Earlier this month, I spent some time
in Kent visiting old friends. But as the weather was sunny and dry, my husband
and I decided to go for a walk to see Chartwell House. This was once the home of
Winston Churchill and now owned by the National Trust who charge a princely sum
to view it.
The walk started at the small town of Westerham
and took us up a gentle incline, but on our way, we came across a small metal gate.
A gate not connected to a fence. A freestanding gate, in fact. Why was it there,
I wondered?
Was it a gate that didn’t get on with
the other gates, and had been told to stand in another field?
Was it a gate that would only appear
when strangers crossed the field; tricking them into taking the wrong path?
If I had walked through the gate, could
it have taken me to another dimension or back in time, or even sucked me into vortex
from which I would never have returned?
I’ll never know, because I walked
straight past it (after stopping to take a photo).
But I do know that we found a bench on a
hill overlooking Chartwell House where we ate our lunch. It was a beautiful view
and one money couldn’t buy.
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