"OLD STOKIE'S WEBSITE"

"PARADISE – PART ONE"

Ray and Helen Wickham, two exceptionally wonderful people.

The soil is rich amber in colour, contrasting brightly with green fertile valleys, especially in springtime after the winter rainfall has receded. In February and March, almond trees blanket the countryside in a mantle of white blossom. Once dry watercourses fill and bubble happily through tall grasses and as they cascade over a thousand waterfalls, rainbows rise high above them. Spring flowers fill the roadsides with a crescendo of colours and Egrets, almost candle-like, sit motionless in trees keeping a watchful eye on the local farmer with his horse and plough as he prepares his fields. Cowbells tinkle tunefully as they wander through ancient grazing lands, the sweetness of their chimes drifting on a gentle breeze. At mid-day, the goat-herder squats beneath the shade of an overhanging olive tree with his flock gathered closely around him, attempting to escape the heat. This enchanting province is Southern Portugal.

Well away from the tourist areas, about twenty kilometres from the coast and nestling on the western slopes of a range of hills is a beautiful white painted house adorned with many shades of Bougainvillea and Wisteria. Moorish chimneys sprout from the sandy coloured tiled roof and lying on the patio, half a dozen dogs can be found sprawled in the shade of an overhanging terrace. The owners, Ray and Helen Wickham, once natives of Aughton in Lancashire, are very special friends of mine. Their home, called Swallow Farm because of the many swallows who nest under the spacious eaves, overlooks the tiny village of Monte Ruivo, a small collection of blue and white dwellings which sparkle in the brightness of this land of almost never ending sunshine.

Whenever I stay with my dear friends, I love to rise early and gaze upon the magnificence of the view from the patio. There before me in a vista of unparalleled beauty, which never fails to delight me with its simplicity, orange, lemon and olive trees abound. Together with an abundance of grand and imposing eucalyptus trees, they give off an aroma, which, once inhaled, is never forgotten. Each morning begins with the haunting and melancholy braying of an old donkey, the arrogant crowing of Barcelos the cockerel and echoing across the valley, the plaintive bark of a farm dog greeting the first rays of sunshine. The sheer ambience of the place is overwhelming.

As the sun rises higher in the azure sky, the heat of the day can be relieved by a short journey to one of many secluded coves that lie hidden along the Algarve coast. Bathing costumes, towels and picnic baskets are loaded and ferried to our destination. There by the sparkling sea and under the lee of russet cliffs, cooled by gentle sea breezes, we spend wonderful, glorious days relaxing and reveling in the company of friends we love. Only when our spirits are filled to the brim by the experience do we journey "home", and refreshed by a shower and change of clothes, our evening pleasure begins.

Even in the early springtime, dinner can be taken on the patio – and it usually is. Just as the heat of the day is abating, the table is set and laid out with wonderful food and fine wines, a perfect setting for the splendid company who gather from all parts of secluded Algarvia and Grande Britannia. The meal is eaten slowly; the wine flows freely - as does the conversation; the perfect recipe for an entertaining evening. As darkness casts its cloak over the surrounding hills and twinkling lights appear in the valley, the local Portuguese celebrate a day fulfilled. The sound of their laughter can be clearly heard, its euphony adding to the atmosphere of the evening. The guests depart. Mine hosts retire. Alone beneath The Milky Way, with my pipe well lit; I sit with the dogs and reflect on the beauty of Paradise, part one.