St Valentine's Day Competition Winner

We are delighted to announce that the winning entry for our Crown Studio Romantic Story Competition is "A Lost Love", by Margaret Winter of Thropton.   A delighted Margaret has already chosen a gorgeous red bangle by Artist-Jeweller Michael Peckitt as her prize. She said, "I can't believe that my simple little story has won.  Those lovely childhood days really stick in your head for a lifetime."  

As judge of the competition, Lynda selected Margaret's poignant story as the winning entry because it has such an authentic ring of truth to it and is completely typical of the romantic stories people tell about The Thrum.  No wonder that this is one of Rothbury's favourite short riverside walks and that old sepia postcards call the tree lined route "Lovers' Walk".

Because Lynda has enjoyed reading the various entries to the competition so much, she has decided to repeat it next year.  So don't be shy and get your TRUE romantic stories down on paper ready for NEXT year! 


"A Lost Love"

By Margaret Winter, Thropton

It was the school holidays and I was staying with my aunts.  My parents had taken me to Cragside and we decided to take our picnic lunch to The Thrum, not far away on the dear old Coquet.

As we had our lunch, gazing at the wet rocks, I noticed another family with a boy.  We kept looking at each other, then met trying to cross the river then I nearly fell in and he helped me to scramble to the bank.  We sat talking for a while and I found that he lived in Alnwick, the local market town a few miles away.   We agreed to meet at the pictures the next day.  From then on till the end of the holidays we were inseparable.   We cycled to the nearby coast, went for long walks in the park and even climbed Brizlee Tower together. 

But all too soon it was time to say "Goodbye".  I went home, and back to school in The Midlands.  We had promised to see each other again next summer- but that never happened and our paths didn't cross again.

I can't even remember his name now- it was such a long, long time ago!  But I often remember those idyllic summer days and wonder "where are you now?"

This true romantic story was inspired by the painting "Thrum Rocks", by Lynda Taylor

I have chosen this as the winning entry because it has such an authentic ring to it and is completely typical of the romantic stories people tell me about The Thrum.  No wonder that this is one of Rothbury's favourite short walks and that old sepia postcards call the tree lined, riverside route "Lovers' Walk".

The following entry must have a special mention- not least because this email entry was written by one of our increasing number of overseas customers, and came all the way from South Africa. The author has written an unashamedly fictional story, inspired by the painting 'Simonside with Golden Rod'.  As fiction it doesn't fit the rules of the competition, which called for TRUE stories.  But it's a genuinely romantic story with lots of local detail, and a very obvious affection for Northumberland!

North or South?

By Sally Pumford, Ladybrand, South Africa

She was from the south and he was from the north.  When Susannah had first gone to stay at Toby's parents' dairy farm in Yorkshire, his mother had wondered whether she should use the best china.  She had warned her that the milking machine would start at five o'clock in the morning so that she would not be alarmed.  Susannah herself had been struck by the thick, black, total darkness of the place at night, used as she was to the street lamps of London. 

When Susannah's parents first heard about Toby, Susannah's father had asked if he wore a flat cap.  Susannah had not been amused.  Her parents first met Toby at lunch on a day when he had cycled from central London to her flat in Teddington.  Her mother had been a bit overwhelmed by the sight of such an athletic young man in cycling shorts and T-shirt appearing in her daughter's domain.  "He's very good-looking and very charming," she had said, "but be careful.  He's the type to break your heart."  However, as Susannah had already had her heart broken more than once, this observation had been unlikely to prevent her from letting the relationship take its course.  And so it had, to the extent that ten years on, Susannah was now Toby's wife, and had been for the last five years.  It was strange, she thought, biting the end of her pencil as she tried unsuccessfully to keep her mind on the Macbeth essay she had set her lower school pupils two weeks ago, how although England was such a small country there was still such an enormous division between north and south.  So much so, that both sets of parents had initially made it clear that a north-south marriage was not really what they would have wanted.  Given the choice, that was.  They were fine about it now, of course.  But it had taken time for the prejudices and preconceptions to be worn down. 

Ever since the early days of the relationship, Toby had promised Susannah that he would take her to two of his favourite places - New York for shopping and Northumberland for a holiday.  So far he had failed to deliver on both.  Perhaps he had forgotten, she thought.  She never had.  He had a good excuse though, she mused to herself.  After all, they had lived in Africa for the last five years.  They had gone to Lesotho to teach in an international school on a two-year contract and had ended up staying much longer.  You couldn't get much further south than that, she thought, with a wry smile.  Visits to England were annual at most and there was never time for shopping trips or holidays that included anything other than doing the rounds of the relatives.

Putting aside the essays, Susannah gave herself over entirely to her thoughts.  Although she had been happy in Lesotho, she had often felt homesick for England.  This year had been worse than before.  She had been extremely ill for a while around Easter and afterwards had felt so mentally and emotionally drained that being anywhere other than home had begun to feel - somehow - wrong.  But…she had allowed herself to think, where is 'home' anyway?  This was not an easy question to answer and Susannah had found that, to her consternation she was unable to come to a conclusion on the matter. 

Her thoughts turned to her relationship with Toby, which she felt had become somewhat stale of late.  Nothing she could really put her finger on, but it seemed to her as if they now took each other rather for granted.  There was certainly no romance any more.  That had fizzled out years ago.  Although Susannah often told herself that this didn't matter, that the initial euphoria in relationships could not be sustained, a deep feeling of disappointment, even bitterness, sometimes washed over her.  Was this really all there was?  Was it going to be enough?

That evening, at dinner, Susannah raised the topic of their summer holiday.  "We really ought to book up soon," she reasoned, "Otherwise we may not get the flight we want.  We also need to ask our parents when it would be convenient to come and stay."
Toby put down his knife and fork in his slow, deliberate way.  "Actually," he said, tentatively, "I don't know how you feel, but I've been thinking that perhaps this year we should have a holiday on our own.  Stay with family for a while of course, but not for as long as usual.  What do you think?"
Part of Susannah was unsure.  Did this mean that he had picked up on her negative thoughts about the relationship?  Another part of her was delighted.  Here was proof that her husband was thinking of the two of them and wanting them to have some quality time together.  Perhaps he had felt a bit taken for granted too.
"I think it's a great idea," she smiled, picking up her glass of wine.  "Where shall we go?"

"Well," said Toby, "Don't think I've forgotten that I once told you that Northumberland was my favourite place in the whole of the UK!  I thought we could maybe have a week up there.  We could stay with my mum for a few days and then drive up.  Actually, I've already had a look on the internet and there are some lovely cottages near Rothbury."
Susannah felt excited.  Northumberland; wild, windswept and rugged was how she imagined it.  She would start reading up about the area right away. 

A few days later, true to his word, Toby booked a cottage just outside Rothbury.  "Teapot Cottage," murmured Susannah.  It sounds so sweet, and…well…so romantic."  Why did she feel almost embarrassed in admitting that? 

Then, on a perfect, English summer's day, Toby and Susannah left his mother's house in York for Northumberland.  Both were excited.  Toby, because he knew and loved the area and wanted to show it to Susannah, and Susannah because it was something new.  Her expectations were high and she hoped that she wouldn't be disappointed.  They passed the huge urban sprawls of Middlesbrough and Gateshead, guarded by the Angel of the North.  So far, thought Susannah, except for the Angel, the north has nothing to recommend it. 

After a while, Toby veered left onto a B road.  Within minutes, the scenery opened up and Susannah was able to feast her eyes on huge views and open spaces, rolling hills, cornfields and blankets of meadow flowers.  Cotton wool clouds scudded above in the light breeze and the sense of space when compared with anywhere else she had been except Africa was incredible. 

After a brief picnic in one of the greenest fields she had ever seen, they went on their way again, the scenery becoming more rugged as they progressed.  As they neared Rothbury, moorland and agricultural land gave way to wooded hills, much of which Toby explained was the property of the Cragside Estate, now a large National Trust property.  Susannah drank it all in, feeling the cares and strain of the past year ebb slowly from her body.  She felt relaxed without even getting out of the car!  Rothbury itself, an unpretentious and welcoming little town charmed her.  Desperate to get out and look around, she was a disappointed when Toby suggested that there would be time for that later.  Finally, on the other side of Rothbury, Toby turned off to the right and the road became narrow, winding its way up and up until outside a row of little houses.  Toby stopped.  "Well, this is it," he announced, producing a key,  "Teapot Cottage!"

Inside, the cottage was compact, light and neatly furnished.  A little galley kitchen led through to a living room beyond which a conservatory ran the length of the back of the house.  Upstairs was a romantic bedroom with sloping eves and skylights.  Having decided that before exploring the area a cup of tea was in order, Susannah brought two steaming mugs to the conservatory where Toby was struggling with the back door.  It gave, suddenly, and they almost fell through it onto a narrow little deck.  Below them, the garden sloped down the hill in steep terraces, and beyond the garden. Stretching upwards and ahead was the most beautiful view across the Simonside Hills.  Sinking into a strategically-placed deck-chair, Susannah could not help exclaiming over the sheer beauty of it all.  "Isn't it lovely?" she breathed.  "Oh, Toby, say we can stay here forever!  I don't ever, ever need to go anywhere else." 
"I knew you'd love it," Toby replied, sipping his tea while his eyes roved over the hills beyond.  "And you haven't seen anything yet!  Wait until I show you the castles…and the beaches.  Then you really will want to stay!"

Susannah thought afterwards that those few days melted into an idyllic blur of happiness.  For her, the scenery of Northumberland held a healing quality and she felt extremely fortunate to be so very conscious of it.  She and Toby took numerous walks; sometimes near the cottage, along bumpy little roads with grass growing in a line down the centre and wild flowers and butterflies lining the edges.  At other times, Toby took her up into valleys, on footpaths up onto the barren heights from which the enormous views never failed to move her to an awed silence.  On the Simonside hills, they walked for hours without speaking; only communicating their contentment through glances and the touch of fingers, reluctant to spoil the mood by a misplaced or trite word.  The golden rod shone here like sunshine itself and the hedgerows contained little jewels of colour; cow parsley or forget-me-nots here, rosebay willow-herb there.  On less clement days, they made their way to windswept beaches, glorying in having the stretches of white, powdery sand entirely to themselves.  Buffeted by sharp, biting winds, Susannah wanted to lie on the breeze and let it carry her wherever it would.  Then, exhausted by walking into the wind, they would collapse into the car, hair windswept, cheeks flushed and lips tasting of salt.  Susannah felt that she was herself for the first time in years.  As they sat in the car after one such walk, looking out over the grey expanse of sea and sand at Bamburgh, Toby twisted round and took her face in his hands.  "You know," he said, brushing a wisp of hair out of her eyes, "I think you look at your most beautiful when you're not wearing any make up and your hair is all messed up by the wind."
Susannah gave him a playful cuff.  "Trust you!  I can sometimes spend hours on my appearance and then you say something like that!"  But privately she felt a warm inner glow because she knew that the humour and the playfulness had returned to their relationship, courtesy - mostly - of the Northumberland scenery.

On the last evening of the holiday, after an unusually hot day, they decided to walk alongside the Coquet in Rothbury with the ingredients for a picnic.  The long summer evenings seemed such a luxury after cold, dark nights in Africa when the blackness closed in at around six o'clock.
Nobody was about, save for a man walking his spaniel puppy and a girl cycling along the tow path.  When they reached the Thrum, a rocky narrowing of the river, Toby helped Susannah down a cleft in the rock and together they spread a cloth out and rummaged in their rucksacks for cheeses, ham, crackers, cherry tomatoes, radishes, crisps and a bottle of sparkling wine. 
"I don't want to go."  Susannah stated the obvious and Toby nodded.
"So…what was the highlight of your holiday?" he asked her as he uncorked the bottle and poured her a glass of fizz.  This was a game they played on all their holidays.  Susannah thought for a long while.  "All of it," she finally said.  "I can't choose.  My highlight is feeling that I've come home.  What's yours?" 
Toby thought for a minute before he replied.  "Seeing you relaxed and carefree.  Regaining you."
Susannah felt tears welling up in her eyes.  Yes, she thought.  We had lost each other in the business of everyday living.  Being here has enabled us to recapture each other again.
Turning to Toby and raising her glass she said, blinking back more tears, "I want to propose a toast!" 
"OK," he smiled, "to what?"
"To staying here," she said tremulously.  "Where I think we both know we belong."
"We can't," he reminded her gently, putting his arm around her and pulling her to him.  "We've got to go back.  Our contract…"
"Bugger our contract," Susannah laughed.  "For as long as I can remember, I have not been able to say where home is.  Now I know.  And it's the most wonderful feeling."
"Right.  Let's be realistic," said Toby.  "One more year and then we come back here to settle.  How does that sound?"
"Well," Susannah mused, holding and stroking his tanned hand.  "If that's the best we can do, I suppose we'll just have to wait until then.  I will so look forward to coming home.  Oh, and by the way, don't forget you've still got to take me on that shopping trip to New York!"

With that they clinked their glasses and looked into each other's eyes, each seeing there the possibilities of many happy Northumbrian summers to come.