The sun was out, the sky was blue (not a cloud to spoil the view…) and Chris, Bobbie and I couldn’t resist going for a walk to Coryton Cove at the end of the sea wall, even though Bobbie didn’t have much time before having to catch her train back to London. We weren’t the only ones with the same idea – practically all of the inhabitants of Dawlish (and Devon) were out and about, which made it a rather sociable walk.
Firstly, we met my Aunty Lee, who was returning from Coryton Cove. I hadn’t seen her for months so we had to stop and talk, and explain that Bobbie had a train to catch. Just as we had begun to move on I heard a man behind me.
“Isn’t that Sally?” he asked.
I turned around and saw a couple, familiar to me, but out of their usual environment.
“That is you, Sally – isn’t it?” the lady stepped forward.
“Hello,” I said smiling, “It’s Pat Rowsell – isn’t it?”
“Nearly right, it’s Pam,” she corrected.
“And you are…” as I searched the man’s face the letter ‘C’ came into my head, “you are…Chris!”
“Cyril,” he laughed, “But you had the right letter.”
When last I saw the Rowsells, who still own the hardware store in Woodbury, East Devon, I was younger than Bobbie, our baby of the family.Thank goodness they still recognised me over three decades later! They looked exactly the same except for their grey hair. I would have liked to stay chatting for longer but, conscious of the limited time before Bobbie’s train, we made tracks.
We hadn’t gone far before a pretty young blonde stopped pushing her pram.
“Hello Sally!” she said.
“Hello Olivia,” I kissed her and peeked in the pram.
We all stood around the pram and admired five-month old Louis.
At the age of nine Olivia had become my first private art student; I taught her until she left school and went on to art college. Later she became quite a good sculptor and now she is a mother aswell. Coincidentally, I was thinking about Olivia only yesterday when I saw photographs of Louis on Facebook. And Bobbie and I had chatted about Olivia and the days when I had little art students. Now Bobbie – daughter, accomplished artist and ex-student of mine (no babies yet) – has started to give art lessons. And it’s over thirty years since I saw the Rowsells…
Don’t worry, Bobbie made to the station in plenty of time and will be home by now.
And, for your interest, I found this interesting snippet about “Time and Tide” in The Phrase Finder:-
Time and tide wait for no man
Meaning
No one is so powerful that they can stop the march of time.
Origin
The origin is uncertain, although it’s clear that the phrase is ancient and that it predates modern English. The earliest known record is from St. Marher, 1225:
“And te tide and te time þat tu iboren were, schal beon iblescet.”
A version in modern English – “the tide abides for, tarrieth for no man, stays no man, tide nor time tarrieth no man” evolved into the present day version.
The notion of ‘tide’ being beyond man’s control brings up images of the King Canute story. He demonstrated to his courtiers the limits of a king’s power by failing to make the sea obey his command. That literal interpretation of ‘tide’ in ‘time and tide’ is what is now usually understood, but wasn’t what was meant in the original version of the expression. ‘Tide’ didn’t refer to the contemporary meaning of the word, that is, the rising and falling of the sea, but to a period of time. When this phrase was coined tide meant a season, or a time, or a while. The word is still with us in that sense in ‘good tidings’, which refers to a good event or occasion and whitsuntide, noontide etc.
Lovely photos and sentiment