Bristol Channel cruising

Chapter Seven, in which I become conversant with Celtic Motor Spares and Cresswell Quay.

"...I visited Cresswell Quay to remember Tristan Jones, a writer and sailor of incredible quality. One of his boats was named "Cresswell", he was Welsh. Cresswell Quay is beautiful, a small village surrounded by wooded hills on a bend of a winding seaweed ridden creek. There is a line of stepping stones across the Cresswell River, which at the time was a bed of mud, stones and seaweed. The public toilets are as clean as a whistle. Across the road are cottages, a church hall and a pub. Through a gap in thick ivy one can read "RESS ARM", inside, the "Cresswell Arms" is a relaxed, unaffected peace and quiet. I sat on a wooden pew type seat with a coffee as two locals and the Landlady talked. A large beige enamelled cooking range has a vase of flowers on top, I note to myself to put flowers in Juggler occasionally, they are so simple and brief. A cured ham is suspended to the right of the range, partly cut away, I wondered if one could buy ham sandwiches, but my gaze settled on a Capstan Cigarettes poster. It shows a 1930's steam vessel in rough seas, two male figures huddle behind the wheel, out of the spray. My impression was of the pleasure a Capstan would give, like a brief, minute, fire, to reassure the sailor out in the rough salty sea. The rest of the decor consisted mainly of horse racing pictures. The landlady was tall and slim, wore a dress and blouse, with mousy, bushy hair and strong eyebrows. The bar and entrance door were painted brown gloss, the bottom of the door was rotting despite successive coats of paint. Rotting peacefully and quietly, with verisimilitude. Nothing disrupted this rare authenticity, until a noise, "BZSST" heralded the death of a bluebottle in an electric fly killer's blue light over the entrance..." Read more