Here I am back in the same situation as I was when I first started this blog nine years ago – on the move again and surrounded by boxes! But this time we are heading to our new home, instead of another army posting.
I haven’t done my farewells to our last army quarter just yet, that will happen this weekend when we get it ready for our final “march out”. For non-military readers, this is a kind of inspection of the house to make sure you have cleaned it properly and there is no dust in the plug sockets, mould inside the window frames or even a whisper of grease in the oven.
As I discovered nine years ago, cleaning can be a kind of therapy that helps with the emotions of leaving somewhere treasured and familiar before heading into the unknown.
So, while I’m down on my knees cleaning the toilet, I will also be remembering some of the good times, while looking forward to what lies ahead.
Living on the Jurassic coast has been a privilege and a joy. We’ve managed to walk a whole section of the south coast path from Poole Harbour entrance to Burton Bradstock, with most legs completed there and back. We’ve enjoyed kayaking through caves and paddleboarding as the sunset across Lulworth Cove. We’ve fought off the seagulls, while eating fish and chips from Bennetts in Weymouth, and dreamed of owning a yacht, while watching boats moor up along the quay.
The amazing stars overhead in the dark Dorset sky have made up for the booming sound of tanks firing day and night on the ranges we live beside. We’ve watched tracers lighting up the night sky on summer nights, and during the day I’ve looked up from my desk and spotted the splash from shells landing in the sea beyond. On the quieter days, without firing, we’ve enjoyed hosting family and friends and taking them to the hidden coves and beauty spots on our doorstep.
This is also the house where we lived through lockdown, which involved walks to the sea almost every day, listening to birdsong on the normally busy road at the back of our garden and a marathon bike ride to Poole Harbour and back again. “Never again!” we said.
I’ll miss all that, but I won’t miss the barb wire lining our fence or the taps that don’t match and the threadbare carpets or magnolia chip papered walls. Or the moles who continue to wreak havoc across our lawns!
Army life has been fun. We’ve forged new friendships and had to say goodbye countless times. We’ve had a run of amazing postings these past nine years, from sunny Cyprus to living on the magical Thorney Island. I’ve also loved my time with the Military Wives Choir, both in Cyprus and in Bovington. Singing with them has lifted my spirits time and again and I’ve met some of the most caring, encouraging and zany women, who’ve also made me laugh. Despite all this, for me it’s time to move.
Change is exciting, but not always easy. After spending a large proportion of my life as an army wife, I’m looking forward to putting down roots, sorting out my garden and having all my stuff in one place at last. But my soon-to-be ex-army man is not so sure. He’s wondering about what’s next, what will life be like beyond the military and where his next adventure will take him.
Although we’re leaving Dorset, we’re not heading so far, just next door to Devon. Our new home, which we already love, will be ready for us to move into in the autumn. In between then and now, it seems we have time for a little sailing adventure in Greece! As long as we pass that final “march out”…
The night before we moved in we enjoyed a stay in a local hotel overlooking Lulworth Cove. It was a real treat. We were even upgraded and that never happens to me. The suite had its own colour coordinated settee and tea and proper coffee and an enormous bed. The trouble is moving house and all the excitement didn’t equal a peaceful night’s sleep… At 4am we were discussing a nightmare about a crab (something to do with what we’d eaten apparently), when I was unnerved by something and let out a bit of a scream. Moments later there was a knock on the door asking us to, “keep it down in there.” One of us shouted that we were all right, convinced they would think there was a murder happening. Breakfast was a little awkward. Moving scrambled egg around the plates, we wondered which of the other couples had banged on our door and did they know we were ‘the screamers’?
rachelfarmer 