Firefly

Our butler prepared a cool box with drinks and a couple of fruit and sandwich platters. The minibus called for us at eleven. We were the only people on the tour. The driver went on to explain that it is popular with British tourists, but nobody else goes there. Indeed it was three years since his last visit.

The road from Ocho Rios hugs the coast as it heads eastwards through into the Parish of St Mary, past the Ian Fleming Airport, past James Bond Beach, through Oracabessa, past Goldeneye, and on. Firefly sits atop a hill near Port Maria. The road turns sharply and immediately deteriorates to a rutted and potholed track that would give a Land Rover cause for concern. The Toyota minibus took it in its stride as we lurch up the hill.

As we parked, the driver tooted his horn and our guide arrived to escort us round the property. We had it to ourselves. In fact, they are usually closed on Friday, but opened especially for us. We entered by his studio and then through the garage where Noel Coward kept his pink jeep, then onwards to his living room. This is, by any measure, a modest single bedroom house. The view from the living room, however, was a view that took your breath away. It was a view across the bay that you could never tire of, and never ignore.

We carried on through to the tiny kitchen and then back upstairs to the bedroom. That was it. A very modest house perched on a hillside with one of the most spectacular outlooks the Gorse Fox has ever seen. We ventured out into the gardens passing the bronze statue of Noel Coward looking out over the bay. At first you wonder how he managed to entertain so many luminaries  of the age in such a modest house... Sophia Loren, Liz Taylor, Richard Burton, Sean Connery, Peter Sellers, the Queen Mother... the list seemed endless; in fact he had a separate guest house, called Blue Harbour,  at the bottom of the hill. This had seven bedrooms and provided accommodation for all his visitors.

When he died, aged 74, the house and estate was left to a friend. The fried thought it would hold too many memories, so passed it to the Jamaican Government. (For the record, the guide explained that the estate covered 11 acres and cost Noel Coward 150GBP when he bought it.)

We were allowed to linger as long as we wanted, so wandered about taking photos. We tipped the guide handsomely, then our driver took us back to Royal Plantation. The rest of the day was spent with our books.

Tonight is Jamaican Night on the terrace. (The Gorse Fox will avoid the brownies... as Cousteau-cub knows, Otto was famous for these and we are taking no chances).