Edges and territories - the village

Paul asked if I ever get bored during the day and I answered no, because my mind is always bubbling away with some nonsense.  Yesterday I started the long job of cutting back the virginia creepers down the passageway.  This passageway between us and the pub belongs to us it delineates our space, though to be honest we would be happy if the pub owned it.  Actually it was much darker when I first went in, but I have cut myself a window of sunshine.....

Opening the gate, I was greeted by a long black tunnel, the creeper had bent the farm wire netting over and latched itself onto the roof of the pub. Winter time and the whole fence is empty of leaf except for the ivys which are staying.

As I chopped I looked into Harriet's and Lucy's kitchen, and thought what a spick and span place it was with all the white crockery. It is not the cooking kitchen which produces great plates of food, something both Paul and I can't get through but it does it job of feeding the rather large appetites of the people round here.  The girls run it efficiently, and it wise to remember that next door a small inner 'village' lives. 

Sun Inn 1927

The pub is owned by two older people who live in a small modern house attached to the pub, the land backs onto the river and along their small portion hidden out of sight is about four statics, holiday homes mostly. Their territory has  Nelson on one side with his ragbag of birds, sheep and a couple of goats and who lives in a caravan.  The other side is J and R's land, J is very territorial. 

The owners of the pub keep themselves to their own matters, and yet they are part of the community of course.

The death of their grandson meant that he was laid to rest in the graveyard, very near the side window of our house.  There is something beautiful about how the family and friends look after the grave.  Practically every other day people will come and bring flowers, arrange what is there and sit quietly with him.  We have a blind on that window which is pulled down, though Lucy will spy shadows on the blind and bark furiously.

Talking of Lucy, we have just returned from our walk down to the green.  It is 8 o-clock and the Gospel children are off to catch their bus, Geoff and his wife  live in the chapel, he is taking his grandson off to college as well and we wave.  Geoff mows the green and the footpath to the pub.

Joe is trying to get money so that we can grid the surface of the pathway with a rubber membrane.  He is tackling the local council but things move slowly, as always.  Village life is more disconnected than it was a century ago, us 'suburbians' have appeared  as has new housing, there is no village hall and the church has all but closed down.  But people settle into place, social changes go on around us, this is history walking slowly forward.

Tuesday 16th July

The new header is Solva in Wales, a place I visited each year and spent many a happy hour wandering about.  Still miss it, but my wandering days are probably over.  So photos will have to take the place of being there.

So what do I take forward from the last days.

Well there was a large bag of gooseberries kindly given by R when she came to see Paul, also a stack of magazines on 'How things Work', not that Paul does much reading nowadays. So the first photo is a gooseberry crumble, though my favourite is gooseberry fool.  Always forget how SOUR gooseberries are. The next photo are the late variety of strawberries from Pearson in Sinnington, sweet and ripe and very strawberryish.  I heard a man on the farming programme this morning, change the nature of words to describe herbicides and pesticides, we are now to call them plant protection, well we know in whose pocket he is in!

Books;   I am not reading any books, something that nags, so I went to my bookcase and selected three books to read, you will see it is an eclectic choice. There was the 'Secret lives of Cows' or 'Meadowlands' on offer and Mcfarlane has brought out a new book called 'Underland' I think.  But decided on Adam Nicolson though he has not written another book of interest for me,  his book on Sissinghurst might be worthwhile investigating.

I loved 'Sea Room' for its description of the Scottish Isles, their bleakness, the cow that shat on the fisherman as they lifted it off the island on to the boat, and then the rats that occupied the small house that Nicolson would holiday there, often by himself.  

What else, something that makes England come alive, this book takes me round the country I love, the original W.H.Hoskins words are interpreted/clarified by a logical archaeological landscape man, Christopher Taylor.  Also reminds me of another book that will take me round the buildings of England, no, not Pevsener but Alex-Clifton Taylor ' The Pattern of English Building'.

Surprising perhaps but Scotland and Wales do not feature, though they also have indigenous buildings from the materials around.

And then the last book, 'The One Straw Revolution' by Masanobu Fukuoka.  A strange book and man, who found that just actually allowing things to grow without ploughing or killing weeds, that what grew was about the same amount as all the effort we put into industrial farming.  The book was printed in India, therefore has thick creamy pages and is bound by thin twine.

Friday and the day has hardly begun

Some photos today.... the first hour of the morning, from 6 to 7.  I get up early, a clean fresh morning with the sun coming through the copse at the back.  A mug of tea, a slice of toast, a breakfast probably eaten all over our country.  Then the letting out of bantams, feeding of the birds in the garden accompanied by Lucy.  We wander down the rose bed, the doves will follow me down, the roses are past their best, and the insects are still not up.  The oil man arrives at 7 am, we are first on his beat.  Sets me thinking, listening to the news and the fracas that is going on in the Gulf, the man on the news says that the stopping of oil tankers by the Iranians is not unusual, that this latest event is in response to us stopping an Iranian tanker taking oil to Syria.  War games are all about economics.  Further thoughts flit through my mind, are we responding to the fear of no oil? We discuss this over morning tea, how will this country change all our oil/gas boilers, how will we heat our homes?  Actually there are some green answers but they seem clumsy compared to what we have got and inherited.  There again coal fires were replaced by central heating, the human race is ingenious when it comes to solving problems but do we have time ;)

see the pollen beetles

green beans starting

first call of the morning, see the 'orange snake' that sends Lucy scurrying to the safety of a chair

Tuesday 10th July

The verges are so pretty down the country lanes, the creamy colour of meadow sweet, like old lace runs down the hedges.  Occasionally interspersed with the pale blue of the wild cranes bill and then the yellow of ladies bed straw, how sometimes I wish I could stop and photo this summer's crop.  But not many butterflies, I have seen them in singular fashion go through their appointed time of the year but now as the buddleias start to flower hope for more.

The roses tumble to the ground, over-exuberant they flower with no shame. Shasta daisies are beginning to appear, taking over from the wild ox daisy, as are the white snapdragons.  Plenty of insects in the garden, little black beetles hide in the pollen, gangster wasps terrorise the greenfly, bumble bees and honey bees feast.  There are moths to be found in the watering can and the birds have quietened down after the rush of feeding their young.  

Efficient farmers rush by with great loads of grass for silage, and if you are out on the road, you will always be caught behind a tractor at some stage, but there again it is the farmer's land.

Yesterday we called into our local fruit place, here they grow soft fruits, sweet strawberries - delicious.  There are homemade jams, fluffy meringues and light scones to be bought as well. Plants that have seen better days loll around outside, I have given up buying the beds are full and we need rain.

The long fencing down the driveway, between 50-80 feet, is covered with ivy and Virginia creeper, it creeps over the bed in front and reaches out to cover the old roof of the pub next door.  Drastic action is called for, and rather than trim I have suggested a couple of the wisterias must be culled. Two minds over this of course this is where the majority of the nests are to be found.

But the garden has been a triumph this summer, fulfilling what I wanted, which was to encourage insects and birds. Very untidy at some stages, and in desperate need of weeding at the moment but still.....

I forgot ;) we are now living through the fairytale of the boy who said 'the emperor has no clothes'.  A simple truth echoed by Sir Kim over Trump, that also is delicious!

p.s. Eating my scone this morning and P said it looks like, well we had a bit of a struggle to find the word but eventually arrived at the word 'stottie', something you can buy in Whitby as an enormous round roll, but its history is interesting.

A short note - so be happy

Things that happen, not exactly a crisis but the crisis of illness.  I will set it out not just for those that read my blog (thank you) but for my own peace of mind.  Paul has been ill for a couple of months, but yesterday we saw the doctor at the hospital who calmly told us that he was on the mend.  Tests were good, recuperation would take months but from that moment of relapse two sundays ago, when I had to call for an ambulance at midnight things have begun to look up.

As I drove back from the hospital the tension slowly started to unwind so that when we arrived home, tiredness struck like a great veil.  We are both happy for this good news, and Irene, who has looked after my small family of animals also turned up, and she sat there with tears in her eyes, what it is to have good friends.

She told me funny tales of Lucy and the bantams playing up, of how Lucy barked at the people in the churchyard attending a grave.  Lucy believes that the graveyard is part of her domain, and will often bark at it when sitting in her armchair.

Paul my love has always been positive through the many uncomfortable things he has had to endure, his lovely smile giving me courage, and my idiotic banter holding the bond between us.

So although he will never be able to raise a glass of beer to the future, we will raise a 'fortisip' protein drink to the future and whatever it may hold. 

And also grateful thanks to those skilled in their jobs at York Hospital, I have learnt much from the nurses in their response to their patients and their unflinching patience in response to difficult patients.  Somehow sitting in the main reception hall with people passing by I have seen my fellow humans in a better light.  That might sound odd, but if you don't come out of hospital in a more philosophical mood than where else? William in Ward 33, drew for Paul his embossed name and I shall always keep it it as a memoir, not of dark days but of kindness.

Saturday 6th July

Life has been long daily visits to York hospital to be with Paul as he undergoes tests.  Now he is at home, happy to be there, though there is another visit to the hospital on Monday.  That has been the sum of my life this week.  Arranging for Lucy and the bantams to be looked after by my two friends here in the village.

Dear C has been going round in a flustered manner worrying about the upcoming barbeque, that Paul pulled out of some months ago. It is to be held in the pub car park, and Lyn from the other end of the village will arrange the buying of the meat, which she does every year and selling tickets at the 'upper' end of the village. I have a feeling that the two ladies will not coordinate, I have only ever sat in on meetings and handled the monies coming in.  The barbecue is the most friendly get together of the year, last year it was up in the big barn of the Bells.

Things happen in the village, a new face Joe, has taken over the parish council affairs, his two main objections are the speeding through the village and our stance against fracking.  Irene has taken on the role of secretary and when given the book of parish happenings, found that the problem of speeding traffic had been going on since 1950.  This was due to the coaches coming through from the local Flamingo Land up the road.  Never been but was pleased to see that they were sending a black rhino, bred here, back to Africa.

As for fracking, it is a bit like sitting on a bomb waiting for it to go off.  Kirkby Misperton about 4 miles down the road was the site of a fracking drill.  Run by Third Energy, a company that had little money and when Barclays refused to bankroll them, they were sold off to a holding company in Britain - in America.  The whole caboodle of equipment was pulled from the site and residents rejoiced, now they worry once more.

Funnily enough I was going to write about Utamaro, a Japanese artist but I will do that later.  Paul always reads my blog, so my recording of our daily life is important to him!

Cannot praise York Hospital enough, we must never let the NHS disappear under privatisation, it is the one true diamond amongst a sea of empty politicians bickering for prominence and power.  Is anyone governing the country by any chance? 

Tuesday 2nd July

Taking a break from blogging for a bit.

Tangled Woods

Old woods, old photos, this wood was coppiced many years ago, when I saw it a few years back it was neglected, trees fallen, boggy underfoot but of course it was making its own ecosystem.  Well on Gardener's World, the same point was made by 'rewilding' a garden, allowing the natural world to invade the 'kept' garden. 

George Monbiot is all for rewilding our country, allowing the uplands to become wild and less sheep ridden, the beavers to dam rivers and maybe even wolves to roam Scotland, that would definitely bring down the expansive deer population.....

Sometimes I am in two minds about this, the habit of growing flowers in gardens have brought the insects in to live and prosper, what of course we need are more ponds, the old village ponds have long gone.  Frogs and newts disappear and the water insect life is scarce.  We have farmed the land to within an inch of its life, the old meadows of wild flowers are long gone, councils plant wild life verges along the road, and we can only hope insects do not get killed by passing traffic.

We had that sad spectacle of builders and councils netting the trees and hedges so that the birds would not build nests, I am still trying to work out why?

Campanula

Bell flowers, a favourite of mine, I remember walking down a gorge in the Mendips and finding a wild plant and being thrilled.  Up here on the Yorkshire moors you will find the little harebell, nodding their heads furiously in the wind.

Cantebury bells, allow the words to roll around in your head!  I realise I haven't any in the garden but I do have ordinary bell flowers in the front, now beaten down by the rain, as was the lemon rose... captured for the moment.

I am sure this is a 'conglomerate' bellflower that is just coming into flower in the garden

This is a walk round the garden but outside on the verge of the church Keith has tackled the grass and spent leaves of daffodils, but look what he left standing - Orange hawkweed, brightly coloured against the green.  John of 'Going Gently' was talking about 'shedding' which apparently is the terminology of helping in your community.  Well Keith works so hard in our community that I think he deserves a medal.

So what else, a bumper crop of blackberries, my Rosamundi rose is starting to flower...... only two pears on the new tree and a meagre two plums on one of the plums.

The fat little bums of bees are always a welcome sight round the gardens

Stripped Rosamundi, echoing the past

Flowers have a history of their own, we have several wild bell flowers in this country, their shapes echo the bells in the church but the flower bells do not ring, only carry their own folklore along the way.

St.Gregory's Miscellany

Well something totally boring, but not to me.  I received the rather sparse copy of the Archaeology at Kirkdale yesterday.  You can read about the Saxon Minster at the bottom of the page there is a link to more photographs.  But two fascinating facts popped up.  The stone below just outside the porch of the church, was it prehistoric? well as always speculation must be the answer but I will quote what the authors of the report said...

"Incised into this surface are very vestigial traces of decoration which can be matched by elements of that on a sculptured stone in the church, a cross of 10th century date.  It seems likely that our stone was a 10th century grave-cover, perhaps the cover of a stone coffin.  The stone was not, however, quarried or cut for this purpose, as it had earlier weathering i.e. it was available for re-use in late Anglo-Saxon times.  One possibility is that it was originally a prehistoric standing stone - a menhir like the great stone still standing in Rudston churchyard; or even one of a circle."

As Paul and I always look for churches that have an early pagan association this was not surprising, the aura of 'deep mystery' and history pervades this neglected corner of the world.  This stone by the way does not have the height of the great Rudston menhir but perhaps as Christianity settled on the land, the early monks, after all we have Lastingham just down the road, found this spot still encumbered with prehistoric stones and decided to settle.

Old stone with Paul for comparison

The other note of interest, is a bit like local gossip but I will record it.  Not far away from the church  the 'Bone Cave' or Kirkdale Cave  resides in which the bones of many different animals, including Rhinos and elephants were found.  Well the following story does not take place in this cave but another three some distance away, in these lived in 1699-1711.......

"An 'Ethopian' lady named Naggs who had 'four hands'; she was the mistress of Sir Charles Duncombe, who died in 1711.  The probable site of these caves have been located but they are now filled in."

I am still trying to work out where the second pair of hands were attached to but will not strain my mind too much.  These  three caves are now filled in, near Hold Cauldron Mill though.

https://northstoke.blogspot.com/2015/08/stgregorys-minster-church-at-kirkdale.html

https://northstoke.blogspot.com/2018/01/wednesday-10th-january.html

Monday 24th June

Read with Care Andy Worthington - The Party's over.

Yesterday is the past, the future is unfortunately writ with dire warnings of climate emergency, though you would not think so in blog land.  I came across an article written by Andy Worthington, an author who wrote about 'The Battle of the Beanfield'.  He reminds me a bit of Corbyn, grasping to his chest strong beliefs about the state of the world and rising up for the dispossessed, in Worthington's case Guantanamala prison.  So read him as a political activist.

So what caught my eye, well next weekend is the Glastonbury Festival, in which thousands of our young will gather together and leave their enormous mess of rubbish behind  (well unless a miracle happens) on the ground. The great and good will rattle and shake on the stage but all these well heeled performers and audience will have been raised in the recent modern culture of the 'me, me, me' society.  In other words they want to strut the stage of the world and get noticed for a brief moment in time.  Live for today and forget tomorrow.

Children it doesn't work that way! The 60s has a lot to answer for!  A quote.....

"Unfortunately, however, just as Thatcher and Ronald Reagan had reinstated capitalism’s broken narrative in the 1980s, particularly unleashing the greed of the banking sector, Tony Blair and Bill Clinton dutifully followed, unleashing an unprecedented orgy of consumer materialism, expanding on the 80s mania for outsourcing vast swathes of production to the developing world, further empowering bankers, and facilitating the growth of remorseless international tourism, fuelled by the essentially unfettered activities of the car and plane industries that has dominated our relationship to the earth — and promoted our inflated sense of self-entitlement — to such an extent that our very existence is now imperilled."

Strong stuff, agree or disagree, but our Western world has certainly prospered under a system, I won't name it but it is there.  Some would call it 'bread and circuses' a belief in a top down society, the 'upstairs, downstairs' of Downton Abbey. 

Worthington felt strongly about the phenomena that was the Midsummer Solstice at Stonehenge, though arguably it is the Winter Solstice.  Suddenly arising from the 'flower power' young people came to a new pagan religion.  Celtic at its fringes, it made itself. Looking to The Earth as a mother and that we had to protect her. 

Well there are some things you can't do in this old society, protest and gather together in large groups, remember how Maggie got the miners and printers?  Greta Thunberg is just the latest rising star in the protest movement, the elite of course have to be a little careful how they treat children, so they smile with wolf's teeth ;)

It has struck me writing this how I am really a socialist through and through, not envious of wealth at all, my own family saw to that with their bitter infighting over inheritance.  But also an observer, as I have watched protest in a different venue - road building - and seen the obvious pain of the protestors in their efforts to save the natural world.  The same of course as fracking rears its ugly head, this time I do not see the 'wasters, travellers' so depised by some, but people of my age genuinely worried about the future for their grandchildren.

But then some people put their money where it is needed, such as  David Gilmour auctioneering his guitars, into organisations fighting for the rights of the environment such as ClientEarth

Walks I miss on a Sunday

Kelston Round Hill viewed from the racecourse

Yesterday reading Poetry in a Red Dress Blog a sudden shock of sadness for walks long gone overcame me.  A whole group of people had gone up to one of my favourite long walks to Kelston Roundhill above Bath for midsummer solstice.  Not that I wanted to be part of the group, only the memory of wandering up with Moss on a summer day to the small but perfectly rounded hill with its small copse of trees.  You could walk from Bath race course down an old track that would lead eventually to North Stoke village. But taking the track to the left would take you up the hill.  There was another walk up from our village, Weston but it was uphill all the way.

Over the years I explored this part of the world, watching on Sundays as the balloons sailed over from Bristol, often coming down on this higher land.  The wicker baskets bumping along the grass, no one got hurt.  On Sunday you could also get a balloon ride from Victoria Park in Bath, where Moss's ashes are scattered,  as a throwaway line!

In Deborah's blog she mentions that there was probably a bronze age barrow on top of the hill, years ago a tree had overturned in  a storm and beneath it's roots there was a pile of stones.  But of course the Bronze Age cemetery was on the race course and the field next to it, though sadly destroyed by time and the farmer.

Moss always waiting for the ball to be thrown

This wood was neglected and very boggy but I have a whole series of photos for it.

 

A small secret path, to the left if you went into the undergrowth it was where the deer stayed at night.

Saturday 22nd June

Well it has been a busy week, two visits to the hospital for various procedures, yesterday we arrived at 8 am and stayed till 6 pm.  But the whole atmosphere is so efficient and hardworking that one sits patiently, people watching. Also admiring dear old ladies who take all the procedures so bravely and cheerful.  Paul continues to mend slowly and we enjoy the journey there and back through the beautiful countryside.

On turning on the news we find that America has brought us to the brink of war that day with Iran, but the brink may only have been 'brinkmanship'. Our future prime minister has had a 'domestic' with his lady love,  intriguing what the ladies out in the shires will think, or do!  Can you imagine Johnson being pushed out of No.10 by an irate female, the cartoonists are going to have a field day.

But to a quieter person who I came across this morning, Doris Hatt, a painter born in Bath.  She was born at the latter end of the 19th century, and later on inherited money from her aunt, allowing her to build a Bauhaus/Art Deco house at Clevedon, Bristol. She lived a fairly long life to the 60s, influenced by all the happenings around her.  Communism floated through her life as did the painters of this period, and her paintings reflect this.

Brandon Hill

The Farm

A favourite, 'Still life with goldfish bowl' (anything but still)  all photos taken from Wiki under the name of  Sunnysideman.  Thanks to Deborah Harvey for introducing her.

Thursday 20th June

Ceanothus, much bluer in real life

The garden outside is a medley of bird song, the harsher noise of jackdaws followed by the more mellifluous sound of blackbirds and the chittering of the  house sparrows.  The sky is not as blue as the top photograph but it is sunny.  Roses tumble with abundance, foxgloves peek out host to bumblebees and the blue of the ceanothus attracts honeybees.  Everything vibrates with life as we near the Summer solstice. The Earth's heart is pounding vigorously in this corner of the world.

Perennial geranium

We have a problem in the house Paul's mobile is not working properly.  So tomorrow we have to find a mobile shop and get a new one.  The phone has already been ringing this morning but is unanswerable, so I shall worry who it was, have a feeling it was the hospital.

Jam and Jerusalem rose

At the political hustings: Well we already know who will be our next prime minister, the Tories are voting for their lives and the party of course in Johnson, more fool them!

Guy's Rants

Well something to mull over, Riverford's video on plastics.  The trouble is he doesn't have a long term answer.  Today is a hospital day and I am not feeling too clever myself, but my aim is to keep on looking for other materials to wrap things up in.  By the way Guy doesn't like Gove, neither do I, still call him Mr.Toad and last night meeting of minds, did not change my mind one jot.....

Sunday posting

Karen's grandfather

It is Father's day, well I was brought up by my grandfather, my daughter Karen also lost out on a father figure due to death and here she is with her grandfather in Blonay, Switzerland.  She goes back this week for a holiday to see her two aunts.

As she grew up we went back to Blonay for Xmas and summer holidays, and along with her cousin Marc, she spent many a happy hour in the company of her grandfather.  

Annabel, Marc's mother, was like me a 'rescuee' from the dramas and tragedies of life.  The time in Switzerland a happy break.  It is a country that is well governed, tidy and on the whole wealthy.  Go up into the mountains and you will find the traditional wooden houses, dark and shutters, but also the bright geraniums in window boxes enlivening the dark wood.  The cows on the summer pastures, a bell dangling from the leader, and mountains that look so tall against the blue of the sky.

Lake Leman could be viewed from the bungalow, the paddle boats making their way to France across the lake.  We always had to carry our passports, even the dogs, because there are so many frontiers in Switzerland.
To remember him on this day, his poem, a longing for England maybe, from someone who spent most of his working life in Unesco.

The Tourist's Lament by C.J.Opper

A rainy evening in Vevey,

Fills me with intense dismay,

The faded splendours of Montreux

Leave me feeling rather blue;

And if we must stick to verity,

I don't go overboard on Territet.

And, I must say,

Whoever got hooked on La Tour de Peilz?

For Corsier, Blonay, Chebres and Corseaux,

I'm unequally unmoved or even more so;

If there's a place I'd rather not be on

Its the top of the tower of the Chateau de Chillon.

In Southend they would'nt have the cheek to serve,

That cupper tea we got at Villeneuve

We got fish and chips just beside the church

But you have to ask for fillet de perche.

So..... you just ask your mother why we're here,

When we might have been on Wigan Pier.

I shall photograph my old photographs, or perhaps even scan them, for they capture a way of life the ex-pats enjoyed around this place, and it is good to remember that Conrad was also a church warden at the English church at Territet.

Saturday 15th June

I will start with a jug of roses, though life is not always a bed of roses, and the weather remains cold and rainy.

Or perhaps a newly trimmed Lucy, looking slightly slimmer having just been to Aislaby in Kate's slightly messy car for a haircut.

She is getting better, doesn't even look ill and is knocking back the food in her usual guzzling self.

Paul continues to improve slowly, he sleeps a lot, there is a new regime to cope with and we both move forward. Yesterday I got his prescriptions, and the protein drinks presumably designed to give him strength, and yes they are produced in little plastic bottles.

We still live in the mess of B***** and the anointing of the new prime minister - will it never end - as we face canditates of unspeakable horror ;).

And then there is the gathering storm cloud of the American/Iranian conflict, will it erupt? who do you believe? Will the Gulf become a war ground....

                     

We, like a lot of others, who do not have access to gas in the district, use oil.  Up the road at another village there is Bata, a farming firm, which not only provides the feed for the animals but also provide oil.  Well those Bata tankers have been going past as people fill their oil tanks in the middle of summer, though it could also be because the weather is so flippin cold.

We live on the edge of a precipice, though all around is calm and smooth, blowing up oil tankers is a nasty business, though I have read somewhere that it could easily be a third tribal force that is causing the upset.  It all boils down to religion of course.

But today we have strawberries and cream in the church, Janet hopefully has found enough punnets  (plastic?) of this fruit, and cakes have been made.  But of course such low key activities does not bring enough money to mend the crack in the church above the altar.   Old buildings move with the movement of the ground underneath, having no foundations which does not help.  Medieval buildings were built on solid walls, I remember having to draw the outlines of a wall at Castle Acre priory,  a metre thick,  bending slightly, but as always the stone robbed above for some other building. 

Scarborough

       

Victorian cemeteries and gardens do occasionally go hand in hand.  Yesterday the gardening club travelled to Scarborough, meeting on the way mist turning into fog from the coast but no rain.  Gloomy and atmospheric was the cemetery, the garden bit was the long ravine that travels down to the sea, we only went part way along it the trees on either side towering above us like a rain forest.  They are careful not to cut down the trees because leaving a funnel for the wind will destroy others.

   

There is always a Temperance man in Victoria times

Our small band of gardeners