Â鶹Éç

Good morning.

Place.

Somewhere you love. Rich with anecdote. Dancing with memories. Nurturing what we know. Relaxation into a gentler pace: to think; to rest; to dream. Michael Morpurgo’s Scilly Isles stories on this programme yesterday resonated with the thrill of the familiar, even while we anxiously await the next big government announcement, about travelling abroad.

My family has spent summers on the North Norfolk coast since long before I was born. Due to be there this week, over ten of us… until one tested positive, and a year’s joyful anticipation dissolved into tearful rearrangements.

For many writers – Hardy; du Maurier – location is a character in their books. Bicycling past a West London vicarage many years ago, I fell in love as if with a person, with the house that later became the home for our children’s upbringing.

The ancient world understood: Ovid grieving in exile away from the Rome he adored.

By the rivers of Babylon we sat down… and wept… hanging our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof… How can we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land? Throughout Judeo-Christianity, place is sacred with meaning. Bethlehem, where Rachel died. Bethel, where Jacob dreamt. Beersheba, where Isaac dwelt.

From the distant past to the dreamt-of future: the vision of eternity a new heaven and earth, where God will dwell with His people. A jewel, like jasper on a hill. A city of gold, like glass. Measured out and described in detail.

A place.

Over the next few days on this programme people will share memories of holiday and habitation. As a student I longed to experience strange cultures and understand the unfamiliar. To have rich eyes and poor hands, as Shakespeare’s Jacques describes the tourist. Until a friend said, But there’s so much to love and explore at home! So, with him, I learnt to discover my own country. Which we’re still doing together today.

Taking our children and now their children to the same beach year on year. Travelling by narrow boat slower than a walk, teaching the wildflowers we named as children. In the saddle or by horse drawn caravan, a week’s journey around a few miles.

Going further afield is exciting, and important for understanding our world. But learning to love what we’ve known all our lives goes deep into the souls of generations, and helps us understand ourselves.

The discipline of deprivation can bring forth much-desired development. Even as laws relax about keeping distance, dare we believe we might learn, not only to work downstairs as most have since the dawn of time.

But also to holiday near home. So instead of scoring our sky with carbon contrails, we still have a world left to explore.

Show less