The Captain, lying in his soft, down bed snores contentedly; his wife in unison. Yesterday was a long, hard day for them both and there’s another one about to follow. The coming one will be particularly hard, for it’s the one day of the week when The Captain accepts a coach party into his restaurant at lunchtime. In this case, it’s yours, for the coming day is the highlight of your trip to Cornwall, a day in Treddoch Harbour.
You’ll enjoy the experience, I’m sure though The Captain will be glad when it’s over. Catering for over forty people, all at the same time is hard work. It’s not that The Captain dislikes hard work, it’s rather that he dislikes the meagre profit that he gets for this particular piece of work.
It’s also a time of dreams, this Season, certainly a time when dreams stand the best chance of being fulfilled, for it’s the time of year when the flow of money into the coffers is at full flood. Come the winter, the supply will be all but cut off as the source dries up; a veritable drought.
For the most part, these dreams that the villagers have are the sort of dreams that people everywhere have. They’re as universal as the Solstice itself. There are dreams of husbands to be, of wives long lost, of loves, as yet unknown. For an older generation, there are dreams of grandchildren to come and, perhaps, a few more years to live. There are dreams of the material, of clothes and cars of boats and homes, of holidays to exotic places. There are also dreams of the more mundane.
Rachel, nestled nightly in Blossom Cottage, dreams of a foreign holiday and not just the Scillies either. When Rachael says, ‘foreign’ she means somewhere, with wall-to-wall sunshine and all-inclusive. She also has a fancy for a swimming pool that’s warm to laze in, not like the local sea.
“It brings me out in goose pimples every time I go in; even just thinking about it.”
“But you never swim in the sea, not here.”
“And now you know why!”
Her more practical husband points out that they need new windows this year. The ones they have, have finally rotted out.
“Can’t you just patch them? You’re good at that,” she wheedles. Dreams of foreign shores are strong within her.
“What do you think I’ve been doing these last five years!” her husband replies, exasperated, and ponders the impractical nature of women.
As Blossom Cottage settles down Rachael dreams of lying on sun-blessed beaches, sitting in chairs under parasols, sipping something chilled from tall glasses and all, possibly, topless.
Her husband, on the other hand, dreams of oak sashes, so much sturdier than your basic pine he’s inclined to think.
Adam, in the Old Post Office has thoughts of a new car, not a second-hand one this time, although he hasn’t told his wife yet. She has dreams of her own. He’s poured over brochures, checked out makes and models, considered colours. He just needs to earn the money for the deposit. The dream will drive him to succeed.
Andrew, a young man in his late twenties has visions of his own fishing boat. “I’ve had enough of crewing for somebody else,” he tells the sea as he stands on the harbour wall, looking out towards the Eddystone. It’s pretty much as far as Andrew ever travels, at least on land, apart from The Schooner Inn, that is.
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