Finally cold, crisp and clear; ‘proper’ winter weather had arrived. Heralded by watering eyes and a nose requiring frequent handkerchief-dabbing, the dazzling sunshine, nip of frost and chilly northerly breeze demanded a winter outing to banish any burgeoning winter blues. I phoned my mum to make a plan, suggesting the level footpath at Bolberry Down, with maybe a ‘little smackerel of something’ afterwards to warm up.

On arrival at her house the following day, we did a quick comparison of clothing layers. I’m not sure if I won or lost, having several more, but we deemed ourselves suitably wrapped up for the exposed cliff top and set off. Pulling up in the car park, I steeled myself for a fight with the parking payment system. I have had several apoplectic moments over recent months, struggling to download and navigate phone apps or locate a slot for coins, fearful of cameras which might have logged my number-plate and charge me even when I have abandoned my attempt (and reason) and driven away furious. However, I need not have worried. To my amazement and delight I was met with a sign which said, ‘Blue badge holders – no charge’. Thank you, National Trust! What a gift.

Leaving the warmth of the car, we set off slowly along the path towards Hope Cove, passing a number of other similarly well-wrapped folk, often with their dogs, along our way. Stretching ahead of us, the metre wide tarmac path offered the reassurance of a smooth walk ahead, much more so than some of our town’s pavements. These often give me cause for alarm with their uneven slabs and other trip hazards as I accompany my nearly nonagenarian mother to our regular Wednesday lunch spot.

Spiky gorse walls of dark green hedged us on either side. I have often seen great webs of Dodder, a chlorophyll-free, parasitic flowering plant, spread over them here like pink summer blankets. Now they were largely naked. Then, an exception: one gorse bush in full, glorious flower drew us forward. Glowing golden in the midday sunshine, even in the chill air, the faint scent of coconut could be detected. Mum leant close to breathe in its fragrance and immediately reminiscences of other places came to her, of Suffolk and the Isles of Scilly; home and holidays.

Benches are thoughtfully scattered along the accessible path and we stopped from time to time to rest and take in the view. ‘Doctor Sea’ is a term that I have often heard my mother use and it makes me smile when I hear it. It seems particularly apt in these days as we hear more and more about the

benefits of nature to our health and wellbeing. Looking seawards, a blinding silver carpet had been cast from horizon to shore by the diamond white sun above. It was too intense to do more than glance at, shimmering into rippled blues on either side of its path. It was indeed medicine for the heart, mind and soul.

We walked on. Reaching a fork in the now gravelled, yet still pleasingly smooth path, Mum opted to head back along the lower coastal route rather than continue further. Had we walked on, we would have reached a gate, beyond which the footpath becomes more challenging if you have mobility issues. I have a precious photograph from October 2018 with both my parents at that gate, a view of Hope Cove and the coastline to Plymouth stretching out behind them. It was taken shortly after my father’s diagnosis with Alzheimer’s. There are other subsequent photographs, each along this accessible pathway, with the final one taken on his 90th birthday when he could only make it as far as the first bench, aided by his youngest grandson. These are true ‘benchmarks’ of his decline yet also poignant reminders of his joy at just being there.

Along the coastal strip, blackened gorse fingers poked into the cold air, testament to a ravaging fire there three years ago. The cliffside vegetation burned on and off for a couple of months, requiring the action of a helicopter to dowse the flames. Whilst grassland has returned, gorse regeneration is taking much longer. Beside the path, the remains of a burdock plant stood tall, white wisps of what looked like wool or fur snagged by a cluster of barbed brown seed-heads, shivering in the breeze. No bird calls met our ears, no insects buzzed, nor were there signs of movement between scrub patches. The chill of winter’s call was bringing with it a serene stillness.

Pausing where the path turned inland, Mum rested on her stick, taking in the commanding view of cliffs dropping steeply to the sea below. A good draught of ‘Doctor Sea’ had been taken and awe and wonder, done their work.