coffee, then he walked down to the harbour and sat on a bench. The pastry was rich and buttery, the filling of meat, root veg, and potatoes savoury and satisfying. He washed the pasty down with the bitter coffee, its steam curling into the cool morning air, while watching as boats left the harbour, taking people on trips around the coastline. The boat engines hummed as they sliced through the glinting water and white wakes fanned out behind them like frothy lace.
Aware that there were activities taking place around the village today, he decided to make his way up to The Garden Café where he’d promised some of his pupils he would meet them and their parents to join their teams.
He dropped his rubbish in a bin, then walked along the path that led to the café. Music filled the air, and he gazed down at the beach where a choir had gathered to sing some traditional harvest hymns. The haunting beauty of the sea and cliffs stilled him; goosebumps erupted on his skin as he listened. This village, located here between the land and the sea, surrounded by endless sky, was the perfect place to be. He hadn’t realised until he’d come here how much he needed this, how different he would feel when he was here and how it would help him unravel all the things that had weighed him down for so long.
Taking a few deep breaths of briny air, he turned and strode towards the café, a smile on his face and joy in his heart.
When he got there, a sight that would have been perfect in a movie greeted him. Bales of hay were arranged in circles with braziers at their centres, country music played from hidden speakers, aromas of wood smoke and barbecue drifted through the air, and piles of pumpkins sat in front of the café, ready for the carving competition.
‘Sir!’ He turned to see Johan Vandermeer running towards him. ‘You came! Are you going to be on our team?’
Henry laughed. ‘If that’s what you want.’
Behind Johan, his mum, Sita, smiled and raised a hand in greeting. She had her five-year-old son Willem on her hip and he had his face buried in her neck.
‘I’m so glad you came, Sir. I asked my mum to join our team, but Willem is being a cry-baby so she can’t put him down.’
‘What’s wrong with Willem?’ he asked, concern filling him.
‘Nothing, really.’ Johan rubbed a hand through his thick, black hair. ‘He wanted to wear his superhero costume today, but Mum said it wouldn’t be warm enough and he’s been sulking since we left the house.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Henry said.
‘It’s OK, Sir,’ Johan said. ‘He’ll get over it.’ He gave a dismissive wave of his hand then pointed over at a table where people were queueing. ‘Shall we sign up for the apple bobbing?’
‘Apple bobbing?’
‘Yes. It’s lots of fun.’
‘Sure.’ Henry shrugged. ‘I haven’t bobbed for apples in a very long time though, so I could be awful.’
‘You’ll be great, Sir, I’m sure. Just remember to hold your breath so the water doesn’t go up your nose.’
‘Thanks for the tip.’
Henry stifled his laughter then followed Johan over to the stall and waited in line, listening to the boy’s excited instructions about the best way to grab the apples with his mouth while avoiding drinking the water. It seemed like Johan had really thought about this and even got in some practice before the day.