31st July 2024

 News turns from good to bad and then the terrible heart rendering news of the children attacked in Southport, three beautiful children dead and  eight others and also two adults are critically injured in hospital.  What sparked the attack we shall of course find out later, but it provoked an attack from the far right, whose disgusting morality only wants to sow discord in the country and who lead a rampage through the town.

We can weep for all the children killed in war, whether Israeli or Palestinian and those killed by the foolishness of young men who believe that death equals justice in their minds.  You can add  this morning to the injured toll 39 policemen and three police dogs.  The far right are mindless thugs.

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And on to quieter things. My daughter's visit up to Birmingham for a wedding also included a visit to a neighbour in Calne.  The town is but 6 miles from Avebury, it was the town I settled in as a young widow with a small three year old daughter and large labrador called Kim.  Our neighbour Jean with her three boys lived next door, and so my daughter was always in her house.  Sadly one of the boys died when he was 18 but the other two still live near.

Calne was a 'bacon' town, the poor pigs brought there to be slaughtered and it had a large factory right in the centre.  This has now gone and there is plenty of recreational space now, a couple of photos from her phone and I have just discovered a couple of my photos from my phone in the 'cloud'.

Me obviously trying to work out the back to front element of  photo taking

The town of Mytholmroyd below

Waiting for the train at Todmorden

Calne.  Changed somewhat

Calne.  Andrew and Jean

Calne. Old part

T

One of the pig Heads from  Harris's bacon factory Calne 

Jean will be coming down for a visit in September, she was a great traveller and still a walker though several years older than me but I would point out that the countryside round Calne is much flatter than here.

Calne's homeless pig heads

28th July 2024

 

Courtesy of Mark Anderson - Geograph -  Milk Churn Joan stone

Joan was eaten by foxes as she made her way over the moors delivering milk.  Not often you get to write that, though being eaten by foxes is a bit implausible.  But that was the stone we were heading for yesterday across Midgely Moor.  Well we did not make it but we did make it to the moor.

It is almost impossible for me to walk on rough ground but we did make it part of the way, heather and fern and the twittering of birds, which I didn't see but heard flying overhead.

The journey started with taking a train to Mytholmroyd, a small town along the line, the town lies like so many towns in these narrow valleys along the line of the rivers. Steep sided hills covered in trees and then the moors at the top.  I have been intrigued by the word Mytholmroyd, translated it roughly means the meeting of two rivers settlement with a dash of Norse. We were to meet Andrew with the rented car, more of that later.  Karen and I walked down from the station, we had half an hour to kill, and stopped almost immediately by a little cafe on the bridge.  My daughter can never go past a cafe with homemade cakes.

Duly refreshed and cakes packed neatly in boxes for afternoon tea, Andrew arrived in a swish BMW.  Though in fact he had only asked for a basic automatic car.  But they didn't have one, so we travelled in comfort.

Midgeley the village we were going to was but 5 minutes away, high up just under the moors.  I kept seeing the 'Fairy' rose in the gardens we passed, tiny rosettes of a pale pink.  The roads had become narrow as we climbed and we took a left instead of a right and Andrew had to turn the car around in a very tight space with a very long rocky drop on the left hand side.  Modern superior cars;) can do this, little burpings tells you when you are too near a wall.

I was fascinated by the computer set-up in the car, for a start you just press a button to start the car, the co-pilot 'she' doesn't argue back either.  The computer skills are very helpful in navigating but had certain problems finding Crow Hill, though I had bought an old fashioned map with me and we eventually went up the right farm track.

Andrew told a funny story about his mother.  She had refused to let his father buy a car with a reversing gadget because she thought it would speak out like the vans - 'keep clear, keep clear'.

We had to be back in Tod to pick up Tom from the station by 12.45 and head on to the 'Staff of Life' for lunch.  We had the nook in the restaurant and I had mushroom stroganoff, and picked out the tofu it had come with.  Tofu is like bland blancmange, with almost the same texture and I have never liked it.  But the mushrooms in a deep velvety sauce of red wine, chips and garlic bread dipped in was delicious.

So it was a good day out with plenty of adventures, I think I have managed to learn how to say Mytholmroyd.  Which is a pretty little town, and obviously the place to go to start a walk up on the moors.  But sadly not for me.

27th July 2024

Just found the above, it probably states how I feel. Monitoring our politician Josh on F/B today, and he has written a great deal of the people he has met and discussed issues with, and also how parliament works.  Showing the long corridor which everyone has to go down to vote, they only have 8 minutes to do the run.  He is like a child in a toyshop delighted with all he sees.  I wish him well.

Andrew is already calculating the trip up to Midgeley Moor, it is just above Hebden Bridge not far to go, I wanted to see Miller's Grave, a rather large desecrated Bronze Age barrow but with an attached story of it being Miller's Grave.

Here is the story:  Taken from Paul Bennet's Northern Antiquarian.  I think it was found in the 1869 book by Watson - The History of Halifax.

“About ninety years ago,” he wrote, “that is, towards the end of the eighteenth century – one Lee, a miller, committed suicide in Mayroyd Mill near Hebden Bridge. The jury at the inquest held on the occasion returned a verdict of felo-de-se, and the body was buried at Four Lane Ends, the Rough, in Midgley. The fact, however, of the body of one who had laid violent hands upon himself, lying in unconsecrated ground at a point where the highways met, and at a spot which the inhabitants passed early and late, oppressed the people of the neighbourhood with an irresistible dread. Persons going to market and passing from village to village, feared and avoided the unhallowed spot, until the feeling increased to one of insupportable terror; and, in the night time, a multitude collected with torches to disinter the body. This was speedily effected and violence was even offered to the dead. A man named Mark Sutcliffe, and others, who attempted to prevent the exhumation, were stoned* by the mob, and the body was hurried to the cairn on Midgley Moor, where it was hastily interred. Here however, it was not allowed to rest; the isolation of the body, though buried in a lonely spot, was yet apart from the common cemetery where the dead lie together in their special domain; and this invested the surrounding district with a superstitious awe difficult to describe. The body was still too near the haunts of the living; and, to the perturbed imagination of the inhabitants, the unquiet ghost of the suicide constantly brooded over the hills. As this was not to be endured, the body was at last removed from the cairn, and finally buried in the churchyard of St. Thomas a’ Beckett’s, Heptonstall. Although the interment of Lee, at the cairn, has conferred upon the spot the name of the Miller’s Grave, it cannot be doubted that the large quantity of heavy stones which we find heaped together at this place…was piled up in distant times…”

It interestingly denotes the fear of suicides and how being buried at cross roads or special trees was the fate of the person who took his own life.  It also paints the picture of how death was looked upon and the poor remains of the man eventually moved from pillar to post ended up in the church at Heptonstall.  You can find photos of the rather untidy graveyard at Heptonstall here.       

Also of course Sylvia Plath buried far from her homeland.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Men explaining things to me

 Right, a title straight out of Rebecca Solnit's book.  A tongue in cheek start to the day.  But I hate arguments and having to argue a point,  always seems so pointless.

So, who are the men talking to me? Well it has to be Alistair Campbell and Rory Stewart, two affable good friends.  If you want to be specific they sit on either side of the political spectrum in this country, though joined in the middle on their thinking.  You can see their rather long talk on 'The Rise of Kamala Harris' in the video down below.  Just love the opening frame with the dog asleep on the bed, it sets the tone of gentle information and a discussion held between two friends. Very British.

The frenzy of reporting does one's head in, so I listen to podcasts, Professor Tim Wilson is also another person I listen to.  His pet hate is Nigel Farage and I also can't bear Nigel's grinning beer swilling face either,  So prejudices are already beginning to show - tut, tut.

Another person who has explained things to me is Andrew. My camera broke down a couple of weeks ago and I said to myself I'm nearer to the grave so do I need a new one? the answer was no, use your phone instead.  Unfortunately I was not able to transfer photos.  It was explained last night, everything is up in 'The Cloud'.  I have my own little white cloud in that blue sky with all my junk on it.

So we found them, and indeed there are an awful lot of photos up there but I shall have to pay a very reasonable storage figure monthly.  But in usual computer style Google is playing up about that.  One problem down and another follows in its wake.  Anyway I have decided to start on a new project.  It was gz's rather moving memorial to her partner Pirate and I thought perhaps I should record some of the things about Paul, so those will go up in Pages. 

Busy Saturday coming up, Andrew has rented a car for the weekend for a wedding up in the Midlands, so Saturday, in the morning I get a trip up to the moors, and then we go out to lunch at 'The Staff of Life' and if I have enough energy there is a talk at the Folklore Centre.

Also got a train ticket for August, we will all go up to Chiddington in Surrey to Andrew's parents and I will be able to see his father's garden.

Old Blog - frozen in time

Lavenham - The Guild Hall

Fifteen years ago.  When Paul and I became partners he lived in a house in Chelmsford, or at least near Chelmsford in Essex, so we had plenty of time to explore the area. His house fronted onto a great green and was very pleasant, his studio was attached but Paul was already thinking of retiring. Occasionally a scroll would turn up and I remember a very large painting arriving from Australia, it needed some work and dating, and then sent on to Europe for sale.  But on the whole, he just did some work for his patron now and then. 

We went to Lavenham in Suffolk on a day trip, I remember it was a cold day.  Lavenham had been one of the richest towns in England because of the medieval wool trade but then a series of happenings had almost shut down the trade in wool and Lavenham remained for evermore frozen in a time frame of beautiful timbered houses.  Such houses can be found in the villages around carefully conserved by loving owners.  Often the plaster work painted in bright colours.  My favourite house was painted a soft pink which was the exact shade of the blossoms on the horse chestnut tree in the garden.

I shall copy a quote on the colouring of these houses, made by Alex Clifton Taylor - The Pattern of English Buildings (a book which would also come with me to a desert island!) Most houses were painted with a white lime wash or whitewash as it is more familiarly known, which can of course be coloured.  Ox blood anyone?

"Brighter colours need to be handled with discrimination in the vaporous and often misty atmosphere of Britain, then that in the crisp, sparkling of the Mediterranean.  There is, nevertheless plenty of colour wash to be seen in this country, much of it so succulent that one finds oneself turning out half the contents of the larder in order to describe it.  There are tomato-red, raspberry and cream pink, strawberry ice pink, peachy pink, salmon pink.  We meet orange and apricot, lemon yellow, lime, butter yellow, biscuit and cream. Apple and olive round off this gastronomic galaxy"

 So in the tradition of posting old blogs here goes.

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This week has been one of visiting places, mills, rivers, a Cistercian abbey and now Lavenham medieval town in Suffolk, said to be the most perfectly preserved medieval town in England. But first, one small memory that was funny.

The starlings have been producing their young, fledglings balance on fences, trees and rooftops. But the other day as I sat in the garden and watched a small flock eat the bread, six little ones decided to have a bath all by themselves, they perched round the shallow bowl, three little ones with their claws tight on the rim whilst two splashed about in the water, a small one running back and forward too scared to jump up. Harassing their parents for food, they will all soon be grown, two flew up to the fence, one promptly falling over the other side, he immediately flew back looking slightly puzzled.

Back to Suffolk and a fifty mile drive through the countryside. Its weird how England changes with the counties, Essex is redbrick and plaster/timber houses, Suffolk has a cream/brown brick which to be honest I don't like, but the houses are again plaster/timber. There is a different feel to the towns one passes through and Lavenham though beautiful left me with a slight feeling of unease. I think it has something to do with the present situation in the country, as the greed is revealed. LS summed it up perfectly when he said that Lavenham is like an extinct mammoth, it got taken out of the system of being rich so quickly that it was preserved in its present state, there had been no money to redo it in the following centuries.

It is classic medieval, Shakespearean but without the smells and carts rumbling through the streets. The rich swishing around in funny hats and ermine decked cloaks, the poor in their dirty brown sackcloth. It is a place of tourism, small gift shops, and a rather nice tapestry shop (expensive) and places to eat, with the magnificent Swan Hotel hosting a wedding party this day.The market place was extraordinary, dominated by the great Guild hall, traditionally limewashed to protect it from the ravages of the weather. The National Trust do this every five years.

Houses lean crookedly one way or another, their neighbours holding them up,painted all the colours of the rainbow but in a much deeper hue, there is orange and pink, but the grey white is perhaps the softest on the eye. De Vere house (history not checked yet) but I think he is the leading dignitary of this time, was a glorious marriage of dark intricate timber, and the dark rose pink of the zig-zagged brick infill.

A very beautiful town with lots of quaint buildings, wealth built on wool, and of course the labouring class backs.
Coffee at a small B&B cottage, front room was the cafe bit with a tiny, kitchen in the corner, and a vast menu of various sandwiches, toasted and plain, with jacket potatoes, etc. What was so funny was the very warm helpful, quite elderly couple who ran it, getting into a muddle with all the orders, eventually everthing was toasted to order and extra free coffees for those who had been waiting. The piece de resistance is when they opened the door leading into the house and their dog came out to greet everyone in a friendly manner. But the cat came out too, a great Bagpuss of a tabby stalked around and refused to go back when she was lifted, clinging to a chair with a certain amount of outrage.

The market place

De Vere's house in  Lavenham, read somewhere was used in one of the Harry Potter's films

The first floor jetties over the ground floor, contents of piss pot could be thrown down easily.

And talking about jetties, 'The Jetty' television drama with Jenna Coleman as the main star, did the penny finally drop when you realised that the story was being told in two different time eras, when Ember was young and the present time? I hate it when I am stupid ;)

Thaxted in Essex, the second  timbered house is a place that Dick Turpin lived in.

22nd July 2024

Well there has been a change.  The butterfly wings have fluttered, and a whole new ball game has emerged (love mixing metaphors). I listened to Rory and Alistair in the night, they were chatting with their American equivalence Anthony Scaramucci and Katty Kay. I am not going to discuss the politics, they belong to the American people, but can only wish that they have a quiet election in which the best person wins,  and of course in my book it can only be the Democrats.  Trump may shout the loudest but if Kamala Harris can get her prosecuting skills together, the better person may win.  

Down below is a rather good Rupert Soskin and Michael Bott of 'Standing with Stones' video.  It is about the Rollright Stones, apparently, according to Soskin, the third most visited stone circle after Avebury and Stonehenge.  He explores, lightly, the myths that are woven round these stones, and can you put them into the rubbish bin of history?  No they make fascinating stories.  Facts are good but long dead kings and giants make for a more exciting read.

The Rollrights have very deeply pock marked surfaces and are indeed very strangely shaped.  Apparently during the Victorian era, people took bits of the stone for some reason, the stones are made of Jurassic Oolitic Limestone.

 

Stone Soup

Yesterday I cooked for tea an old favourite. a sort of puff pastry wrap around a mixed filling of vegetables and my daughter said what is in it then and it reminded me of the tale years ago of a German student teacher had told me.  The story goes thus, a group  of weary travellers had arrived in a village and had nothing to eat.  So they took out their cooking pot filled it with water and dropped a stone in it. As it heated on the fire they told the villagers that it would be a very good soup but that it just needed a few 'extras'.  So the villagers brought vegetables and then chicken, pork, and other things, the stone was removed, and it turned into a delicious soup that everyone ate.

I think I had been discussing with the teacher how I started soups, she said a potato, I said an onion. She was into the Bach Remedies, I wonder if they still exist. She was taking all the little bottles of magic back to Germany, worrying of course that she would get them past customs.

I have been consulting my fairy books about names, our Folklore centre is looking for a name to call the tea cafe that will run in the building, I have thought of Spriggan and Boggart Holes, the temptation of the wicked creatures of the nether world. 

I had planned to give these books to the centre, along with Christina Rossetti's 'Goblin Market'.  A strange book for a prim Victorian girl to write with its hidden undercurrents of repressed sexual feelings.

At the moment I am listening 'The Book of Trespass' by Nick Hayes, a historical gathering of facts about how land occupancy came into being.  So it starts with the Kilder Pass and bumps gently along till we get to the land enclosures of the 18th century.

19th July 2024

 I wake up to bright sun and warmth, has summer decided to make an appearance?  I am becoming a recluse, the sun hurts my eyes, ever since they have been lasered they play up.  My large computer screen is a blessing and the computer itself can even read out the articles for me.

Growing old is something you have to come to terms with and I sink quite happily into acceptance.  As I sift back through the score of memories that was my past life, I realise a need to be more forward looking.  Positivity in this raging world of dissent, when someone invented the internet he opened up a Pandora's box of discord.  But then that is how history has unfolded. 

Slave neck chains

For instance thinking about the slavery issue and the large houses that had been built on the backs of those slaves, I remembered the late Iron Age slave chains found in the Welsh lake of Llyn Cerrig Bach in Anglesey. Why were they thrown into the lake, as offerings amongst other offerings?  They point towards a darker history, the Romans taking captured tribes as slaves.  Caracatus, taken in chains to Rome and his speech before the Roman emperor Claudius, recorded by Tacitus.

"If the degree of my nobility and fortune had been matched by moderation in success, I would have come to this City as a friend rather than a captive, nor would you have disdained to receive with a treaty of peace one sprung from brilliant ancestors and commanding a great many nations. But my present lot, disfiguring as it is for me, is magnificent for you. I had horses, men, arms, and wealth: what wonder if I was unwilling to lose them? If you wish to command everyone, does it really follow that everyone should accept your slavery? If I were now being handed over as one who had surrendered immediately, neither my fortune nor your glory would have achieved brilliance. It is also true that in my case any reprisal will be followed by oblivion. On the other hand, if you preserve me safe and sound, I shall be an eternal example of your clemency.

He was given clemency. but had been  betrayed by another British royal queen Cartimandua.

I came to an abrupt end there.  But picking up again, the house is full of Lillie going camping for a few days, water guns scattered around for her small flock, camping gear everywhere, she is a big spender.  But my daughter comes home tonight after her sortie to London to see Matilda's award celebrations.  Matilda in the long line of ex-students had to be different in her hat and gown, was the only one to go short skirted and long legged across the stage but we are all proud of her.

And now a takeaway for everyone, my usual mild curry pasanda is what I have ordered.

15th July 2024 - Castle Howard

 It has been a sad weekend.  Weaver's farewell and other blog friends unhappiness.  Also, memories brought back from the past.  I wrote two blogs, one will not be uploaded but the other, which is political in nature, will appear.

I have been haunted by a journey that I took every day whilst Paul was in hospital.  It was about 30 miles to York Hospital, through the beautiful North Yorkshire countryside.  It went over the Howardian Hills past Castle Howard.  Down the narrow carriage roads that took you to the 'big' house.  

Now here is a confession Paul and I never went into the house but we visited the garden centre there for plants obviously but it was also a favourite place of Lucys.  There was a small garden centre shop with the usual expensive fripperies to buy but it also had a doggy part, with low shelves for them to sniff along.  To her delight Lucy could choose a toy or some snack and once a soft furry bed, which she slept in on the way back home but thereafter never touched again.

Our large old houses produce a mixed response from me, they lived off the backs of slavery, moved entire villages so that they could build their great estates.  The houses were sumptuous though I must admit I found most of the furniture and silverware ugly but they have arrived through history as a reminder of past lives.  See the National Trust for the controversy over this.

But you will see below a marvellous video by a young interior decorator of the inside of the house.  It is magnificent, a work of art.  He has the pleasure of remodelling some of the rooms and clearly loves the place.

14th July 2024 Political in nature

 A few days ago Andrew said why don't you write about austerity, and I thought well it has all been said before, what is the point.  The problem really comes from a different angle.  I think the word might be complacency of those that have grown comfortable from good jobs and now sit in their retirement in well furnished paid for houses.

The idyllic picture of 'pretty' England, little villages, cosy cottages, roses round the door, a dream many aspire to.  We are indeed a country, rich in beautiful buildings and a countryside to die for but it does not answer the needs of our young and those yet to be in the future.

Our infrastructure is appalling, no one has integrated a modern travel system, or built affordable houses.  Authorities are frightened to use the 'green belt' to build on so now we have youngsters being ripped off by greedy landlords.  This of course is happening in other places in the world.  The trouble is we can't live off each other like parasites, and  expecting our houses to fund the future retirement. We need regularity control in rent and occupancy, not the 'free range economy' that seems to be operating at the moment.

When I actually look at the social life around me in this town, I see people volunteering, helping others and a general and good attitude, and I am thankful for good people.  But when I look at government I see chaos, it is as simple as that.  Someone on the radio mentioned 'cross party' politics, hopefully we may see more of this.  

And perhaps rather than the aggressive nature of a two party system we should be looking at people who govern without needing to run the other side down.  We need experts that is for sure, other countries seem to handle things better, for instance in Denmark.

How to Manage the Far right an interview with Danish retired Prime Minister Helle Thorning-Schmidt.  And as an afterthought she  married into the Kinnock family. 

Also if you want a view on how to begin,Channel 4 series on "Skint" The Truth about the British Economy

411 Labour members of parliament.  I am not going to bet any money on them that they succeed, but it would be good to see some inroads into the problem Britain faces.

11th July 2024

 More humdrum news:  This morning I walked down the canal path to Lidl, there was a young man playing the violin outside the entrance to the supermarket.  But before I tell that incident, I must make a small list of the wild flowers that edged the canal.  Oxeye daisies in abundance, meadowsweet, fireweed and toadflax, not forgetting the ubiquitous yellow flowers I can never name. Someone had picked all the gooseberries.

I decided to give the violinist some money, having just bought a first class stamp for £1.35 for a birthday card for my son, (yikes) I realised a pound would not do, so gave him a two pound coin, and he gave me a happy smile, he only had two contributions in the violin case. I should at this point go into a long diatribe about the awful austerity that we live under, half hidden I might remind you but still there. But I won't.  Also had a nice comment on my blog, thanking me for being me, which I thought was sweet, so my day has begun well.

I have decided to adopt Josh Fenton-Glynn as a second son, though he will never be aware of it;). I watched him take the oath in parliament yesterday solemn faced and Andrew sent me a photo of Josh with his old teacher hugging him somewhere in the bowels of parliament.

Edit; Apparently his science teacher who has also won a seat in parliament!

Unfortunately it was on X which I have never joined so I wasn't able to comment.  Andrew by the way had Covid last week and has kept away because my daughter is going up to London next week for Matilda's graduation ceremony and didn't want to catch it.  He is clear now.

Mark my son is in his 40s and it is his birthday in a few days time, I am useless at dates, so I sent him three cook books Rukmini Iyer - The Roasting Tin, etc.  I cooked one of her recipes last night, pearl barley with leeks and tomatoes.  She has an easy one dish format, carbohydrates - rice, orzo, pearl barley, potatoes, then the protein in some form of cheese and then vegetables. 

Daniel Gumb - some more information

 

Gutenberg project - Daniel Gumb 18th century 

Elsewhere [Footnote: "An Old English Home," Methuen, 1898.] I have given an account of the North Devon savages, to whom Mr. Greenwood first drew attention. Till a very few years ago there lived on the Cornish moors a quarryman—he may be living still for aught I have heard to the contrary—-in a solitary hut piled up of granite. He would allow no one to approach, threatening visitors with a gun. His old mother lived with him. By some means the rumour got about that she was dead, but as the man said nothing, it was not till this rumour became persistent that the authorities took cognisance of it, and visited the hovel. They found that the old woman's bed had been a hole scooped out of the bank that formed part of the wall; that she had been dead some considerable time, and that her face was eaten away by rats. Daniel Gumb was a stone-cutter who lived near the Cheese Wring on the Cornish moors in the eighteenth century. He inhabited a cave composed of masses of granite. It is an artificial cell about twelve feet deep and not quite that breadth. The roof consists of one flat stone of many tons weight. On the right hand of the entrance is cut "D. Gumb," with a date 1783 (or 5). On the upper part of the covering stone channels are cut to carry off the rain. Here he dwelt for several years with his wife and children, several of whom were born and died there.

Baring-Gould's writing is hearsay and he does not mention the fact that Gumb was very clever especially in the subject of mathematics and the stars and that on top of his stone dwelling he had carved one of Euclid's theory.  As a child, Gumb had been educated by a cleric, who had recognised his genius.

The above photo needs some explaining.  It shows the entrance to the dwelling of the family of Gumb, much reduced because of the quarrying behind.  You see in the far distance the Cheesewring Tor.  There was a Neolithic settlement round this tor and you can see one of the pointed prehistoric stones, balanced precariously on the edge of the quarry.

I have written and collected a lot on Gumb and will put the links below.  He probably worked at the quarry and in stonework, but his carvings on gravestones can be seen at Linkinhorne church in a fairly remote village. 

Paul's cousin in her historical work had been at one of the 'big' houses and said she had seen some of Gumb's mathematical work on paper.

Stop for a moment, and think, what was it like to live in the middle of Bodmin moor with a family of possibly 8 children and no money.  This is what they looked out on. How did this intelligent man view his life, reared in poverty and died in poverty, yet he still held onto all his learning.  Sitting out at night and looking up at the stars and thinking.

Linkinhorne Church

Daniel Gumb - miscellaneous

9th July 2024 - Warrior's Dyke

  Well keeping my eye on our member of parliament - Josh Fenton-Glynn, there was a mention in the BBC news that several new members had problems with the trains from the North, either being cancelled or late.  Which is so ironic, as the cheerful photo of yesterday with him leaving Hebden Bridge was followed by a wait for a late train.  But photos this morning shows him grinning happily (dressed in a suit) on the steps of Westminster.  I just hope his innocence and drive for a better country is not shredded by the machinations of parliament.

So this morning I have been perusing the Gutenburg Project after a very famous vicar called Sabine Baring-Goulding.  This man wrote over a hundred books, his knowledge spanned innumerable subjects, whether folklore, history, biography, ghost stories.  He wrote about my favourite place St. Davids Head in Wales, for he was like many vicars of the 19th century an amateur archaeologist, and of course he also wrote about Cornwall and Dartmoor.

He wrote standing up, and was obviously obsessive about writing, the book I have been reading on the Gutenberg website is called 'Cliff Castles and Caves of Europe' , basically because I had found a reference to Daniel Gumb who lived on Bodmin Moor with his family, in a rock structure he had constructed under the Cheesewring Tor. Another day for him, he was an extremely intelligent man who carved the words on gravestones.  

Because what I was thinking about this morning were the round huts of the prehistoric people, how when coming back from St. Arthur's Hall there was also a settlement of houses, their shapes scattered amongst stone.

Baring-Gould wrote of those that live on the fringes of society, in caves like troglodytes, he was fascinated with the fantastic, whether werewolf or vampire.  So one views his mind through a somewhat judgmental attitude but............ Under the veil of Mythology lies a solid reality .

There is an argument that many stories and folktales collected in the 19th century were made up by those who collected them.  But we who live in an age of the written word forget that people all through the centuries could not read.  Stories were carried on over the centuries, as wild plants had history and stories, so did the landscapes in which people lived.

St. David's Head, defensive banks of stones of Warrior's Dyke

So to get back to the round huts on St, David's Hear at Warrior's Dyke, a small cliff top hill fort, well defended by the sea on one side and still retaining some of the defensive walling as you approach it.

Earlier blog

Warrior's Dyke on its spur

Hut circle area

8th July 2024 - Leskernick

Well it seems the far right do not always win, France has just lurched left, how can all those pundits be wrong.  I watched a short snippet of Farage being harangued in one of his meetings, don't worry there were two heavies to escort the offender out.  But as each verbal accusation came out, Farage would say 'boring boring' just like a sulky teenager.  The world goes on.

When I remembered Roy Goutte the other day, a word came to mind Leskernick on Bodmin Moor.. And I remembered that I had sent a book to him about a survey of the Bronze Age settlements there.  The book was called 'Stone Worlds - Narrative and Reflectivity in Landscape Archaeology. 

Leskernick had a whole host of prehistoric history.  There had been a single stone row, two stone circles and a settlement.  Plus, which intrigued everyone, a 'propped stone', whether by nature or deliberate is difficult to say.

Roy ran a group of an amateur archaeologists called 'Time Seekers' and they were asked to find the traces of the single row of stones that made a pathway towards the Tor in the distance - Brown Willy.

"There are other parts of the moor where Rough Tor dominates the skyline and many of our stone circles lie within its gaze, but in this case there is no shadow of a doubt that it is Brown Willy that calls the tune here."

Landscape is of course what the prehistoric folk lived by, they headed for stone prominences for building and also burying their dead. The Tors being obvious.  They centered their settlements and burials around them.  Often of course taking the sun and moon into account, so that the propped stone I mentioned earlier could reflect the rising of the sun through its port hole.  The photo was taken on the Solstice this June.

Roy wrote the work they surveyed, in his usual diffident way and sent a copy to Paul to be published on The Heritage Trust, in fact Roy wrote half a dozen articles on this particular site but the stone row survey is here

One of the things Roy was interested in, were 'triangular' stones, which appeared in the houses of the settlement, and in other stone circles.  You will see them in The Stone Avenue at Silbury, and they are often seen as depicting, the female vagina, though you could see them as representative of the female.

The thing that pleased him most though was the finding of a cist/burial at the end of the stone row.  It looks like a broken capstone and hasn't been excavated but the stone row, though there is an unexplained break in its middle when it seemed to go off in a slightly different direction, heads towards the Tor.  There are quite a few stone rows in Cornwall and on Dartmoor of course and a terminal end will often result in a burial cist. So you might deduce that stone rows have a ritual significance.

"We're Alright"

 

Josh Fenton-Glyn

Happy faces, he deserved it.  We have 'unenthusiastically' changed the government over night, according to the BBC this morning.  Four greens, four Reform and Jeremy Corbyn (independent). has made it to the government benches.  Stop groaning at the back!  We need liveliness to make our lives spark a bit.  Good speech by Sunak, he is staying in Richmond in the family home from now on Pat.  Good speech by Starmer, we are now to be ruled by the civil servants, (could be boring, read 'Gormenghast' on dusty rules.) It may get better but some of us would just like to see more housebuilding and the Trussell Trust slowly disappear, knowing that people are fed adequately by the money in their purse. The adventure has just begun, for good or bad I cannot say.  I thought as I listened last night as the overwhelming defeat of the Tories became evident, of Neil Kinnock striding down the hall preceded by a brass band.  A very fuzzy video of him 'We're alright' and the sadly missed John Smith, who would have made such a difference to the Labour Party.

here on the home front, the kitchen is full of cakes for the scout's boundary walk this weekend.  Lillie has been baking furiously, three large cakes, two different types of flapjacks, lemon cake and two types of small cakes.  Not sure how she is going to transport that lot, but Lillie being Lillie always has a way.

3rd July 2024

 

As everyone is getting political, here is where my vote has gone. Josh Fenton Glynn - Labour.  It is a vote for the man not the party.  He seems to have done a lot of good as a councillor over the years.  Still young and down to earth.

Though his talk about trains, still has not bought electrification to the railway lines round here.

We need younger blood in the government, and of course the young themselves to vote a better world for them to live in the future.

2nd July 2024 - King Arthur's Hall

 What to write?  Well I could titillate you all with Lillie's great grandmother's goings on.  Just seen the beginnings of her memoirs, there are three notebooks on the subject.  But that is a family matter.  What was sad was recognising the typewriter she wrote so much on.  With all its wonkiness' and letters that wouldn't behave.  She wrote us all long letters on that old typewriter detailing all that was happening at Blonay and about the people she knew round the world.  It is a complete contrast to Con, her husband's book.  Which is rather dry and details his bureaucratic life in the Colonial Service.

No I shall find photographs of King Arthur's Hall, a strange 'square' megalithic structure round a sunken pond.  It is on Bodmin Moor, and now marks a boundary between two estates.  It is believed to be of Neolithic origin.

Paul and I had two holidays in Cornwall, we had contemplated moving there but as Daphne Du Maurier said there was a lot of 'bungaloid estates' and we were not at that stage yet.  But with our good friend Roy Goutte we visited the many sites round Bodmin Moor. I haven't heard from Roy for a long time and fear the worst (that is in my nature by the way).

There have been improvements to the site and a small excavation undertaken of it in which they found a retaining wall supporting the inner bank. It is just one of those mysterious that will never be solved but nag at the back of our brains, why do we need to know everything I wonder?

The pond in the centre was full of water plants and was just boggy, nature had played its usual trick of filling in with whatever came to hand.  I think it was cotton grass, I remember taking photos of the plants and stopping Roy from digging down without recording the evidence first.  So my second late husband would have been pleased with my intervention.

There were 56 stones counted, this is a magic number to me, but I am not sure how I have seen it in archaeological terms.  But I think maybe a five year period of the old prehistoric calendar - maybe the Coligny??

Stones laboriously picked out like book pages - Celtic religion holding fast.

King Arthur's Hall, possible entrance

This is how I will always remember Cornwall.  Misty and wet, one's boots slurping through boggy places.

 

Well these fine folk, are Roy, Paul and at the end Paul's cousin with her husband, wish I could remember names, but they lived in a very pretty cottage.  Both into conservation and history.