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"He's called Arthur Miles Surname Chandon an' he was born at a place called Kingsand, if that's any 'elp an' there's somebody wants to see 'im most particular." "Come indoors." Doctor Glasson said it sharply, at the same time turning right about and leading the way towards the house. Tilda followed, while behind her the excluded 'Dolph yapped and flung himself against the gate.
Kingsand, though but a village in size, has a history of its own. Situated about five miles from Plymouth, on the Cornish coast, and being a fishing port, the inhabitants are on intimate terms with the sea.
The first of these was a sheltered bay with twin villages at its head, which I fancifully designated Kingsand and Cawsand the promontory forming one arm of the bay, looking not unlike Penlee point greatly adding to the conceit. June 14th. At noon we reached Kobé, or Hiogo, and let go our anchor far out in what appears to be an open roadstead.
Sometimes my mother indulges in a retrospect, and I love to hear her tell of that May morning when, she bade 'farewell' to her loved ones and dear old Kingsand, and how, wrapping me in a large shawl, she proceeded to Cremyll, a distance of three miles, from whence we were transported across the harbour to Plymouth in the ferry boat. Then came the long and tedious journey to Maryport.
These heights, and especially the Mount Edgcumbe woodlands, suffered severely from the great blizzard of 1891, many of the finest trees being uprooted. At the foot of Maker heights are the twin villages of Kingsand and Cawsand, separated by a small brook; some of the houses, built across this, claim to be in both places at once.
In visiting Kingsand from time to time, I have often stood and gazed at the old house in which I was born not that any recollections in connection with it survive in my memory, for when I was only five weeks old, my father, who was in the navy, received an appointment as a gunnery instructor in the Royal Naval Reserve battery in the far north.
"Yes quite so Chandon." He picked up a pencil and a half-sheet of paper from the desk, and wrote the name. "Born at Kingsand I think you said Kingsand? Do you happen to know where Kingsand is? In what county, for instance?" But Tilda had begun to scent danger again, she hardly knew why, and contented herself with shaking her head. "Someone wants to see him. Who?"
"That depends." Tilda was not to be taken off her guard. "I want you to read what it says." "Yes, to be sure I forgot what you said about havin' no schoolin'. Well, it says: 'Arthur Miles, surname Chandon, b. Kingsand, May 1st, 1888. Rev. Dr.
Soon there was a cluster at boats round the ship, which had conveyed from the shore all manner of commercial men Jews with watches for sale, and tailors with their patterns for no bluejacket would be without his private suit and others with articles of food. Only a limited number, however, were allowed on board. My uncle, who resided at Kingsand, had noticed our early arrival in the Sound.
But I must not anticipate. After completing our stay here, my parents returned to Kingsand, but only for a brief period. It was at, this period that I met with my first accident. Crawling away from the front door I made all possible speed to a large tank of water close by. In looking upon it from an elevated bank of ground, I overbalanced myself and fell headlong into it.