Bath Time

Last year, in February, when Ferretfingers broke his ankle and I spent a fortnight in hospital with him, mainly sleeping on the floor, one thought which kept me going was the prospect of meeting The Coven in Bath. 

Of course the present unpleasantness put the kibosh on that.

“Never mind” we thought “we’ll do it in the Autumn.”

That couldn’t happen either.

In Zoom meetings and over email threads we decided to skip Spring 2021 and it would be far safer to rebook for early Summer.

For the third time Dr E girded her loins, fired up her computer and rebooked our hotel and a session at the Thermae Spa.

And we held our breath and crossed our fingers …

Oh the bliss of a long train journey, even masked.

I didn’t knit, or crochet, or read a book.

I just looked out of the window there and back, as I used to as a child on journeys from Wales to Newcastle.

I was the first train traveller to arrive so waited outside Bath Spa station, relishing the sunshine and seeing people, until Dr E, Bess Cavalier and Dr D arrived.

We trundled up the hill, using various googled guides, to the hotel where Mrs Eft and Fitz were waiting, having shared the drive from the Midlands.

There were no hugs, of course, and we gathered in the largest bedroom with the window and door open for ventilation.

But there was talk and laughter and tea and gin.

Between us we’ve been married eight times, had nine children (four of whom are on the autistic spectrum), been widowed three times, had one divorce and one separation.   

Only Dr D still has a living parent.  

Two of us have lost siblings.   

And we have all lost Paula a founder member and instigator of The Coven, 

but we always talk of her with a smile.

Drs D and E, Bess Cavalier and I spent Saturday morning at the Thermae Spa, which I can heartily recommend to anybody who needs to relax and likes floating in warm water.  

It did me the world of good.   

Mrs Eft and Fitz had intended to visit the Jane Austen and fashion museums, but the lure of the charity shops was too strong.   

They also scoped out a good place for lunch (the Royal Pavilion cafe) and a spot for an al fresco supper in the Royal Victoria Park.

The afternoon was spent wandering around looking at the architecture, with the odd charity shop visit thrown in.   

We took our spoils back to the Travelodge, had a cup of tea and rested our feet.   

Then Mrs Eft and Fitz went to the chip shop, and off-licence, and the rest of us made our way to a pavilion in the Royal Victoria Park.  

We didn’t realise we were only a stone’s throw from the Royal Crescent.

It was the most beautiful still summer evening.

Somebody took off in a hot air balloon.

We binned our wrappers and empties and stashed the left over wine and lemonade in our bags for later.

Then we walked up to the Royal Crescent.

The lawn was full of young people; sitting and chatting and laughing, three-a-side football, here and there a picnic.

There was no loud music or rowdiness, just the sounds of people enjoying each other’s company.

We wondered why there were so many young people out, then realised it was almost the end of term.   

So students will be finishing their exams and in that hiatus of waiting for results when there’s nothing to do but be with friends.

Just like it was for us some forty years ago.

I hope their friendships last as long, 

because I think those were the most precious thing I took away from university.