#One Week - Summer '12 - Mullion

Mullion Cove holds many untainted memories. Each year, on the annual family holiday to Southern Cornwall, my parents would bring my brothers and I here, to this secluded working harbour. Come gale force winds or torrential downpours, Mullion was a yearly pilgrimage; I didn't realise at the time, I wouldn't have been aware, that the cove meant a lot to my mother.

I can still recall the waves rolling, swirling, lashing against the harbour walls, ice creams with that extra dollop of clotted cream, fishing boats moored at low tide, pirates' glistening treasure - coins, goblets, crowns - piled waist high in the neighbouring coves ...

So this summer, after nearly thirty years, I returned to Mullion Cove with Younger Dad and Little A.

After parking the car, a short walk down a gentle slope, we arrived at the harbour.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, had changed. The present day Mullion looked an exact replica of the picture in my mind. Was the present imitating the past or vise versa? The enchanting harbour. The same. The moored boats. The same. The pirate's treasure? Well I still imagined a few golden coins caught by seaweed, trapped by pebbles, in the depths of the coves.

We walked along the harbour, to the very end, where the stone walls met choppier waters. Younger Dad carried Little A in the back pack carrier, at times walking perilously close (in my eyes) to the harbour's unprotected edge; my anxiety ignited like a small explosion - Little A's not safe!

"Please don't go so close, please," failing to disguise the fear in my voice.

"Don't worry," Younger Dad calmly reassured, "I'd never harm our little darling."

Relief.

I know there was no rational cause for my sudden panic, Little A was shielded, but the imagined scenario - Little A (and Younger Dad) falling down a sheer drop, Little A drowning under water - played into the type of intrusive thoughts that plagued my daily awareness when I was engulfed by post natal illness. And it would appear that they still do. I'm a neurotic mum...

My Mother has always had a special connection with the sea. She used to sail. She's never fully explained why she's so drawn to this harbour. I think a part of her soul is simply wrapped in the tranquility of Mullion Cove. It's a spiritual home, her favourite place on the planet.

She's requested that her ashes be scattered here when her time comes - a final pilgrimage to her resting place.

And when the offshore breeze carries her remains into the Atlantic, I too will be bound to Mullion.

This is the fourth day of the seasonal linky One Week. Until tomorrow, Friday, I'll be posting a photograph(s) and a few words that diarises and distills my experience of summer '12. Take a peep at the details here. You can join in for one, two ... or the full five days. And don't forget to add #oneweek on Twitter.

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