St.Neot's Well

St.Neot is another little village buried in a valley next to a river, and you can see the strong attraction of these remote places to the wandering reclusive saints.  We had arrived to see the old stones in the churchyard on a beautiful sunny, warm day, and having inspected the stones, walked down to the river, along a track, and into the field where the well house nestled.  Nestled is a good word, for it lay at the foot of a rock escarpment, and on the ledge above the well house was a small rock cave, ideal for a saint!

The history of St. Neot and the village can be read here, his story or legend is that one day he found three fishes in the well but could only catch and eat one.  But once when he was ill, his servant caught two fishes for his meal, the monk then took the two fishes back to the well where they  were 'miraculously' restored. The story has a more pagan element to it, and the stones in the church yard point to an early Christian settlement at this spot by the river Loveny.

St. Keyne's Well.

St.Keynes Well;  We only saw two wells.  How many 'saint' wells does Cornwall have? too many to number, and most of these saints have perambulated down from Wales, I expect by sea in little boats. St.Keyne is also to be found in Keynsham in Somerset, here she banishes serpents, having arrived in this town from Wales.  She was a 'pious' virgin, and the daughter of King Brychan, a king who had many children. To find this well which   is not far from the stone circle of Duloe, we travelled down a little lane out of the village of St.Keyne, into one of those beautiful wooded valleys. The well is situated by the side of the road, the water trickling down the bank across the lane into the hollow created.  The entrance stones are green mossed and there were painted eggs hidden in the undergrowth for the celebration of Easter. St.Keyne in Cornwall has another legend to her name, and a wise girl should takes a bottle of the well water to drink at the church before her marriage! 

The plaque next to the well describes the spell which Saint Keyne cast upon the water of the well. The plaque reads: "The legend of Saint Keyne Well. Saint Keyne was a princess who lived about 600 AD. She laid on the waters of this well a spell thus described by Carew in 1602 AD—'The quality that man or wife whom chance or choice attains first of this sacred spring to drink thereby the mastery gains.'"

Robert Southey's poem "The Well of St Keyne" recounts this legend.

Golitha falls

Jamaica Inn

Green with moss, the old trees, mostly oak I think, trips you up over old roots as you follow the track to the falls.  You can follow the River Fowey along the road to Bolventor village which is very near Jamaica Inn, not a place I like, too over commercialised.  It is one of the roads that take you to the A30, the road in and out of Cornwall, a good place to live within 10 miles off, should the need arise to get out of Cornwall quick!

Golitha Falls video first video taken by my own fair hand, which accounts for the stop in the middle.  One thing we notice, is that Cornwall is really just starting to green up, especially the trees. But the most beautiful sight of all was the tapestry of primroses that threaded the steep 'stone' hedges in all the lanes, violets added a haze of blue in places, never have I seen so many primroses tumbling down the banks - a glorious sight.

Away

Cornwall - land of eerie disused industrial buildings

Tomorrow the journey begins to misty Cornwall, packed and ready.  Plants in pots watered, bird table still to be filled with seed.  The blackbirds are busily feeding their young, as are the starlings, blue tits and sparrows - life is a buzz.  That is not forgetting the bumble bees that explore the wood stack and soil looking for nesting places, and buzz constantly round our ears in the cherry blossom.  Sadly blossom is over all too quick, it lies like scattered confetti on the lawn, but we have had our sake ceremony underneath it, which just means drinking and toasting the blossom.....

Hopefully it won't be like this...

The Beginning of April

Audobon's Mourning Doves
@ Creative Commons

Sometimes news can be good or bad;  John Audobon killed thousands of birds to portray his exquisite book of birds, but what a legacy he left in his paintings. The 'mourning doves' reminded me of our own collared doves who also seem to mourn after the loss of their mates.....

So to the good news, from Greenpeace Huge win for whales! The International Court of Justice has just ruled no more permits for Japan's "scientific whaling. The court voted overwhelmingly that the size and scope of Japan's whaling program was not driven by scientific considerations. Therefore all permits must be cancelled and no new ones issued.

Watching the videos of the, (I think,) Australian 'Sea Shepherd' harry the Japanese whaling ships was a statement of how people feel when seeing the slaughter of these huge creatures.  Anger and contempt are always unruly emotions, but scientific investigations? who were the Japanese whalers kidding?

What else, well this morning they announced on the radio that 1.2 million elvers had been caught in Somerset to be transported up river so that they may have a chance of survival before they return to their breeding ground in the Sargasso sea. Such plenitude is not often found in the animal or fish kingdom, so there was a certain note of triumph around.  Looking this up and I cam across the news of the dredging of the River Parrett is at last underway, whether it will stop flooding next winter after heavy rains, is still to be seen.

Ivory billed wood peckers
@ Creative Commons

No April fools, though today see that it is the anniversary of my daughter's  and Darron's wedding , and he has written appropriately on Face book.  Talking to her over the weekend, and the house in Todmorden slowly goes forward, plastering has been done on two floors, the walls have been 'stitched' together (scary) but there is a house on either side holding there's up ;). A reconditioned aga, (she gets one I don't!) is to be fitted in the kitchen.

31st March

A cloudy grey day, and I have just listened to the world climate report on the news, so we must adapt seems to be the answer, a bit like the insects and animals.  Not going to worry about it, Nature has her own way of sorting things.

Weaver of Grass has put a photo of Marsh Marigolds on her blog, and it reminds me of a walk I took years ago along a little valley, that the Romans had once settled there and built a temple.  Along the small stream, in years gone by you would have found old Roman coins, probably thrown in for luck as were the coins at the Bath Roman temple... Richard Jeffries says of the plant "Nails of gold driven so thickly that the true surface was not visible - countless rootlets drew up the richness of the earth like miners in the darkness throwing their yellow patches of ore broadcast about them." The words and photo below show their love of damp wet places, but its history as given by Grigson tells of a plant that likes the cold as well. I notice from my blogs that their are some at Hylands House but these are probably garden centre plants.

"Marsh Marigold- Caltha Palustris has another historic tale to tell, this time from Geoffrey Grigson. He says that this flower was growing before the Ice Age in Britain and its bright yellow flowers that arrive so early in the year must have forced itself into the consciousness of all who saw it on damp, cold grey days of early spring. In Iceland it appears when the snow is still on the ground, and its flowers surround the farmsteads on the high dry knolls separated from the boggy land below.

The Anglo-Saxons when they arrived as colonists must have welcomed this flower from their home country and they probably called it Meargealla or mersc meargealla. Mear from 'horse' and geallafrom 'swelling' or 'blister', a horse-blob or mare-blob. This is of course conjecture on the part of Grigson but is well to remember that names, and especially Saxon names, have a direct correlation between that which is seen and experienced, and apparently because the round globe flower suggest a round swelling, and the flower itself looks like a large buttercup, whose roots were used as a soothing concoction for blisters."

Nettleton Shrub

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Whatever the colour of the day, spring sits like a benign spirit on the land, the blackbird is furiously sqwacking  this is the one who loves his pear cores, the blue tits have taken some of the wool, our doves have not as yet built their untidy nests, which always fall to pieces.  Everything grows, my pots of snipping lettuces colour up and the spinach grows apace. Sinking runner bean seeds into the earth is always a pleasure as well, Scarlet Emperor this year.

Sunday 3oth March

A lovely soft misty morning as I go out into the garden to hook some fleece on the cotoneaster for the blue tits, who are once more nesting in, not our nest box but next door as usual.  We have seen them check out our box but always turn their beaks up at it!  There is nothing as pretty as blue tits amongst the cherry blossom, a Chinese scroll captured for a second, they are a delight, soft blues against the pink and white.   The hedgehog is around, obviously feasting on worms from worm city, as we have left the bottom flap off

Yesterday we went to to The Cats pub for a mother's day celebration.  LS loves this pub, and its Abbots beer. Set out in the country and run by Wally and his partner Anne, who creates the perfect ploughman's lunch. Wally has 'regulars' they are always the same on Saturday, gossiping away and eating their lunches. Because this is upmarket Essex, many will arrive in expensive cars, but it is Wally who is the collector.  Two fun fair steam engines reside in a great shed, and there was three old sports car obviously belonging to him. Rather fancied the Mazda at which had a faded piece of paper quoting £1500, but I suspect it will probably have something fundamentally wrong with it, like no engine.

Wally in 'The Cats, which is full of cat's bits and pieces'

Two enormous plastic cats reside in the sun, with one on the roof, there is a real cat called Henry around somewhere.

patchwork experimenting

Future god of compassion!

miscellany

A video from Tales of Simple Day,  The Dark side of Morris - The Witches Brew, reminds me of Whitby and the Morris dancers and undertones of Gothic horror that is so delightful in our crazy interpretation of 'old' history.  People have lots of fun dressing up, and Whitby comes alive on Goth weekends, and funnily enough there are also WW2 'dressing up' occasions, when seamed stockings make their appearance. Morris dancers down here in Essex are more conventional, bells ringing at their knees, etc, so I like the dark undertones of  The Wild Hunt  ensemble.

Below are  photos of Lockeridge and Piggledene, whilst hunting through an old Wiltshire Archaeological Magazine of 1911 (yes I know its boring, but that's what I do occasionally) online of course, I came across the fact that these drifts of  sarsen stones were bought up by a trust at the beginning of the 20th century so that they would be protected in the future.  It was called the Grey Wethers Trust, because most of the fallen stones do look a bit like sheep, Lord Avebury had paid the most, £90 into the fund, and so today remain part of the common heritage of us all, which is a fact I rather like, so whenever you wander a little bit of land that has an English Heritage sign, thank the persons who put their hands in their pockets many years ago. 

Lockeridge Dene with its thatched cottage

Piggledene

Piggledene or the Grey Wethers

The computer on my desk is surrounded by strips of patchwork material, not making anything large, just messing around with squares and stripes, experimenting is the word. Several days ago developed toothache, after finally summing up courage yesterday to go to the dentist, they sadly managed to find me a cancellation the same day, not toothache but a sinus infection, never had that before, or weirdly, antiobiotics which he prescribed......

Photos from The Duck Slayer

The new camera is slowly being tried out, very simple on 'auto', but already I see a clarity from the 18 pixels strength; The software decanted  three programmes for uploading and messing around with, and it took quite a while to find where the computer had deposited them....

Why do we call it the 'duck slayer' because the camera strap guillotined our pottery duck in the garden leaving him headless..

Wood anemones at Blakes Wood

Blakes Wood

Blakes Wood

Blakes Wood

Sunday; 23rd March

Sunday is simple, this quiet cool day of the week has one subject that can be tackled with ease and that is churches, though in this instance it will be a Victorian cemetery.

William Beckford, eccentric of Bath,  born 1760, he or his father were at one time the richest 'common' men in England, worth in the region of of three hundred million pounds.  How deliciously class ridden that statement is, our William lived till 84 years old, and had spent most of the family cash by then.  Of course it was made on the back of slave labour and cane sugar plantations in Jamaica. He seems to have been married twice with two daughters but was bi-sexual and had an affair with a young boy that probably blighted his reputation for life, so in many ways a bit of a recluse as well.  He built one folly  Fonthill Abbey which starrted to collapse after seven years after being built and then he came to Bath.  Bought two houses, one being across the lane, and had a bridge built to join them.  From this row of terraced Georgian (Lansdown West) houses, he made a path (did he buy the land?) for about two miles to the top of the Lansdown and had a tower built with a gold cupola, in which he housed rather ugly Chinese vases (I have seen them) and his books.  And it was here that he would retire to each day to write or read, having ridden up from the town below.  

When he died, the land must have passed into private hands for a few years, and then was brought up by a Trust and turned into a cemetery, to house Bath's great and good. 

Bath has seven hills, just like Rome, and the walk up  Foxhill must always be undertaken in Spring when the violets and primroses nestle in Beckford's old sunken garden, now filled with sunken graves, ready to entrap you and sprain an ankle if you are not careful, but what a wonderful cornucopia of delights the grave yard reveals.

Like gossiping old ladies they sit in a row and watch the world go by

Tumbling around they present an untidy appearance

William Thomas Beckford's 'Saxon' burial, a mound and a ditch,
sadly neither of his children were buried on the mound leaving him in solitary splendour

The view down to Bath

Intriguing 'foreign' tombstone, is the rather scary crawling tree a palm?

Well who christened Thomas 'Pagan'... Lowe, what is it an afterthought,  there is definitely a man of that name in Bath, an illustrator of a book the Waters of Bath..