Page 10 of Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay
‘So, Charlie, what do you think of our new home?’
Charlie stares through the windscreen of the old Morris Minor we’ve driven up to Northumberland in. The car had been my grandfather’s prized possession many years ago, and was the one thing he left me in his will. I have many happy childhood memories of trips with him in the open-top car, zooming about the countryside, but there have been far too many more recent times when I’ve come close to selling the vintage vehicle. Luckily something has always come along just at the last minute to bail me out and save me from having to do so. I like to think it was Granddad looking out for me and ‘Bella’, as he used to call the car. It would break my heart if I had to part with her; she’s one of the few links I have left to my family.
So we’d piled as many of our things as we could into the back of the car; the rest of our possessions are due to follow in a removal van, which Benji had helped me organise.
The car had been in storage for so long, I’d wondered a number of times if she was going to make the long journey up to Northumberland. But make it she had, and I felt that by bringing Bella with me, I was bringing a part of my old family to my new home.
‘Is that it?’ Charlie asks excitedly, looking across the rolling Northumbrian hills to the majestic castle on the horizon. ‘Our very own castle?’
‘It’s not just ours,’ I say, looking with equal awe at the magnificent building in the distance. Today the castle is cloaked in a sunny golden hue as it soars up into the bright blue sky behind it, as if it’s floating on its own set of clouds. ‘We do have to share it with a few other people.’
‘Our servants?’
‘No!’ I say sharply. ‘I explained all this to you, remember? Even though we own the castle now, there are other people who are going to help us run it. They are not servants; they are members of the castle staff.’
‘But we’re in charge, right?’
‘Technically, yes,’ I’m forced to agree. ‘But we’re going to need all of their help if we’re going to make a go of living here.’
‘I can’t believe we’re actually going to live in our own castle,’ Charlie says, fidgeting impatiently in his seat. ‘We spent all last term learning about them at school and now I’m going to be king of one.’
I sigh. I’d spent a lot of time since I agreed to accept this challenge talking to Charlie about what was going to happen, and what it might be like for us living in our new home. But Charlie had spent most of last term learning about lords, ladies, knights and medieval battles. His idea of living in a castle is more akin to King Arthur than the modern reality of running a historical visitors’ attraction. Not that my knowledge is a lot broader. All I know of Chesterford Castle is what I learned on the quick day trip I’d taken here before I finally agreed to accept the Chesterford inheritance and move us up here to Northumberland.
Benji had been right, of course: this was too great an opportunity for me to turn down. Charlie would definitely have a better life living here in the fresh air of the Northumbrian coast than on the outskirts of a big, dirty, polluted city.
When I first told him about it he’d taken to the idea without any hesitation. There was no question to him that living in a huge rambling castle was far more appealing than living in a rundown high-rise.
I wished I could share his sense of excitement, but I still had too many worries and concerns that we were doing the right thing.
‘Come on, Mum!’ Charlie says, banging his hand impatiently on the dashboard. ‘Let’s get going. It’s all right for you, you’ve been here before. I want to see our castle! Benji has told me all about it, but now I want to see it for myself!’
Benji has been wonderful to us throughout this huge transition in our lives. I’m sure he’s done much more than was required of him. He’s not only kept us informed about what’s going on, he’s also helped me a great deal with the paperwork side of things, and with the practical stuff too, like changing Charlie’s schools and working out how we could move all our stuff up here. There was only one thing we disagreed on. Against the advice of Benji, when I was still in two minds about what to do, I’d decided to pay my first visit to the castle alone. Benji had offered to come with me and introduce me to the staff, but I wanted to see what the place was really like, on my own as a visitor, without people bowing and scraping to me because I was possibly going to be the new owner.
So Benji had very generously paid for a return train ticket for me up to Northumberland (I’d insisted I’d pay him back just as soon as I could afford to). He’d offered to book a hotel, too, but I’d decided that wasn’t necessary: I’d simply travel on a very early train, and return on a late one.
Chesterford Castle hadn’t been busy at all the day I’d visited.It is a Wednesday in late March, I’d told myself as I paid to go in and politely turned down the offer of a guidebook from the young man in the small ticket booth by the entrance.
‘Been here before, have ye?’ he’d asked as I’d picked up my ticket and put my purse away.
‘No; first time, actually.’
‘Ah, I thought as much. Not many come back for a second visit.’
I’d just smiled and carried on through the huge gateway that led from the outer grounds, along a path, across a stone bridge, and under a scary-looking portcullis. The Northumberland coastal skies were dark and heavy above me, and it hadn’t seemed the best time to be wandering around outside, so I’d started with the interior of the castle.
There weren’t any guides waiting for me as I’d ventured inside through a huge solid wooden door, or any signs denoting a particular route I was supposed to follow. So I’d stood for a moment, gazing in awe at the vast marble staircase that swept elegantly from the entrance hall up to the second floor. I’d always wanted to live in a house that had an ornate staircase – the sort people placed a beautifully decorated tree under at Christmas. But when no one came to speak to me, or asked to see my ticket, I’d simply spent the next hour or so wandering aimlessly from room to room, admiring the architecture and interiors I passed.
I’d quickly decided the interior was more like being in a large stately home than a castle. The rooms I visited were full of old paintings and furniture, most of which could have done with a good clean in my opinion, but none of which seemed all that interesting without having a guidebook to look them up in.
But what did impress me as I toured the endless rooms and walked along the long corridors were the huge crystal chandeliers that hung from nearly every ceiling.
‘You look like you could do with a dust too,’ I’d whispered as I’d stood beneath one looking up at it. ‘I bet you’d sparkle even more, then.’
Other than the young man at the ticket booth, I didn’t see many staff on my visit. In my limited experience of visiting these types of buildings, usually there would at least be a bored-looking person sitting in the corner of each room you visited or an over-enthusiastic guide who wanted to share with you everything they knew. So either they were very trusting of the visitors they had at Chesterford or there was a great CCTV system secreted away somewhere; or perhaps the antiques in the castle weren’t actually worth all that much. I quickly decided it was probably the latter.
After I’d finished my tour of inside, the skies outside were surprisingly clear. So I’d had a brief wander around the gravel-filled courtyard at the centre of the castle, and up along one of the battlements with its giant black cannons pointed ominously out to sea. Then I’d climbed to the top of one of the four towers that framed the building’s thick strong walls, up what seemed like a never-ending spiral staircase. And for my efforts, at the top, I’d been rewarded with a magnificent view. One side of the tower looked out over Rainbow Bay – an endless sandy beach, edged by the infamous North Sea extending as far as I could see into the distance – and the other side of the tower looked out over a different if not equally pretty view: the small chocolate-box village of Chesterford.
‘It’s a bit better than the view from our flat,’ I’d joked to no one in particular as I’d stood on my own surveying what might soon be the view from my home. ‘Perhaps we could make a go of living here after all? I mean, who wouldn’t want to wake up to this every morning?’
