Here is the final extract from Myself When Young. Daphne’s sentiments echo my own completely, and her words are again illustrated with pictures from my visits (apart from the last one, showing Daphne rowing outside her beloved Ferryside.)
(Apologies for the big gap between the last two pics – WordPress simply refuses to let me close it!)
Yet here in Fowey it was like being someone else. I was never for one moment bored, never depressed. I would awake in the morning and go to the window, and stare out across the harbour.
Another ship had come in to anchor during the night – what was her name? Where was she from?
The water was lapping the slipway beneath the house, and a pilot-boat was chugging to the jetties.