|Go on throw it!|
Barrows or roses? One of the things I have experienced up here in North Yorkshire, is the phrase 'God's Own Country'. Which I have always thought to mean its the best place in England. Well for a start, your wild flower yield is low, I have never seen any wild orchids as I saw on the hills round Bath, or as many wild flowers and I am beginning to miss them as spring beckons invitingly round the corner.
My companion on walks was Moss, sadly Lucy dislikes walks, she hangs behind me going and only when we get to the spot where we turn, she does her twirl of joy and hauls me back home. To get back to Moss, a sensible dog to take on walks, he always knew the way back as I wandered haphazardly round prehistoric sites, or trying to find a way past a herd of bullocks. Moss is long gone but the photos are still there.
One of my early walks was from the house up the Lansdown Hill behind Weston village was to Beckford's Tower. William Beckford (1760-1844) a strange character, rich of course, but given to grandiose ideas such as building Fonthill Abbey, unfortunately the tower there fell down several times. He bought several farms round the Lansdown and then made a lane through the fields to the gold topped Beckford's tower. When he died his daughter sold the place to a publican, but eventually it became a cemetery. In spring violets and primroses are to be found, its Victorian atmosphere has to be seen to be appreciated. Beckford's grave was a barrow mound surrounded by a ditch.
The walk up the Lansdown early morning would find deer browsing along the hedgerows, and slightly later a couple of MOD workers off to work at the top.
|I think this was a memorial to a young daughter born in a different country.|