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Dizzy Heights

“Can we walk across the bridge one day, Nanna?” my little companion asked.

“What a good idea,” I replied.

I often drive between Devon and Cornwall on the Tamar Bridge with my four-year-old grandson. We chat about the different counties, and occasionally we are lucky when a train chugs along Brunel’s Royal Albert Bridge next to the road one.

Throughout last summer, repairs needed to be carried out and caused traffic jams. Irritating, but essential. During this period, the pedestrian walkway was sometimes used for cars and river views across to Kernow, magnificent. So when works finished in autumn and it was back to driving in the central lanes, we missed our birds-eye view experience.

An arrangement was made, and to add to the excitement, our travel to Saltash would be by train with Mr Word Loft. A brilliant plan, except the scheduled travel, was cancelled last minute, so we drove into town instead and hoped my husband and grandson could return by rail.

The footway is surprisingly busy with joggers, cyclists, and other folk enjoying the scenery. Under the Royal Albert Bridge opposite, the river sparkles on its journey towards Torpoint. Boats bob below, and buildings on the banks of Barne Barton in Plymouth appear minuscule. Our grandson’s face was full of wonder as he stared down, but we decided the trek there was probably too far for his small steps. And besides, a playpark had been spotted on the Saltash side, conveniently placed next to a café and bar we fancied visiting.

With determination, we strode back into Cornwall, and around into Lower Fore Street with its mixture of old buildings. It’s amazing how much detail can be taken in and admired when on foot, including the Neoclassical style Guild Hall and a recently renovated house believed to have connections with notorious Captain James Hawkins, a relative of Sir Francis Drake.

We were soon down by the river and having lunch at Just Be’s. Trains rumble overhead and our wide-eyed grandson gazed upwards as he munched on a toasted teacake oozing with butter.

At last, the sun peeped through clouds, allowing us to forage on the beach and gave an extra chance for another round of fun in the park before tramping uphill to the railway station. And, hooray! The train was running; I waved them off with a cheery farewell and headed home by car.

Until next time,
Sue. X   

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