From Treadmills to Rambling Hills

Mrs Jean Davis

As I opened the curtain, the sun was just beginning to rise over the terraced roof tops. To the right the silhouette of the old iron bridge hovered menacingly. I wouldn't be sorry to say goodbye to that! I suddenly became aware of the droning from the distant motorway and wondered how many times I'd listened to it, without even noticing. The amber tones of the sun were gradually over shadowed by a colossal, murky, cloud, and the relentless drizzle began again.

The smell of coffee enticed me down stairs. The dogs greeted me with a flurry of wagging tails. My husband handed me my coffee. We looked into each other's eyes, neither of us speaking, but each knowing how the other felt. I wandered into the empty hollow lounge. Twenty years we'd lived here, raising our two children. Now they were grown up and managing their own lives. Memories engulfed me. Were we doing the right thing?

Outside, I heard the engine of a large vehicle pull up. My brother jumped out of his battered old green van and nodded hello. Swiftly and silently, we loaded the last of our belongings into the bus and trailer. We said our final farewell to the hose and closed the front door for the last time. We set off sluggishly, emulating an episode from the Beverley Hillbillies, all we needed was the rocking chair on the roof.

I glanced at all the sombre houses in the street, with neighbours tucked up in their safe little boxes. No one even noticed we'd gone. As we turned out of our street and headed for the motorway, the heavens opened and the rain fell in torrents from a depressingly grey sky. We got in line with the other travellers who were heading north. From the dizzy heights of the The Wall Viaduct I glanced back along the Ship Canal to where our humble home sat, with more than a hint of trepidation. As we trundled along in our mini convoy, we passed; dilapidated factories, futuristic plastic shopping cities, graffiti smeared bridges, rows of grubby terraced houses, piles of rubbish in every conceivable corner, old cars piled high in seedy junk yards, and endless traffic jams at endless traffic lights. I noticed that the rain had stopped, but the clouds were still low and grey. It was at this point that I realised the magnitude of what we'd done. Two weeks ago we both had well paid jobs and owned our own home. We lived near the rest of the family, ran two cars and had several holidays a year. Now we had sold our house and all the furniture, resigned from our work and said goodbye to our family. Why? To follow a dream?

But that's not all I'd left behind. I'd left that roller coaster, treadmill of a life. Stuck in a job that made unbearable demands, on my time and energy, with monotonous regularity. Expected to work above and beyond the call of duty, for no recognition and even less appreciation. Life was only constant criticism and draining drudgery. I was always told what to do by others and not allowed to make my own choices or use my wealth of skills and experience. Long, stressful days led to ill health, exhaustion and eventually breakdown. I felt betrayed and could not cope with the injustice of it all. Should I simply suffer it quietly, fade into obscurity or do something about it? Something drastic?

So here we were, on the verge of a new life. The future would be an adventure. It would be whatever we made of it, we would be our own bosses and make our own decisions, right or wrong. At last, I could look forward instead of drowning in the past. As our journey progressed, the landscape gradually changed. Rambling hills caressed us, littered not with discarded rubbish, but with sheep and cattle. The browns and greys turned to greens, golds and purples. Small towns became small clusters of houses and eventually isolated buildings surrounded by a patchwork of fields. Rampant rivers and sparkling streams meandering through valleys and woodlands. As I looked up at the sky, small patches of blue appeared between bulbous white clouds. At one point I saw a fox in a field by a copse. I stared at him and he stared back at me. He didn't have to answer to anyone but himself. He was genuinely wild and free, in charge of his own life.

As we travelled onwards, we passed signs enticing us to quaint sounding places such as Beeswing, New Abbey and Sandyhills. Eventually, we arrived at our destination. As we got out of our vehicles, stiff and tired, we became aware of our surroundings. First, I noticed the silence. I hadn't realised how profound silence could be. Then I felt the air, crisp and cold on my face, fresh and clean in my lungs. I walked down to the water's edge and listened to the sounds of the sea birds calling to each other, the soft splash of the waves on the pebbles, and the gentle jangle of the chains anchoring the yachts and fishing boats nearby. There was so much space and the world was at peace. I was at peace! Without warning, the sun appeared from behind a cloud and lit up the spectacular scenery. It made me gasp. For the first time, I felt everything would be okay. I was filled with optimism and hope. I knew there would be problems and difficulties in our future life here, but I was ready to embrace them with courage and determination. As my husband put his arm around my shoulder, we watched the sun set over the radiant hills. And then I knew we had made the right decision. . .now we were truly free.