Every direction I looked seemed half-familiar - the past week

The past week I have been away, attending a family funeral in Dorset. It was a cathartic and contradictory experience in several ways. The funeral itself was a sad occasion, but also pleasant to see so many of my cousins. We were all dressed in black, but the weather was wonderfully warm and sunny. The funeral procession was sombre but passed through spectacularly beautiful countryside. I learned that another family member is dying of liver cancer (and while expressing concern my thoughts turned guiltily to my own health, since this form of cancer is related to a genetic disease we all seem to carry within us).



Above: Having read all of Hardy, every direction I looked seemed half-familiar. I had forgotten how attractive the county of Dorset is. I was last there aged ten, on a family holiday, and forgotten memories of that time came back to me.



Above: little ports with shingle beaches and orange cliffs. The area is known as the Jurassic Coast because of the number of fossils that are found here. My aunt warned me to be careful when walking under the cliffs as lumps of rock fall down frequently.



Above: all the time I was reminded of the 2008 BBC production of Tess of the D'Urbervilles (a fine production, although inferior to the Polanski film).



Above: at one point I managed to slip away from the family gathering and drive down to the island of Portland. There wasn't really enough time to carry out this trip, but I felt I had to revisit the scene of my childhood holiday. As soon as I saw Portland Museum (which appears in Hardy's The Wellbeloved) I was transported back to my ten-year-old self.



Above: this is a Folio edition of The Wellbeloved. Proust described it as a hundred times better than his own work. The text includes the phrase "white cubes of oolite" which seems to sum up Portland stone.



Above: as I walked down the woodland path from the cottage museum I saw the crumbling remains of Bow-and-Arrow castle, a view not seen since I was a child. And it seemed as if I were a child again. Did the impact created by this castle subsequently lead to my life-long interest in the medieval period?



Above: and I came out of the trees at a point where I could look down into the cove, and I almost gasped at how familiar it all seemed. There was no time to go down to the beach (I should already have been heading back) but I did wonder what would be the result if I continued down the path. Possibly I would find my parents and brother waiting for me; or possibly the enchantment would fall away into banality and a sense of being foolish.