The Cottage Clan (Lynn Kerstan)

A bit of ancient history. In October a year ago, Alicia and I were to spend a week in a two-bedroom cottage at the foot of Glastonbury Tor in southwest England. Then lymphoma came calling. I spent most of October in the hospital while Alicia, with a non-refundable airline ticket and cottage rental, managed to entertain herself without me. Deathly sick, I couldn’t imagine that a year later, we’d be happily ensconced at Arrow Cottage in the north of England. Built circa 1780, it looks much like the other residences in Witton-le-Wear—same gray stone, solid profile, perched beside a narrow street built for coaches and curricles.

The cottage can sleep thirteen people, but there were only five of us sharing the place, each of us with a private bedroom. Here’s mine. Natalie, the cousin of a long time-buddy also named Lynn (each of us was known as OtherLynn, depending on who was speaking) turned out to be a remarkable woman who was, blessedly, competent in all sort of ways. The same could not be said for the rest of us. Badly injured in a roadside-bomb explosion in Iraq, Natalie had struggled back to health and was contemplating where to settle down and what to do with her life. She is also a writer (a good one!), which meant she wasn’t off-put by our peculiar writerly ways.

Lynn Coddington, Judith Stanton, Alicia and I have known each other for years. We’re all writers of historical (and sometimes paranormal) romance, academic geeks, and former or current college teachers. LynnC is a book reviewer, while the rest of us are editors, critiquers, and teachers of writing. In other words, we have lots in common and plenty to talk about. The cottage had two sitting rooms (one shown here) and a dining room with comfy chairs where we enjoyed wine and meals served up by those who could cook. I was relegated to clean-up and dishwashing, an appropriate task except I had to get Natalie to turn on the dishwasher. Never did figure how to do that.

Social life was built around the table. At any given time, one or more of us would be there working on our computers or making plans for the next excursion. One night, fueled with Bulgarian Cabernet and frustrated that we couldn’t find a Pub Quiz to go to, we discovered that Pub Quiz questions and answers were available online. We did pretty well, all things considered. Rivalry was fierce. “I said it first!” “Did not!” We all flunked questions about Brit football and cricket teams but scored a near-perfect when it came to history. I think someone won (not me), but none of us really cared. Even so, I demand a rematch!

Food had a lot to do with cottage life. Most often we fended for ourselves, but LynnC and Alicia are good cooks and occasionally provided us with roast chicken, pork from the free-range pigs at Howard Castle, poached pears, soups, and salads. I supplied cookies, potato chips, and wine. Everyone chipped in one way or another. But after leisurely mornings, we all set out in different directions, depending on what we wanted to explore.

We were in this particular village primarily because Judith, writing a novel set in the world of competitive horse trials (dressage, that sort of thing), wanted to attend high-level doings at medieval Witton Castle that weekend. Nice venue! LynnC and Natalie were researching family history and all things Saxon for an exciting series of books in which a time-traveling Saxon warrior finds himself in the 21st Century where battle no longer means a Shield Wall. So Witton le Wear, settled by the Saxons more than a thousand years ago, was a good launching pad for their explorations.

Alicia and I are more like a pair of Travelocity Roaming Gnomes, klutzy, constantly lost, and always getting into trouble but having a good time anyway. We’re just happy to be in England, glad to see most everything we stumble across, and thanks to our No-Fault Travel Policy, our regular screw-ups aren’t allowed to get in our way. If Alicia says, “Turn left!” while pointing right (a regular occurrence!), no problem. We’ll eventually get reoriented. When I get cranky about being trapped in an overlarge car on an undersized road, she ignores me and enjoys the scenery.

This is the one bit of scenery I most recall. It’s the turn I had to make a bazillion times (or so it seemed to me) on the way from one place or another back to the cottage. On the right is the Witton “Village Green.” If you look closely, you’ll see cars parked on the road, turning a two-lane into a one-lane. Which is why I crept along at snail’s pace, because the locals darted around those parked cars as if no one might be coming the opposite direction. I never darted. I huddled curbside until certain there was no oncoming car within a light-year of Witton. Then I cautiously stole around the roadblocking vehicles until I arrived at the cottage and shakily steered the %$*#* Mercedes into the garage, aided by Alicia who got out to open the door and then guided me in like a sailor flagging a jet plane onto an aircraft carrier. We make a good team.

Mind you, our laid-back travel style was put to the test big time on our trip to Fountains Abbey and the ensuing Search for Local Cheese in the Dales. More about that next week.

P.S. Thanks to Darla, I now understand the mysteries of the Dun Cow and the Three Tuns without having to do the work! I owe you a pair books, Darla, and don’t want to provide duplicates, so email me at lynn@lynnkerstan.com with your address and let me know which books Not to Send.