Symbols Of England

Jackie and I began the day by driving Matthew to Nomansland to show him Lyburn Cottage.  We wandered around the green on the edge of the forest before having a drink in The Lamb Inn. A cricket pitch is chained off on this edge of the forest.  Keeping the outfield grass down is clearly taken care of by the ponies.  Also on the site is a war memorial such as I have never seen before.  Not only are the names of those who died in the first and second world wars listed, but also those who served.  Those men who did not have to make the ultimate sacrifice, which was often a matter of luck, but took the risk, are also remembered. On the edge of the green stands a rather dilapidated red telephone box.  It carries a plea:

The organisation responsible for this is attempting to rescue these largely obsolete symbols of England.  They have, for example those at Oak Tree Farm, occasionally featured in my posts.  I read on Daniel and Claire’s Walking Blog that a local group at Emery Down bought their box from BT for £1.

Someone has left a saw on the floor of the Nomansland box.  I have seen worse objects deposited in such places.

Before taking Matthew back to Becky, Flo and Ian’s new home we had drinks in The Lamb.  Jackie had coffee; I drank Doom Bar; and Matthew was given a very charming tea tray with his chosen beverage.  It contained a dinky little antique milk jug which was, to the embarrassment of the staff, empty.  This was soon rectified.  We had a chance to ogle the food of those who were eating.  This confirmed our view that this is really the best pub for food that we have sampled locally.

At the new flat Jackie and I, guided and assisted by Flo, assembled the family’s sofa bed.  We couldn’t get the telly to work.  From 27 North Road, Emsworth we all walked to the Driftwood Cafe where we were served the most splendid soups with chunks of fresh bread and tasty butter; plentifully filled sandwiches served with salad and crisps; and homemade cakes, one slice of which was the equivalent of a whole cake elsewhere.  Flo had recovered enough to join us, but couldn’t eat all her huge cube of bread pudding.  Our server happily provided a box in which to take the rest home.

Thus temporarily satisfied we made our way, in pouring rain, back home.  Jackie’s scrambled egg on toast was a feast later on.