DAY FOUR.....Montserrat.....The Ashes Part One.

Outside somewhere too near at dawn or even before, a cockerel started its hour long cacophony. Sunlight was already starting to filter through the shutters, radiating from the surface of the swimming pool just outside the wooden door. We are in Montserrat.

Montserrat, one of the most peaceful and tranquil islands imaginable, with the nicest of people, two of which are our hosts at Erindell Villa. Erindell is a guest house situated in the Woodlands area of the island. Shirley and Lou, the owners have lived in Montserrat for many years, surviving, but losing almost everything and their lives in the Hurricane that decimated 90% of the island in 1989, including George Martin's Air Studios. More of that later. They also lived through the eruption of the local volcano in 1997. This destroyed their house and beach bar leaving them and many others at the mercy of cruel fate and the insurance companies who initially took to the hills, and not the one spewing fire and brimstone. But they have rebuilt their lives and now entertain a continual flow of guests who, once having drunk from the Killikranki Springs, are destined to return again and again.
Trish and I did in 2011, and here we are again.

Over half of the island is off limits. The once proud capital Plymouth, now buried under tons of ash and mud. A no go zone. The rest of the island is green and verdant, with steep, winding roads and flora and fauna emerging defiantly from the forests..... Here people go out and don't lock their doors. They do the same with their cars. If you are in trouble, someone will help you. Shirley had a flat some time ago, and four guys in a truck on their way back from work stopped, lifted up the car, replaced the wheel and went about their business. I rather suspect that had Merlin turned up here without his passport and wallet, leaving it in his room safe on Antigua (yes he did and had to go back for it), they would have printed him new.

Not much time for acclimatisation. Within minutes of breakfast we were all climbing into Lou and Shirley's four by four to start our initial introduction to the island. Unfortunately for Jim, with the Australians dismissed for just 60 runs before lunch on day one of the Fourth Ashes Test, this included a visit to a typical Caribbean beach bar. The owner, typically a cricket nut, on hearing one of our party was from OZ presented the usual Windian false sympathy, which went something like........'oh dear man,....sixty........ashes man ashes" accompanied by a wide, beaming smile and more "oh dears" and "ashes man, ashes" then a bottle of beer thrust into a grateful hand.

We stuck to the inhabited north of the island today, where thanks to investment from the UK Government and Sir George Martin, renewal is slowly taking place with a new capital emerging with brightly coloured houses and small businesses and bars, springing up where none were to be seen when Trish and I were last here. A Cultural Centre funded entirely by Sir George has been built and a museum stands proudly next to it. The centre was closed as we drove past but we were promised a visit tomorrow. Tomorrow was actually going to turn out to be quite an unforgettable day and not just because at the end of it The Aussies would be a mere three wickets away from surrendering The Ashes. However, ashes of a very different nature were to come to the fore.