Words from the Shore - an Eclipse From the Past

Facebook market place helped us source eclipse glasses after we realised we were too late to order them online. Facebook didn’t even exist when we were looking last time… It’s twenty seven years since we bought some - three pairs for our newly growing family. Our daughter  was eight months old. I can’t remember if she had glasses or if we just kept her facing away from the sun but I do know we would have done all that we could to protect her. My husband had shaved and bleached his hair on eclipse-eve,  partly to mark it and partly as we were on the cusp of moving to Spain and as no one at the school there knew what he looked like he thought he’d try something different.

All those years ago, we decided to travel back to Cornwall to watch the eclipse from a childhood haunt. Helman Tor – a rocky granite outcrop on the edge of Bodmin Moor. A place we used to spend hours as children picnicking and playing 40 40 – a magical place full of deep crevices and darkened caves that we would squeeze our fearless young bodies into. Eclipse visits to Cornwall had been advised against. News of  sewage systems not holding up, drinking water running out and roads coming to a standstill filled the airwaves. For a while we thought we’d heed these warnings, but that whispering voice inside us kept calling us back home. Cornwall called us to a place etched in our very being, a place we could stand and look out to the sea recognising all the landmarks and familiar geography, even in the darkness.

With friends and family, we  stayed in my in – laws house. They had made a run for France whilst the roads were still empty enough. Not wanting to risk grid locked roads we walked the four miles along Cornish lanes which led us with a last climb to the summit. Helman Tor, usually empty,  was full of people all huddled in groups with an air of anticipation encircling us all.  There was such a strong sense that we would be seeing something special – maybe a once in a lifetime event.

As the sun and moon started their eclipse, the first thing I noticed was a cooling of the air. My summer dress suddenly felt too short, too thin, too cold. We’d brought a blanket and draped it around us as we stood statue like on the tor. The light started to fall away and in the distance lights along the coast started to come on. There was silence, not just human hush, but the lack of bird song. The air was still and although things didn’t become pitch black it darkened and as the light returned so did bird song. A dawn chorus repeating itself for the second time that day.

The eclipse will be here again in a couple of hours and as chance would have it my now  grown up girl is with me again. My husband had to work today so has driven to London where he’ll catch up with our younger daughter. Here, in our estuary cottage the two of us are on the brink of getting ready. We talked about where we might go to watch the eclipse and for a while thought Dartmoor would be good. In the end, we have opted to not drive anywhere and instead will fill our tow floats with eclipse paraphernalia and swim up the estuary to find a quiet spot. We’ll take our glasses, towels, sarongs, a drink and also a colander and piece of white card. I’ve seen a few images of colanders reflecting the light and I like the way we’ll see multiple images and see the eclipse in an almost kaleidoscope sort of way. Of course, this requires us to keep the card dry and that in itself will not be easy as I am currently swimming with only one leg due to one of my knees not bending from dancing too much!

Although we are in  a different time and place, the sense of excitement is the same. A sense that we are about to experience one of nature’s incredible phenomena and in this time, when we need to appreciate and care for our world more than ever, it feels like the right thing to be doing.