Sunday came. I had been on the island for six days thus far. Reception called me from breakfast; there was someone on the phone for me. “Cliff will pick you up at about twelve. He’ll have to pop in quickly to check on one of our guests who’s just checked in, and then he’ll bring you up here for lunch,” said Delia on the other end. I’ll confess, my heart started racing, quite worried at the prospect of a ninety-three year old man, hard of hearing, driving me up the narrow mountain passes to their home. “Have trust and faith,” I kept telling myself.
Cliff arrived. I got into his rather battered Ford station wagon, and off we set. We stopped off to check on the retired RMS St Helena captain, who was visiting the island for a few months, staying in one of the Huxtables’ cottages. Experiencing how Cliff manoevered the Ford station wagon into the narrow lane and reversing it back out again certainly did its bit to allay my fears. He mastered it perfectly. So off we set, up the pass towards Luffkins Springs, in the country. Where I live in the middle of Europe, “country” has a different meaning than here; this was certainly a trip deep into the St Helena countryside. I was pleasantly suprised by how steady Cliff was at the wheel, and how competently he negotiated the passes and narrow bends in the road. Once or twice, he got a bit too close for my comfort to the low wall protecting the road from the steep drop below, and I held my breath, but we made it safe and sound to their home.
They live in a mini micro-climate, very wet and damp, green and lush, with many ferns, beautiful multi-coloured flowers and tall, heavy trees, loaded with rain droplets waiting for the sun to come out. There was low-hanging fog in the distance. It had rained heavily the night before and the driveway was full of puddles. We came to the gate, but Cliff would not let me help, I was to stay in the car while he got out and opened it, then closed it. Delia was waiting for us in the drive.
Theirs is a warm, comfortable, lived in and welcoming home. There were photos in frames everywhere, of their children and grandchildren, and themselves on visits abroad, mainly to Canada, but also to Portugal, once in the nineties, to visit my family. I was not at home at the time. It reminded me greatly of my aunt’s home in northern England, a home she’d lived in for over sixty years with my uncle and my cousins. Quite clearly a home that had lived many lives; people who’d lived within its walls for many years, children born, growing up and leaving. The elderly remain. I felt very content and happy to be there with these two strangers, who were so familiar. Delia remembered much about us and was happy to share her memories and tales. Cliff spoke little.
Delia had made a delicious roast Sunday lunch for the three of us, and I felt very honoured. I helped to lay the table and Cliff carved the chicken. There was also a home-made lemon meringue pie. Our conversation was relaxed and open. Delia shared the results of her DNA test, the outcome of which claimed at least thirteen different country origins, from India, to Finland.
After an hour or two, Delia suggested a drive around the area. My heart sank for the second time that day. I’m not a “taking a Sunday drive” sort of person, and certainly not with nonagenarian. But I couldn’t say no; they seemed so happy to have my company, and truth be told, I was enjoying myself. These were people who didn’t mince words, who were honest, open and true, who had nothing to hide, who were happy to see me and be in my company, happy to talk about forty four years ago, happy to share, happy to spend their Sunday afternoon, when most others would be taking a nap or reading a book, driving me around the tops of the island, and so off we set. No plan in mind, just a drive around.
It was foggy, and the views of the ocean far below that Delia had so wanted to show me, were hard to find. I was needlessly worried about oncoming traffic; there was none. It was a Sunday after all. After an hour or so, of trying to find ocean views, I decided to call it a day. I was emotionally exhausted and needed some time for reflection. They drove me back down to Jamestown, where we said our goodbyes. I knew this was the last time I would see these lovely people and my heart was heavy. I was grateful for their kindness and warmth.
Dates: Lunch was on Sunday 11th January 2026.
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