(no subject)
Last night I was lost in the wilderness fleeing from escaped dinosaurs.
Then I was a soldier slogging through Paschendaele mud.
Then I was one of the Famous Five, trekking across the countryside in search of adventure!
Then I was an archaeologist, exploring the ruined remains of a Romano-British dwelling, with ruins from the Ice Age below that.
...Then I thought I was in a horror movie when one of our group disappeared.
Or as a less creative (dare I say ‘normal’?) person would put it: I went for a walk around the countryside.
A walk had been arranged by some of the people from the area, and anyone who wanted to was free to come along. A friend of my aunt’s had mentioned it that afternoon and when asked if I wanted to go, I said yes please. But the weather at teatime was looking pretty dismal so I was debating saying to my aunt that perhaps we ought to change our minds and stay in rather than trudging, in the cold, through what would probably be a very mucky and wet terrain. I’m glad we did go, though. We met up with the other walkers and, despite some dodgy weather, it turned out to be a very enjoyable jaunt.
I was quiet for a lot of it, enjoying the tranquillity of the wooded areas and the conversations going on around me - the Cornish accent is a good one to listen to, very soft and homely.
We passed the ‘Wishing Tree’ - an incredible tree with twisting branches going in all directions, the sort I would have loved to climb as a child - and some wells, squelched through mud that wanted to gobble the wellies right off my feet and brushed our way through brambles and thorny weeds that managed to stab me even through my jeans.
The most exciting part, however, was the ruins of the Romano-British village. I can’t remember the name of it now (should have written it down) but it was so fascinating. You could still see where the houses would have been, there were steps and rocks to mark the boundaries, plus a tunnel that led into a large room underground which was pretty damn cool. This was where the potential horror movie began:
There were seven in our group. As we wandered around the ruins, my aunt told me about the underground part and I was immediately interested in checking it out. One of the ladies we were with, Wendy, said to me as I walked past that she was too scared to go down into the darkness. I laughed and left her to read the information signs while I made my way underground.
Within seconds, the rest of the group (minus Wendy) had joined me, and we stood in this amazingly constructed round house for a while, discussing what it would have been like living there. When we resurfaced, the weather had taken a turn for the worse - the rain had started coming down rather heavily and the mist was seeping across the hilltop making it hard to see that far into the distance - and Wendy was nowhere to be seen.
We shouted and shouted and wondered amongst ourselves where she could have gotten to. I was worried that she had gone into the tunnel after all and was either still down there unaware that we were about to leave, or had slipped and banged her head or something (the pathway down was fairly slippery, not to mention the ceiling was very low and we practically had to crawl to get into the house). But the others decided she must have thought we’d left without her. The best option, our guide said, was to keep walking, as Wendy knew which way we’d been going to head and we were bound to catch her up. Brian said he’d go back the way we’d come and meet us where the lane we were going down joined up with our previous route, in case she’d gone that way.
With the mist laying low and heavy, the whole place looked rather eerie. Considering it was also the ruins of a centuries old village, it could well have been the perfect setting for a horror film, especially with someone disappearing so randomly. I wanted to point out that in such circumstances, no one should go off on their own! (That’s just asking for the big bag ghostie or whatever to get you. C’mon, people.)
Anyway, off we all went. I nearly slipped on some wet grass and ended up doing an interesting dance in my (successful) attempt to remain upright. A bit further along the path, someone else wasn’t quite so lucky and ended up with mud-splashed knees after he went down. Then we passed what appeared to be some abandoned cars and trucks. This was when I actually did start to get a bit nervous, because it looked just like a scene from Wrong Turn. Nail-biting stuff!
In no time at all we met up with Brian again, still no sign of Wendy. We um’ed and ah’ed and debated what to do. I was anxious to go back to the ruins so we could check the tunnel - perhaps it was just paranoia, but I was genuinely scared that Wendy had gone down there but had fallen. Most of the others seemed doubtful of this considering she’d said to me she didn’t want to go down there, but I still wanted to check to be on the safe side. My aunt agreed - she said we’d feel awful if we didn’t check then it turned out that she was down there.
So back off we went, down into the tunnel to check the house. Still no sign of her. Back up into the fading daylight. My aunt remembered she had her phone and could call the farm we’d started off at, to check and see if Wendy had simply gone back there.
Which she had.
As we’d all ended up down in the tunnel together, Wendy had looked up from the information board she’d been reading and realised the place was deserted. Despite the fact that we’d all been talking and laughing mere feet away from her, it turned out that the underground house was very soundproof, so she’d made her way back to the farm thinking we’d already moved on and not realised she wasn’t with us.
It was a somewhat anti-climatic conclusion to our adventure, but we were all glad to hear she was safe, and made our own way back to a warm farmhouse where we were greeted with tea and cake.
Then I was a soldier slogging through Paschendaele mud.
Then I was one of the Famous Five, trekking across the countryside in search of adventure!
Then I was an archaeologist, exploring the ruined remains of a Romano-British dwelling, with ruins from the Ice Age below that.
...Then I thought I was in a horror movie when one of our group disappeared.
Or as a less creative (dare I say ‘normal’?) person would put it: I went for a walk around the countryside.
A walk had been arranged by some of the people from the area, and anyone who wanted to was free to come along. A friend of my aunt’s had mentioned it that afternoon and when asked if I wanted to go, I said yes please. But the weather at teatime was looking pretty dismal so I was debating saying to my aunt that perhaps we ought to change our minds and stay in rather than trudging, in the cold, through what would probably be a very mucky and wet terrain. I’m glad we did go, though. We met up with the other walkers and, despite some dodgy weather, it turned out to be a very enjoyable jaunt.
I was quiet for a lot of it, enjoying the tranquillity of the wooded areas and the conversations going on around me - the Cornish accent is a good one to listen to, very soft and homely.
We passed the ‘Wishing Tree’ - an incredible tree with twisting branches going in all directions, the sort I would have loved to climb as a child - and some wells, squelched through mud that wanted to gobble the wellies right off my feet and brushed our way through brambles and thorny weeds that managed to stab me even through my jeans.
The most exciting part, however, was the ruins of the Romano-British village. I can’t remember the name of it now (should have written it down) but it was so fascinating. You could still see where the houses would have been, there were steps and rocks to mark the boundaries, plus a tunnel that led into a large room underground which was pretty damn cool. This was where the potential horror movie began:
There were seven in our group. As we wandered around the ruins, my aunt told me about the underground part and I was immediately interested in checking it out. One of the ladies we were with, Wendy, said to me as I walked past that she was too scared to go down into the darkness. I laughed and left her to read the information signs while I made my way underground.
Within seconds, the rest of the group (minus Wendy) had joined me, and we stood in this amazingly constructed round house for a while, discussing what it would have been like living there. When we resurfaced, the weather had taken a turn for the worse - the rain had started coming down rather heavily and the mist was seeping across the hilltop making it hard to see that far into the distance - and Wendy was nowhere to be seen.
We shouted and shouted and wondered amongst ourselves where she could have gotten to. I was worried that she had gone into the tunnel after all and was either still down there unaware that we were about to leave, or had slipped and banged her head or something (the pathway down was fairly slippery, not to mention the ceiling was very low and we practically had to crawl to get into the house). But the others decided she must have thought we’d left without her. The best option, our guide said, was to keep walking, as Wendy knew which way we’d been going to head and we were bound to catch her up. Brian said he’d go back the way we’d come and meet us where the lane we were going down joined up with our previous route, in case she’d gone that way.
With the mist laying low and heavy, the whole place looked rather eerie. Considering it was also the ruins of a centuries old village, it could well have been the perfect setting for a horror film, especially with someone disappearing so randomly. I wanted to point out that in such circumstances, no one should go off on their own! (That’s just asking for the big bag ghostie or whatever to get you. C’mon, people.)
Anyway, off we all went. I nearly slipped on some wet grass and ended up doing an interesting dance in my (successful) attempt to remain upright. A bit further along the path, someone else wasn’t quite so lucky and ended up with mud-splashed knees after he went down. Then we passed what appeared to be some abandoned cars and trucks. This was when I actually did start to get a bit nervous, because it looked just like a scene from Wrong Turn. Nail-biting stuff!
In no time at all we met up with Brian again, still no sign of Wendy. We um’ed and ah’ed and debated what to do. I was anxious to go back to the ruins so we could check the tunnel - perhaps it was just paranoia, but I was genuinely scared that Wendy had gone down there but had fallen. Most of the others seemed doubtful of this considering she’d said to me she didn’t want to go down there, but I still wanted to check to be on the safe side. My aunt agreed - she said we’d feel awful if we didn’t check then it turned out that she was down there.
So back off we went, down into the tunnel to check the house. Still no sign of her. Back up into the fading daylight. My aunt remembered she had her phone and could call the farm we’d started off at, to check and see if Wendy had simply gone back there.
Which she had.
As we’d all ended up down in the tunnel together, Wendy had looked up from the information board she’d been reading and realised the place was deserted. Despite the fact that we’d all been talking and laughing mere feet away from her, it turned out that the underground house was very soundproof, so she’d made her way back to the farm thinking we’d already moved on and not realised she wasn’t with us.
It was a somewhat anti-climatic conclusion to our adventure, but we were all glad to hear she was safe, and made our own way back to a warm farmhouse where we were greeted with tea and cake.