At the end of a standard, exhausting Friday, we met Cronk at the train station, where we sprinted to make the 5:55 to London and barely leapt on board in time. It was only once the train was moving we realized we had no tickets. We waited for someone to ask us for them but no conductor appeared and so we disembarked in a bind (you can't get through the ticket machine exit without a ticket). So we headed toward the exit, knowing we would have to buy a ticket and probably be fined too. Now, in addition to all the machines, there is one big exit for wheel chairs and pass holders guarded by railway staff. We asked to buy our tickets but just then, there was a mix-up with someone who was shouting at a railway employee, the gate guards went running over followed by two policemen. The gateway to freedom was open! But how would our boss feel about us slipping through like this. I glanced at him and he was watching the gate-guards intently. "Go, go, go" he muttered, the perfect secret agent in his business suit and black brief-case, aiding two fellow members of the CIA to sneak behind enemy lines. The first adventure of the night was a success as we melted into the crowd and then regrouped, and after that we had a new bond with the boss.
The rest of the evening was an incredibly enjoyable whirlwind of great Indian food, Cobra Beer, running about the streets of London, and conversations about everything from fine art to the spa gardens. Cronk was not only lugubrious but hilarious, regaling us with stories of his childhood and his wild and illicit adventures (which I will not put down here because, well he is my boss and he might read it). He was able to relax for the first time we have seen him, so we got to actually communicate, which was a lot of fun. Then we returned to Cronk's flat in Farringdon and spent an extremely comfortable night.
The next morning was a series of train rides up to the Cronk Residence in Wiltshire. I am reading Dicken's Great Expectations and Casey is reading Tolkein's Unfinished Tales, so the long rides were a perfect time. Before arriving at Cronk's house, we swung by the Caen Locks, an incredible series of 24 locks climbing up a hill, a masterpiece of engineering that has recently been re-done. It was a truly impressive examble of old-fashioned, but still very effective mechanics, and was mind-blowing in it's scale. Then we surged on to Millie's House (the name of the Cronk's house, all the houses in small English towns have names like Manor Hall or Abbey Corner or White House, very funny), where we were greeted by Harriet Cronk, and Lotty (awesome English abbreviation of Charlotte) their daughter. We had an incredible lunch of sausage and apple stew and mash, and spent the entire day luxuriously lounging around the warm kitchen table as everyone talked and drank tea and read and did crosswords and sudokus. We also played music with Harry, who is an extremely accomplished classical pianist and choral singer. It was a perfect, mellow day, that ended with another incredible meal of roast chicken. The evening ended very late with everyone dancing around the kitchen table to great old tunes which Casey, of course, DJed. We went to sleep in perfect comfort and bliss. In the long journey's and trials ahead, we will probably try desperately to remember the feeling of that night.
The next day was much the same, although it included an expedition to Castle Coombe, a breathtaking quintissentially English medieval town. The trees glowing in their brilliant autumn colors, and the houses and streets were picturesque. We went because one of my favorite plays (Warhorse) was just filmed here. We walked across the ancient stone bridge, past the imposing town center, and through the church. Everything from the doors to the stonework, had ancient and delicate artistry. Smoke from the kitchen fire of one house drifted out across the valley. It was a truly beautiful place.
By that evening, as we took multiple trains and buses (all in all a 5 hour journey) home, we felt ourselves already missing our new refuge. It was a brutal journey back, and we arrived with massive backpacks that we had brought from the Cronk's and walked the long trek back through the dark (Thorpe is too small for streetlights) to the B&B where we our now staying. We are no longer at the Bell Pub where we stayed at the beginning, but are now at a little house with two very old pensioners who take very good care of us. It is cozy, but also full of surprises (as they are a bit difficult and unpredictable to deal with). It is very hard to find privacy of any sort, but ultimately, a comfortable place. So we walked the miles back in the dark, dodging shadows that leapt from the bushes (it was Halloween, after all) and collapsed gratefully into bed.