Saturday, March 22, 2014

Saturday; 22nd March


Suki in old age

So Saturday comes round, and I flick through the old photos on my external hard drive looking for something to write about, pulling up memories of sunny days and walking. So today a small tribute to Moss's predecessor, Suki or though their lives overlapped for a year or two.  First thing I notice was that Suki fails to appear in the early digital camera photos and so she must have died before I had an all-dancing, all-singing digital wonder!  LS makes the remark that would it not have been wonderful to have had digital cameras 40 or 50 years ago.
She came from Claverton Dogs Home, two years old, her former owner was an Italian waiter, who treated her horribly.  All this bad treatment had to be undone, she was a gentle sweet creature but for the first few weeks hid behind the armchair.  Walking her in the beginning, and the first time I let her off she just stood there not knowing what to do.  She must have been kept on a leash on all her walks, the added nasty bonus was, that the retractable lead she came with had been used for hitting her with as well, so she would flinch as it retracted - so that went into the dustbin.  Time heals of course, and she lived till fifteen years old, scared of a lot of things.  For instance the great balloons that took to the air round Bath, they would take off with their passengers on Sunday from Victoria Park and float over our house sometimes, which was a bit worrying because they should have been up over the fields at that stage.  When we saw them over the downs she had to be kept on a lead, or would just take off.  The balloons occasionally landed on the race course, the basket bumping along the grass, all very exciting, the recovery jeeps would of course trail them through the lanes.
The two of them

The other things that scared her was being lost, or what she thought was lost, once she got left behind an old wall that surrounded an Iron Age fort,  and as I walked round to get her she had worked herself up into a terrible state, her heart beating fast and trembling so that she was unable to walk and I had to carry her the two miles home! The other thing she hated was electric fences and once having been 'stung' by one of them would give all wire fences a wide berth.  Moss when they were put up to keep the summer cows and calves in would actually take a detour of about a quarter of a mile round an electric fence and we would meet up further on.
I mentioned she came from Claverton Down, well up on these downs past Bath University you come to the American Museum, a place everyone should visit on a trip to Bath.  But this weekend till October there is a show, this is in the American quilt gallery and it is Kaffe Fassett and his partner's flamboyant quilts on show.
I love the colouring and patterning of Kaffe,  whether knitting, embroidery or quilting though too bright for me but so decadent and it is fitting that this exhibition should come to the splendours of this old house.

The American Museum, Claverton
Creative Commons.

Friday, March 21, 2014

Friday; 21st March

Well what to talk about today, can I  hold out for the week, heaven knows..... I have talked about my upbringing and how it was different to most families, though who can tell. As I have said before come holidays, we as children would be sent off, whether to wander the chines of Bournemouth, or the wilds of Wales.  But there was another farm I was sent to, in Colton by Cannock Chase.
Few weeks back I was looking for this farm but no luck, it was a large old farmhouse, opposite was a yard with buildings all round.  A mixed farm, a child's delight but of course dangerous with its large animals.
Yesterday we were talking over coffee how children were subject to all sort of rules and how safety and health loom ever large in our lives, compared to the childish free run of the world we lived in; there was no talk of paedophiles and drugs, of course they must have existed but the media had not caught up with them yet.
It was here at the farm in Colton I learnt that you killed a chicken by pulling its neck, and then donning an apron plucked its downy feathers, watching in fascination the little red mites that were on the body, and then gutted it before it was roasted and served with onion sauce and bread sauce. Seamlessly I had learnt  that you had to kill if you wanted to eat meat, something my grandchildren will not  see as the chickens are already vacuumed and plastic wrapped in the supermarket.  
The farm was wonderful, looking out of the bedroom window and you could see all the activity in the yard, there were four sons, big strong lads, except the fourth was, what you would call in those days a 'village idiot', the last born maybe.  He often played tricks on us children, mostly cruel and bordering on dangerous but I shall get to that later.  
In the yard the prize show bulls were exercised, they were kept in the buildings, but exercising the bulls was a time to stay indoors and watch from the safety of the window.  Great black creatures with rings through their noses, haltered, with three men holding tight, one on the tail, they would lead the men a merry dance, at last the men would be pulled in a great tug of war out of the yard and up to the large shed which housed the heifers.  
There was a solitary bull, a Hereford I think, tethered in one of the fields and when I passed him, I felt his loneliness, so used to go and talk and pet him, till of course I was found out and given a thorough telling off and told never ever to go near him.  
Round the back of the buildings was a small triangle yard in which the boar lived in his sty, normally shut up he was occasionally allowed out for exercise into the yard, and because this was a shortcut for us children, we had to watch out if he was free, as he was often hiding round the corner.  I remember once asking our young farmer lad, I shall call him Will,  if the boar was shut up, yes he said, smiling as he lied, so over the gate only to be confronted by the boar, so a very quick sprint over to the  hay bales that reached high in the shed and  a scrabbling up till safety was reached.
Once my grandfather sent us on holiday with the horses, this time it was a friend with her enormous horse called Tiny, and my much smaller Welsh mare.  Will managed to let them out one day with the milking cows, that evil smile on his face as the two creatures trotted down the drive.  We jogged behind them down country lanes for a couple of miles, till by luck a hand cart was coming the opposite way and halted them. 
Another time we had tied the animals to an old five bar gate that lead into the garden,  Will came by, yelled at the horses causing them to rear up and pull the gate up over its hinges and on to my legs, luckily nothing was broken and I presume he must have been told off.
Now imagine that scenario today, you would have all those parasitical solicitors claiming compensation, even if you did not want it.  The poor farmer would be distraught and probably up before the court for running a dangerous farm. We have moved a long way in a direction that may be safer but obviously more boring ,which is really rather sad, society has developed but not for the better in many ways......

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Thursday, 20th March

Today may be difficult, opening the curtains this morning revealed a bright and cold morning, but this type of weather can also bring a migraine as well, so as those amoebic like creatures swirled before my eyes once more, took a tablet, and took to my bed, feeling guilty of course......
LS is upset because I called my life humdrum yesterday;),so he teases me as to what I am going to do in my 'humdrum' life today! Well I cannot play with the new toy, so I shall write....
The other day I mentioned archaeology, something I studied many years back, did my 'A' level course in it, and then did a diploma course, my subject being 'Wiltshire Abbeys'. So archaeology filled  quite a bit of my life for years, notwithstanding that I married the archaeology lecturer, now suffice it to say  that it was not a happy marriage and ended in divorce a few years back.
The Cluniac Castle Acre Priory, a beautiful ruin to contemplate every day.

But come weekends and summer months a group of us dug sites as an amateur group, cold winter mornings would see us trogging across a ploughed field in search of pottery, etc or scrapping away at the soil on various undertakings such as a medieval kiln or Roman remains..  Summer months were spent on a proper paid dig at Castle Acre Priory for four years. Here my ex-husband ran the dig, and there would be about 40/50 volunteers to organise and see fed, so it was always a busy two months.  At the time we were excavating  a 'unique grain-processing plant comprising a granary, barn, a kilnhouse, a malthouse and a brewhouse' down by the 'canal', which was how most of the goods were transported.  Monks were after all the most self-sufficient of people, with their granges and gardens, and brewhouses they probably lived a good life, turning 'deserts' such as the Yorkshire moors (the great Cistercian abbeys) into productive land.

Here you can see the rounded kilns, at the other end was the great round building used for malting

In the beginning I used to draw on site, which called for a lot of concentration.  There was a young lad from university, and we worked together, he was always much cleverer at working out the 'points' from which we started our measurements, even to the point of laying the great linen  measuring tapes out in the morning to see if they had stretched over night.  As a group we had lots of fun, it is exhausting working out all day in the fresh air, but come night there would be a campfire and people playing 'ghosts' in the ruins of the abbey...

It is of course the first day of spring today or the Vernal Equinox, when day and night becomes equal in terms of time, so happy Equinox everyone.......but real spring starts when cow parsley line every lane and by ways with the exuberance that only nature can produce.

Ulting Church overlooking the Chelmer; taken in May 2011.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Wednesday,19th March

Trying to write something everyday can ultimately be difficult, but there again a blog is a diary, so for this week trying to write about my humdrum existence will continue....
In many ways, news wise, there are serious issues in the air. How far will Putin go with his bluster and bullying, he seems to have the backing of the Russian Parliament behind him, the annexation of Crimea has gone forward, whether this will result in bloodshed remains to be seen.  Should we be worried for the Ukraine people, I think so, will the Western politicians do anything about it, I think not.
Indian music plays in the background, my love has just worked out how to play the CDs on the player downstairs, he forgets the sequence of events every time though we have had it for months, incense wafts up as well!
The camera is at last bought, Canon EOS M, which makes as little sense to whoever reads this blog as it does for me, as does DSR, or 'bridge cameras'  I have pondered over these last couple of months. But there it sat small, neat and tidy on its little stand in Curry's, and it captured my heart. It has a lense, removable no less and if I buy an adaptor I could treat it to another 60 lenses of differing scope! Of course that would be a very expensive hobby, but that potential did it for me. 
Our friend in Cornwall has gained permission from the archaeologist to uncover a stone on one of the prehistoric monuments with our help on Bodmin Moor, so that seems like one of our days is already taken up, plus of course all the places he wants to take us; also the visiting of places to see where we would like to live, plus of course visit to LSs cousin. 7 days is not long enough....
What struck me this morning thumbing through Facebook, and it was not the twelve sided new pound coin, as someone so wittily observed,  are we to be distracted from the real horrors that lurk in The Budget by waving a new coin in front of us... Also the Guardian has a rather good article, telling me something that I probably knew already, money doesn't really exist in the bank, it's all smoke and mirrors...
Then there was Ann Miles writing her new blog for Dobies the seed people, waving in front me a rather useful three shelved 'bookcase' to put against the wall for plants, a bit like the old covered auricula plant stands used for showing these pretty flowers.....




Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Tuesday 18th

Things I dislike;
1) Worm City for one, this is our composter bin inhabited by roughly a million worms I think, as you take off the lid, they all withdraw amongst the vegetable scraps.  Worse still, if a couple of hundred are clinging to the lid, they will fall around your feet! yuk.

2) All this emphasis on food, now Mary Berry and your delicious cakes, don't you know sugar is bad for you? the Guardian have been producing articles rating sugar content in the foods we eat. My two pieces of fruit I eat daily has fructose in it for goodness sake, and of course all the vegetables I love for their sweetness. Butter, according to this morning news is not as bad as we think, that's good then, because I am buying cheaper butter rather than the 'lighter' lurpak because it is so expensive...  I do believe they are trying to drive us mad, television programmes galore on food, forget the starving poor in the rest of the world.  O dear I have forgotten, we are showing voyeuristic  programmes of how it is like to be poor in this country, which I have never watched so can't comment on them Benefit Street comes to mind.  So that is where my third dislike will come from.

3) Television programmes; Network channels seem to be pointing the camera at the 'me' or what I can do in life, as a dancer (Strictly Come Dancing) singing (The Voice) or particularly nasty violent drama, I suppose there must be a market for it...  All I know is that there is rarely  anything to watch in the evening.  I realise I must be getting old when I say I have seen it all before, and that it might be a good idea to shuffle off the mortal coil, except..............

It is spring and summer is on the way, and I might even come back with a new camera this afternoon!

This is the garden of an old friend, very narrow but the winding path gives a focus.

Monday, March 17, 2014

Monday - 17th March

Sissinghurst photos; 20 years old maybe, can't even remember what camera I had at the time but I think the yellow hollyhocks must have been a favourite, Vita Sackville-West's 'rooms' of flowers must have taken a great deal of upkeep, clipping the box hedges, and I never did really like the white planting but all these plants bask in warm Kent sunshine with  faded brickwork, a tribute to a person dedicated to gardening...















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Richard 111 in Court, a beautiful summary by Mike Pitts;

In reading his very long summary of court proceedings you would be forgiven for thinking you had entered into Alice in Wonderland but you haven't.  The reburial of Richard's bone is being argued in the highest court with  barristers on both sides.  Really it is about where his bones should rest, and if his descendants should have any say in the matter.  We are all vaguely related to each other, and therefore his DNA has been found in other descendants, and a group headed by Phillipa Langley wanted and now have  a public consultation, and also a final say in the matter of where he should be buried, this decision is up before the judges of this land. Therefore the group headed by Phillipa Langley and Ashdown-Hill  have taken action against Leicester University (who funded the excavation in the car park).  The last of the Plantagenets, can't say he is 'turning in his grave' because he is'nt!

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Where is this house? - Old photos

It is so pretty, romanticised to within an inch, nothing displeases.  The quiet moat with water lilies, the turreted tower, and the house with varied detail.  To my eye it looks like a folly to be seen as a 'view'.
Now did I see it from Sissinghurst, or from Knole?  Reminding me of Tennyson's poem - Mariana in the Moated Grange.....

Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:
 The cock sung out an hour ere light:
 From the dark fen the oxen's low
 Came to her: without hope of change,
 In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn,
 Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
 About the lonely moated grange.
   She only said, "The day is dreary,
   He cometh not," she said;
   She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
   I would that I were dead!"






Saturday, March 15, 2014

A walk in Hyland Park



There was not much happening in the gardens flower wise,  here I am going to grumble about this 'colour co-ordinated' park planting above, have they never read Gertrude Jekyll books on gardening? That is a bit snobbish I admit,  but self colour with self same plants are on the whole boring, what about this summer picture below at Lindisfarne....I shall quote her here, because the book happened to fall obligingly open at what I was thinking,
"I am strongly of the opinion that the possession of a quantity of plants, however good the the plants may be themselves and however ample their number, does not make a garden; it only makes a collection.  Having got the plants, the great thing is to use them with a careful selection and definite intention. Merely having them, or having them planted unassorted in garden spaces, is only like having a box of paints from the best colourman, or, to go one step further, it is like having portions of these paints set out upon a palette.  This does not constitute a picture; and it seems to me that the duty we owe to our gardens is so to use the plants that they will form beautiful pictures; and that, while delighting our eyes, they should also be training them to exalted criticism.....
Just love her prose, and she reminds me of another gardener long gone at Sissinghurst Castle, second photo down, now I have beautiful photos of that garden, which I must digitalise one day.  Enough of gardens!



Lindisfarne Garden
Creative Commons; photo by Ann Young
Vita Sackville-West's Sissinghurst gardens
Creative Commons
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Cross  Canadian geese ready to duff LS up. Why?
Because LS is lurking behind this tree taking photos, and frightening the male's mate



All is well.  A rather sweet protective mate


The old oak still in winter garb

This is the rather bare World Garden.

Friday, March 14, 2014

Thoughts

This comment by email arrived yesterday, and it shows the 'power' of the internet, to draw close linking evidence from across the sea, I loved the little poem that Daniel Gumb  has as an epitaph on his grave, and would dearly loved to have more paperwork from this obviously intelligent man, living in his cave house under the Cheesewring Tor.  The problem with delving into history is that you can only go so far, but hopefully one day we will visit the Linkinhorne church.
It has made me realise that I need to gather together some of the many things I have written about over the years, the Cope family of Avebury comes to mind, again a poem written by an American visitor in the 19th century brought this to mind, as does at the moment the 18th century Iolo Morgannwyg,  'Druid' of Wales, and John Wood, the architect of Georgian Bath, who built his houses on fanciful notions of the Druidical nature of the great stone circles of Stanton Drew and Stonehenge.  I often refer to stories people make up for themselves, these stories live on in poetry, music and art.  They are gifts of the imagination and colour the world around us....

"Very interesting post about my direct relative, Daniel. He must have been a fascinating man and I've always wonder what he could have achieved had he been born into a family with wealth, he could have been a great man but he still has a very fascinating legacy none the less! Most of his descendants that I've been in contact with through my family history research have ended up in Australia rather than America. For my own line I'm descended through his son John 1744, Daniel 1778 and Elizabeth 1812. Elizabeth married Samuel Doney and my line eventually moved to Durham in 1871, no doubt for the work available in the coal mines. I was born in Durham but, strangely enough, emigrated to America when I was 27! What I like most about Daniel was the wry sense of humour exhibited in his own self-carved epitaph at Linkinhorne church. I think it says a lot about him personally."


Here I lie by the churchyard door

Here I lie because I'm poor

The further in, the more you pay
But here lie I as warm as they.


Thanks to Brenda Butler on Wordpress for the above, and also for bringing to my attention the scattered nature of my 'Magpie Miscellany'

Earlier blogs written elsewhere


Reading Tom Stevenson's blog the other day, about 'Haunting Holloway' the first impulse of my naturally curious mind was to investigate about the 'prehistoric stones' in a wall in Beechen Cliff, I actually did not believe him! This is a place I know well, my son went to Beechen Cliff school, a school of noble proportion set high above Bath.  The boys would take the very steep paths up behind the station, that were part of the 'cliffs' but I had never read or heard mention of prehistoric stones in a wall, though I don't doubt there very well could be such stones.  But proof is fact.....  But it led on to me thinking about Bath, and what I had written about it elsewhere.  So the next couple of blogs might be going back on old stuff.  There is also the fact that I am dipping into Ronald Hutton's - 'Mistletoe and Blood' book, fascinating and informative as it is......  I see more work could be done on Iolo Morgannwg as well, just love these eccentrics from the past......

John Wood the Elder – Stanton Drew Circle and Stonehenge.
Bath is famed for its neo-classical architecture but what underpins the thinking of the 18th century architect John Wood when he drew the designs for The Circus is a strange mish-mash of legend and myth, this of course is the age of the new ‘druidism’ that took hold when such figures as William Stukeley called such places as Stonehenge the Druidical Temple.
Fertile imaginations played with the ideas of sacrificial wicker constructions filled with victims, and Wood took it much further and in his book - A Description of Bath, he writes a history for Bath that is at once absurd yet full of that energetic imaginings that are still to be found in today’s new age books.
To understand why Wood designed The Circus as he did one must go back to the myths that formed the literature of the 18th century. Wood, though including neo-classical forms in the building, was not returning to a Roman past but a pre-Roman past steeped in the myths of a Britannic origin. The myth can be found in the 12th century writings of Geoffrey of Monmouthshire, and according to (R. S. Neal – Bath, A Social History) a 16th century edition of Monmouth’s book written in Paris was very much alive in the oral tradition of Bath. Putting stone circles and Druids together seems rather strange, but Wood thought that the chief ensign of the Druids was a ring.
So as he began to plan his city on paper, he incorporated the pagan elements, but also he was relating the pagan symbol of the circle back to Jewish symbolism, therefore Christian, and then British and Greek, which led quite nicely to the “Divine Architect” who was of course God. This is all creative flummery, a mixing of ideas, so when we look at The Circus we see classical lines, but with little touches of druidism – in the acorns that sit atop the surrounds of the roofs – and the frieze which incorporates specific symbols of Masonic details.
First  though must come the story of Bladud, the founding father of Bath, an exiled prince because of his leprosy, whilst out herding pigs one day happened to notice that the pigs loved to roll in the hot muds of the spring. Bladud also tried this and was cured, and then went on to found the city of Bath on the spot. Our mythical King Bladud is given a date of 480 BC, and as Wood saw it Bladud created the city about the size of Babylon. Bladud was a descendant of a Trojan prince, a high priest of Apollo and a ‘Master of Pythagoras’. Therefore this high priest was a devotee of the heliocentric systems of the planets from which the Pythagorean system was derived. That the Works of Stantondriu (Stanton Drew) form a perfect model of the Pythagorean system of the planetary world…………
At Stanton Drew it must have taken him many hours, with his assistant wandering round taking measurements of the circles, which were probably at this time partly covered in orchards. There was a precedence for this fascination with megalithic stones, Stukeley and Inigo Jones were all entranced by these heathen stones of an earlier age, and the development of myths round druidic religions were already forming and capturing imaginative minds – a bit like today.
Now Stanton Drew was, according to Wood, the university for British Druids, which thereby made Bath the metropolitan city seat of the British Druids. ‘And since there is an apparent connection between the ancient works of Akmanchester (Bath) and those of Stantondriu, it seems manifest that the latter constituted the University of the British Druids; that this was the university which King Bladud, according to Merlyn of Caledon planted; that it was at Stantondrui the king feated his four Athenian colleagues and that they were not only the heads of the British Druids in those early ages, but, under Bladud, the very founder of them‘ 
The Circus is based on a diameter of 318 feet, Wood’s rough measurements of the circumference of the stone circle at Stonehenge, the terraced houses form a perfect circle around a ‘timber’ circle of planted trees in the centre. There is an early drawing by J.R.Cozens which shows hitching stone post for the horses arranged symmetrically round the The Circus which would give the allusion of stones.
Wood also incorporated into his thinking the hills around Bath, giving them various titles such as Sun and Moon Hill, and The Parade is also aligned on Solsbury Hill which had an Iron Age settlement on top. The Royal Crescent built by his son John Wood the Younger, was crescent shaped representing the moon.
Where you might ask is the masonic symbolism, well it is only seen from the air, taking The Circus as the round part of the key walk down Gay Street to Queens Square which is square, and you will see the ‘key’ of Bath.
Ref - R. S. Neal – Bath, A Social History.
John Wood – A Description of Bath, 1765.

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Iolo Morgannwyg


Pontypridd Stone Circle (Victorian)


As the sun, so shy, speeds on to hide behind the western hills

I stand within this
Ancient circle with its rugged stones
Pointing to the sky
Like the digits on the clock of time -
The time that has refused to move,
As if the keeper of this heather hearth has gone to bed
Remembering not to lift
The fallen weights of Time and Space.
The first verse of one of Iolo Morgannwg’s poem, some would call him a fantasist who created an idea or vision of a Celtic Druidic order in the 18th century.  
His first meeting of the bards was on Primrose Hill in London, where he had erected twelve stones called the Great Circle and a central altar stone known as the Maen Llog, this was in 1792. It is said of Iolo that he constructed an “elaborate mystical philosophy which he claimed represented a direct continuation of ancient Druidic practice. His use of laudanum may have contributed to this fabrication, though many of his writings  fall between a small truth and a large imaginative myth that he wrote!
In 1795, a gorsedd meeting took place at the Pontypridd Rocking Stone, near Eglwysilam in Glamorgan.  This was a huge slab of natural slate stone (the Maen Chwyf), and this stone became a meeting place, though the circles were yet to be put up.
The word gorsedd, which in Welsh means throne, but is also loosely used as a coming together of bards.  Julian Cope in his book The Modern Antiquarian says of this rocking stone ‘that it stands high on the ground overlooking the confluence of the two great sacred rivers Rhodda and Taff,’ and that this gorsedd stone must have had great significance in prehistoric times. The stone is surrounded by two circles   plus an avenue but the circles are   not prehistoric, and it now sits in a pleasant landscape next to a small cottage hospital.  

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Miscellaneous

Life is somewhat busy at the moment, all the maps (4) arrived from the ordnance survey last week.  Map perusing is a favourite of mine, spread one out on the table or a bed, and I will be lost among the rivers and hills.  This time it is Cornwall, three maps are for the 'looking at houses' down there, and the fourth for the Penwith area, Lands End, as it is here that you will find the most prehistoric stone circles and barrows.  Will we have time to do everything down there I wonder.  Our friend has offered me the loan of his camera to try out before I buy another, there are LS's cousin to visit down in Ruan Lanihorne. LS also wants us to stay in Devizes for the night, to meet up with his brother, and maybe my son and Ephraim can make it for a meal as well.  Last time all this happened, we met up in a pub somewhere in a village, and the boys arrived late, our American friends, Loie and Bucky were with us and we were all going to Wales to find the fabulous 'sacred springs' of Carn Meyn.  Sadly we did not find them, Bucky complaining that the bogs went up the hill and it was too wet.  This Welsh visit of course included a visit to Bovey Belle, and I still have the photo of all of us sat round her large kitchen table in that beautiful kitchen, loads of cats everywhere, everyone chattering. 
House hunting is more difficult than I thought, and really this time we will look at the areas that appeal,  when using Rightmove and Zoopla the houses appear and disappear, so you can fall in love with one but a few weeks later it will disappear.  Yesterday I saw a rather nice semi-detached Georgian house set in a village somewhere, but it had a 'flying freehold' which sounded mysterious but I think it is to do with going on the other side's property when you want to put scaffolding up, and I also note it has been on the market for 7 months.
Sunny and drear photos

The Black spot, camera  of course!





Thursday, March 6, 2014

Bilberries and plumbers

I would start with a rant against plumbers, mostly plumbers in Whitby but suffice it to say, the noise in the pipes in the cottage is still there, though a good two months have passed, and we have all nagged the plumber/s.  Perhaps that is the problem! Plumbers do not pick up mobile phones, they do not read emails properly, and according to my son-in-law this morning, don't like work anyway!
So to cool the air, and stop moaning, and getting ill in the process I shall turn to Dorothy Hartley's book - The Countryman's England.  Written in 1935, I occasionally thumb through to look at the photos of a less complicated England, pastoral in all its delight, though probably lacking in many of the energy conveniences we take for granted nowadays.
So what caught my eye was this passage describing bilberries....

"Bilberries, variously called "whortleberries" "worts" "blaeberries" "hurts" or "hurtleberries" are a regular Norseman's foot of a plant being found in Norway and Sweden.  Bottles of the juice " as supplied to the King of Norway" are to be found in the towns ( as an aside these bottles of such juice are no longer to be found, but the delicious elderflower champagne is) but up in the mountains we supply ourselves.  Sometimes parties from a village will go out by the day, women and children together, with tin cans, gathering the bilberries, and one of the menfolk will promise to meet them and drive them back,  Or the gipsies will bring down bilberries, gathering them from where they camp on the mountain-side and selling the luscious purple fruit in dripping scoopfuls at the back doors.  On some hills we get wild raspberries, but the best blackberries are not on the hills, but in the narrow sheltered hill valleys, where they hang down over the water, or sweep across the stone footed dykes, and these blackberries have a richness unknown in the Midlands"..

The book is full of photographs, some of which I shall try and scan, what they show is a pleasant unoccupied countryside with no rubbish and hardly any cars; how far we have come after the second World War with our busy roads chock a block with cars.  Gipsies are of course really no longer with us, they have become 'travellers' which is a somewhat demoted word, and we are left with Romanian gipsies to terrify our children with now.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Watery Essex



The above is not the Four Horses of Apocalypse, it is  four charging horses pulling a chariot above the Wellington Arch in London, but to me as I looked up at them all those months ago they represented chaos and anarchy in their plunging hooves.  Yesterday driving through a very wet Essex, saturated fields, overflowing rivers and deep fords and thinking about those poor people on the Somerset Levels, nature is being both chaotic and anarchistic in its dealings with humankind at the moment.  
There is also the 'incident' that blew up in the last few days when the Ukrainian people overthrew their government and Russia's startling move in Crimea, still hanging by a thread of diplomacy.  For me it is always the story we tell ourselves, how we see it and how others see it.  For me Putin is a childish tyrant, given to exhibitionism, ready to stamp on any dissent, but Russian history must play an important role in how the game must be played.  Watching the Ukraine soldiers march up to the Russian soldiers who had taken over their camp, and you ask yourselves is this bravery or foolishness? The shots were only fired above their heads, no one thankfully wants blood on the ground at the moment.  But it fills our news, our government shown up for not  wanting sanctions, or that b***** thing called the stock market imperilled by the movements of war.  Not being able to stand up for what is morally right or ethical is the usual state for this government, Cameron not meeting the Dalai Lama because China has forbade it comes to mind.  My solution is to have another band before our parliamentarians, they should be philosophers able to point the difference between what is right and wrong......
But back to the little River Ter, now winding itself through Nounsley, we stopped where we usually walk, but the river had flooded the field and was already creating another path, this must be how rivers move over the centuries, a loop created by a small island or large tree directs a different course. Muddy waters, fields saturated and leaking water that runs in rivulets down the lanes.



The village of Nounsley has no heart, no church, no shop just a stretch of houses that follow the lanes, we park up and walk down the lane to the ford, even from a distance as the water starts to creep up the road you can see that at its deepest the ford is three foot under water, and we were told had reached four feet high.   It is a gentle brown swirling river at this point, the old willow to the right is already showing that yellow-green in its overhanging branches, sure sign of spring.  Walking back up we stop to talk to someone working in his garden, me commenting on the bumble bees I see, apparently there are quite a few in his garden.  He tells the tale of a John Lewis van driving into the ford and of course being stuck, he went down to take a photo of the two men sitting foolishly in the van, where their commonsense had gone heaven knows their are four clear signs showing the depths of the water!





One day I shall take more photos of Essex houses, but only briefly glimpses from the car, even hidden under modern additions they still retain their old form.



Monday, March 3, 2014

More photos

Noting St. David's Day and realising I had written about it before, but when I looked it up there were no photos.  Now St David the town, really of course it is a city, holds a very special place in my heart, and the view of the cathedral and the Bishop's Palace still gives me a thrill into the ancient heritage of Wales.  Just along the little lane to St. Non out of town there is the old chapel of David's mother. St.Non's chapel is found overlooking the bluest of seas on a sunny morning, with its holistic centre and Catholic well, the sanctity of this area is still felt.  Impossible to put your finger on why, but I suspect history has become so imprinted in the landscape that the imagination must flow.......

St.Non's Chapel, where she supposedly gave birth to St.David, inside a prehistoric stone circle. You can see a stone to the left of the photo.

St.David's Head in the background

The old chapel

Catholic well

The romantic Bishop's palace

St.David Cathedral


Saturday, March 1, 2014

Hares and St David's Day




'@ Creative Commons
It is St.David's day today, and there I was thinking about hares and the boxing that happens at this time of year. Picking up a hare book, (The Leaping Hare) at the back there is a sad 13th century name calling poem for the hare, persecuted through time, even today by barbaric sports such as hare coursing.

Capel-y-Ffin by Eric Ravilious in celebration of St.David's Day.  Featured by James Russell
Winter Blues.

William Cowper the poet although given to a little madness, took under his wing three hares, after rescuing one from some teasing children, you can read his delightful account here.  Puss was his favorite and lived till eleven years old, they seemed incredibly tame being given their freedom during the daytime, and loved dearly by Cowper.

And so to the  hare,   An Early poem about the poor hare; Anon

By a forest as gan fare,
Walking all myself alone,
I heard a mourning of a hare
Ruefully she made her moan.
Dearworth God, how shall I live,
And lead my life in land?
from dale to down I am ydrive!
I know not where I may sit, or stand!
I may neither rest, or sleep,
By no valley that is so derne;
Nor no covert may me keep,
But ever I run from herne to herne 


There is a story about a saint and a hare, which I must hunt up but long ago I wrote of St.David here