Last weekend the dude and I visited my parents in West Sussex and went for an amble around Bosham. It’s one of those bizarre English pronunciations, so it’s ‘Bozz-erm’ rather than ‘Bos-ham’, ‘Bosh-am’ or, as the dude suggested, the funkier sounding ‘Bo-sham’.
I grew up in Sussex so was often pootling about near some water, skimming stones, plunging into the icy English channel for a swim, sitting watching the waves, and as a teenager making illegal bonfires with friends on Portsmouth beach whilst drinking cheap alcohol and listening to someone playing Red Hot Chili Peppers on the guitar. Miraculously, these escapades only resulted in one hospital visit, that I know of, and only a few disgruntled parents driving to the seafront to claim their disastrously inebriated child.
Now, I live in land-locked Oxfordshire so always enjoy and appreciate the coast so much more when we go and visit. Bosham is on an inlet of Chichester Harbour so it isn’t directly on the seafront, instead it’s a tucked away haven with gentle tidal water lapping at the town’s edge and sailing boats launching from the slipways dotted about. The town and tide have no boundary to keep each other out, so the water creeps up through the roads at high tide, and the town grows to it’s full size at low tide.
Bosham Church is a pretty little 11th Century church, and it’s depicted in the Bayeux Tapestry as Bosham is said to be where King Harold left England for the ill-fated trip to Normandy in 1064 which sparked war and, ultimately the invasion of England by William the Conqueror in 1066. We walked around the churchyard in beautiful spring sunshine.
I love Bluebells and they have been abundant this year, carpeting woodlands and here they are clustered around someone’s gravestone. As a final resting place, it’s not a bad spot.
We walked from the churchyard and ambled our way around the harbour, watching the sailing boats drift by. We stumbled upon this beautiful wooden boat, moored in a little creek and I was so tempted to hop in and sail off into the sunset! But, apart from not having the faintest idea about sailing, I don’t really fancy the idea of spending the next few years in a cell somewhere. So, I decided to keep on walking and think of the little wooden boat as something to dream about…