He drove a circuitous route home to give it a bit of a run and then left it idling outside his flat for half an hour to charge the battery. He decided to move the less important items first and thought about what to take. He didn’t need to take things like bedding and towels as there were plenty at the new place, and the same for cutlery and cooking equipment; though he did pack his favourite items, which he’d had for years and was attached to. He managed to make two trips in the afternoon and would finish the job the following day.
There was still some light remaining before sundown, so he put a hip flask filled with brandy in his coat pocket, slung the sawn-off over his shoulder and walked down Sackville to the seafront. There was a fabulous sunset and he sat on a bench on the promenade listening to the waves, sipping brandy and watching the sun go down beyond Beachy Head. His head was filled with thoughts of life in his new home. It wasn’t going to be easy, he knew that full-welclass="underline" growing his own food and foraging to be self-sufficient would be incredibly hard and he would be at the mercy of nature and the elements – just as the whole of mankind had been since time immemorial.
He would be living a life that combined the hunter-gatherer existence of the old world and the settled, farming existence of the new: two completely different stages of human evolution spanning countless millennia. In his favour was the fact that he was by the sea, and therefore had a bountiful source of protein in the form of fish and shellfish. At least he wouldn’t have to go out hunting animals with a bow and arrow! He had the shotguns and a good supply of ammunition, but what about when that ran out? That was something for the future, so he took out his notebook and wrote it down; maybe there were gunsmiths in the area, or farms that he could visit. He felt sure that farmers would have shotguns and ammo.
The biggest problem, as he saw it, was that modern people, individually, lacked the necessary skills to survive in a world without the technologies and service industries that we had relied on. Our ancient ancestors, by comparison, had passed down their knowledge from generation to generation and people had grown up with the necessary knowledge and skills to survive: from hunting and finding food, to making clothes, building shelters… the list was endless. He was pretty sure, though, that he wouldn’t have to resort to making animal-skin clothing and footwear!
The vast majority of people in the UK had led an easy life in terms of survival – relatively speaking. Their food had come from supermarkets, with all kinds of fruits and vegetables available all year from all around the world. Their meat had come pre-packed and shrink-wrapped in trays, ready to cook. Having to grow their own food, or to hunt, kill and skin it before being able to eat was something unknown to most people because of modern life and civilisation. He knew he had a lot to learn and it was daunting, but he felt he should be able to do it.
The woman saw him from her apartment as he walked down beside the De La Warr Pavilion to the promenade. She’d had a gruesome and unsuccessful day looking for a new home and had walked home feeling sick and frustrated. She got her binoculars and watched him sitting there on a bench overlooking the beach, looking at the sunset and drinking from what looked like a hip flask. In her mind men fell into two groups; either good or bad, basically. And to her way of thinking, bad men weren’t usually the type to sit by a beach at sunset watching the sun go down: not very rational, maybe, but it had usually worked for her. She had the feeling he was lonely and part of her wanted to go down and talk to him, but the other part was still too cautious to do so. She felt lonely herself: lonely, scared and worried about the future. As the light faded, she saw him get up and walk back along Sackville.
By evening of the following day, Sunday, he had completed his move into the bungalow. He’d left behind many things that seemed to have no place in his future life, such as financial records and the like, but had taken with him many personal possessions and photographs of family and friends; all now dead, he assumed. He went upstairs to Paul’s place and gathered the remaining supplies of tinned food, dried produce and bottled water, took a last look at his flat then locked the door and drove off. If there was anything he needed to go back for, it wasn’t far away. He parked the Land Rover in the bungalow’s garage and felt worn out, so he had a quick meal and went to bed not long after. It felt strange not being in his own bed, but it was nice to hear the sea and he fell asleep to the sound of waves crashing on the beach.
Over the next week he organised his new home; familiarising himself with where things were and arranging it more to his liking. He started on some improvements and collected buckets of sea water for the bathroom to flush the toilet.
On Monday morning he looked into using the Rayburn cooker and found it could provide hot water, which pleased him greatly. It appeared to be a gravity-fed system via a hot-water cylinder in the loft, and thus down to the taps. Heating the radiators, however, relied on an electric pump, so that was unavailable. And then it hit him: There’s no bloody water supply, you idiot! He felt foolish, as he’d wasted half an hour reading the manual for it; there was no way to fill the cylinder and header tank with a continual supply of water. He wasted a bit more time dreaming up an elaborate system for diverting rain-water from the gutters into the header tank, but soon realised it was futile and gave up. The thought of having hot water had got the better of him.
At least he would have the Rayburn for cooking on, and its two ovens would be great for baking and roasting. The wood-burning stoves in the kitchen and lounge would heat the place adequately, he thought; especially if all the doors in the place were left open. In colder months he had the option of sleeping in the lounge rather than the bedroom, which would have no heating of its own.
He made two useful discoveries on that first day; the first being a small wine cellar under the study floor. He hadn’t paid much attention to the study, seeing it only as a useful storage area; but while carrying a box in he nearly tripped on the corner of a rug, which rucked-up, revealing a trap-door. Lifting it, he found a short flight of wooden steps into a space about two metres square, lined with bottle racks. He could see by the available light that it was a wine cellar, but got his torch for a better look and climbed down into it. It wasn’t deep enough to stand up straight and he had to crouch. There were only a dozen bottles in there; ten reds and two whites, for which he was grateful, and it was a useful thing to have.
The second discovery was in the kitchen; he found many jars of homemade jams, pickles and chutneys in the larder that would be a welcome addition to his diet. There were also various items of preserving equipment in another cupboard, including many more preserving jars in various sizes.
That set in motion a train of thought he hadn’t addressed before: How am I going to keep fresh food? Without a fridge or freezer, food – and especially meat – would soon spoil. He’d been so accustomed, like everyone, to buying food and storing it in the fridge or freezer in his old life. In recent months he’d been living off tinned and dried food and hadn’t given thought to the problems of storing fresh produce. He’d been excited recently at the prospect of catching fish and foraging coastal vegetables, but how was he going to store and preserve them?