This is a story I wrote based on my travels in 1995 which included an Easter visit to my friend’s family home in Cornwall near Bude. It was such beautiful week spent there and has been memorialized frequently over the years with this old and timeless expression of hope while navigating through turbulent times. Thank you Rob for inviting us to the special place that was your childhood home in Cornwall and to Christine for hosting us with such love and warmth fully inclusive of the candor of local language. 

We walked into the kitchen for breakfast as Christine put the kettle on and peered out the kitchen window at the sky. The spring weather was predictably unpredictable. Pilar and I were laughing about how we’d been caught in sudden downpours of rain nearly every day since we’d arrived in Cornwall.

“We were lucky to even make it back up the stairs from Merlin’s cave, the railing was so slippery and we were so soaked already!” I said. We had burst out into hysterical laughter when that downpour came. Like, of course it would just start raining when it had been clear and sunny only minutes before. It had become our way of dealing with unfortunate and unexpected circumstances. “Murphy’s Law,” we would chant in unison. Cancelled trains, spilled coffee, empty wallets, we would simply shrug, laugh, and regroup.

Just remembering the climb up from the cove nearly made me spit the bite of muesli and milk across the table. Christine smiled as she dropped the teabag into the floral mug and grabbed the milk from the refrigerator. She loved having a houseful again and was enjoying meeting Rob’s friends from California. Since her youngest daughter had left for university in September, she’d been living alone for the first time in her life. Rob lived in London now and had invited Renee and Pilar for Easter week as a part of their big European backpacking trip.

“Ohmigod!” Pilar said, “and when Rob took us on that shortcut across the pasture with the cows grazing; you shoulda seen the look on your face when he climbed the fence with the no trespassing sign and we were meant to follow him.”

“Come on, that’s not fair, this kind of land in California would have electrical fences around it,” I rebutted; then continued, “Yea, but it was totally worth it in the end because we made it to the café for cream tea before it started bucketing.”

“Mmmm,” she said, closing her eyes and recalling the creamy goodness, “that cream tea was the best. I am in love with clotted cream.”

Rob strolled into the kitchen and chimed in, “Cornish clotted cream is the best,” in case we would ever be in doubt about that.

“Good morning,” Christine said as she poured the hot water in the mug. “How’s your granddad?”

“He’s well,” Rob said “He’ll give us a ride to Boscastle tomorrow. I want Renee and Pilar to experience authentic Cornish pasties.”

“He’s so happy you and your sister are home this week. He just loves giving you both rides and showing off Cornwall to your friends.” She spooned out her teabag and added a splash of milk.

As Oasis’ latest single, “Some Might Say” escaped the small speaker of the old kitchen radio, Christine sipped her tea continuing to look out the window while listening to us chat.

Then, she took a deep, satisfying breath and said, “Well, there’s enough blue in the sky for a pair of boys’ trousers. It’s all going to be ok.”

Pilar stopped eating, looked up, and asked, “What do you mean?”

Christine put her cup of tea down on the counter and pointed out toward the horizon where the sea and sky blended into one. “Over there,” she said with delight, “there’s a big patch of blue sky.”

We cautiously started to giggle because we couldn’t make sense of what she was talking about. Blue sky? Boys’ trousers? “But what does that mean?” she repeated.

Christine continued, “It’s an old expression that comes from seagoing weather lore. In many versions, there are sailors’ trousers or Dutchman’s trousers, both of which were the thick and boxy type and often blue. So that patch of sky over there is big enough for some boys’ trousers. It means that, it’s going to be ok and the weather, or the storm as is often the case, will pass.”

“What a funny expression,” I retorted, “but I kind of like it.”

We cleaned up breakfast and headed out for another walk on the coastal path. Today we would stop in and meet Rob’s friend who worked at one of those cafés right along the path. It was so charming how they just put some tables and chairs out from the house and served tea, cold drinks and snacks, usually home-baked goods or packets of crisps. We kept making the mistake of ordering lemonade expecting the California version and getting the British version. It was hard to understand how something with the same name could be so completely different.

When we returned in the afternoon, the blue sky was filling in with clouds. Christine was sitting out in the garden reading. As she noticed our arrival and her expression changed from peaceful to concerned.

“Hi! How was your day?” she asked. She couldn’t hold it in any longer and spilled the news and without hesitation she continued, “Renee, your dad called. Your grandmother is in the hospital again. It’s more serious this time. Your mom, dad, and brother are already heading to Pennsylvania. He will call and update you once they have arrived.”

I felt suddenly deflated. “I thought the surgery had removed the tumor and she was ok now. I don’t understand.” The sky darkened as a big gust of wind passed across the ridge toppling over some of the garden furniture. By now we had learned that a downpour was eminent.

“I’m so sorry. I know this is unexpected news for you. Let’s all go in and I’ll make a fresh pot of tea. You can tell me about your day,” Christine said as she pushed in her chair and gathered her book.

I didn’t sleep well that night. The rain had continued steadily and I had a constant nagging that I should be with my family, that my grandmother was in serious condition and I was so far away. If she didn’t make it, it would be almost impossible for me to go back right now to say good-bye to her.

The next morning, as promised, Rob’s granddad came to collect us. My thoughts were heavy and we all sat quietly for the short ride on the gray, overcast morning. As we came around the bend which exposed the sea into view, Pilar perked up and pointed, “Look Renee,” she encouraged, “there’s enough blue in the sky for a pair of boys’ trousers. It’s all going to be ok.”

I received the good omen and laid my head on her shoulder, “Yes, somehow, it’s going to be ok.”