Remembering Rach: Written on stone

May, my favourite month in this country. Spring arrives. We walk, as usual, on Fridays. One Friday we go a bit further than usual, driving to Anglesey to walk on the beach to the island of Llanddwyn. Ronnie’s written about it on the Friday walks series, with photos.

It’s a beautiful place. Magical. When you arrive at the car park in Newborough you can’t see the beach, it’s behind the sand dunes. But when you walk through them and then see the view open up in front of you, it still feels like the first time I came here. An intake of breath, it’s so absolutely beautiful. And on this day it’s nearly high tide. It’s captivating.

11 May 2012, the beach at Newborough, Anglesey.

And, for me, almost as captivating as the view, is the fact that this is a beach covered in pebbles.

I immediately start picking up stones, selecting from the range of greys. Ronnie joins me and I say, ‘I need 23 stones, like this one.’

Rachel and Sarah

Rachel, June 2011

Ronnie here, standing in while Sarah’s away

Early this morning I took Sarah to Manchester Airport for her plane to New Jersey, to join everybody else there and say goodbye to Rachel. Going there, at the same time and the same terminal, reminded me of a happier day last June, when Sarah set off to go and stay with Rachel and Anthony for a week. Later in the year the two friends both mentioned this magical week, when they published these two parallel posts about each other and their friendship, on the same day, last October.

My Friend Sarah, by Rachel Cheetham Moro

“This year I have spent a lot of time in Liverpool. Yes! The Liverpool of Beatles fame in Northern England. I was surprised to learn that Liverpool’s climate actually rarely sees snow because it’s temperate maritime and the city is a recipient of warm bands of Gulfstream air. So this is why I’ve seen daffodils growing in Liverpool’s parks in February. Spring comes early in Liverpool.

On the deck of the allotment

I’ve meandered down Penny Lane in March and have been a regular visitor to a wonderful public space known as an “allotment”. It’s a kind of cooperative where the good citizens of Liverpool may rent garden plots to raise fruit and vegetables or whatever their inner gardener desires.I’ve clomped around in garden beds and dug for spring onions of all colors, fresh bulbs of garlic, and delicious little new potatoes. I’ve picked tomatoes and cucumbers and wondered aloud what to do with them all. I’ve even picked a pomegranate. A tropical fruit grown in Liverpool? Must be that Gulfstream air.I’ve strolled down flower and tree lined rows of allotments. I’ve shaded myself under an apple tree and I’ve marveled at the bounty of the most beautiful pear tree I’ve ever seen. I’ve sat on the deck of the allotment shed, sharing a picnic and catching the last few rays of summer sunshine and I feel like I never want to leave.