Friday 20th December - shortest day tomorrow

 Taken by Pwojdacz, Public Domain,

We went to Castle Howard in the end, in dull wet weather, it hardly looked the place where you would spend £20 on a ticket - so we didn't!.  I took photos of the surrounding area and puzzled at the so called  schemes of the wealthy who built such piles.  It looks gorgeous in the sun in the photo, a symmetrical classic, started in 1699 though it took a 100 years to build.  The grounds are surrounded by roughly a fifteen foot wall with turrets strategically placed.  But this is not a defended castle just a pretty show of wealth and aspiration.  You will see from the following dull photos the actuality of it.  But that did not stop hundreds of people coming, the car parks were full
I have just delivered my son to the train, and in tears drove home, though my friend is coming for coffee this morning, so the day will be full for there is shopping to be done as well for my daughter and grandchildren this weekend.
My son managed to get Paul's two computers going, after we had sussed the passwords.  One is on Window 7, Paul hated 'new' programmes, but of course it will be updated at some stage. 

there is a folly on the horizon

reckon these are stables

near to the house

I love this old tree and so do the owners obviously

The wall

large festive garland

We did try to go to the moors, but persistent fog and snow as we drove up to the moors made me turn round, not a place to get stuck on in winter. 

Thought Fox

Today I read a beautiful blog on wolves, how their presence to the writer was suddenly made aware.  It brought to mind 'The Thought-Fox written by Ted Hughes.  That moment when the fox/poem  takes form in his head and daintily steps onto the paper.

It also reminds me of looking out of the window of the Bath house and seeing my teenage son kneeling on the lawn holding his hand out to a fox that was very familiar in the garden.  This fox would sleep in the bed of flowers by my rabbits - yes I knew what he was after!  Only once did he get his teeth into one of my angora rabbits, and she screamed so loudly he let go and she escaped without injury.

THE THOUGHT-FOX

I imagine this midnight moment’s forest:

Something else is alive

Beside the clock’s loneliness

And this blank page where my fingers move.

Through the window I see no star:

Something more near

Though deeper within darkness

Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow,

A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;

Two eyes serve a movement, that now

And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow

Between trees, and warily a lame

Shadow lags by stump and in hollow

Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,

A widening deepening greenness,

Brilliantly, concentratedly,

Coming about its own business

Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox

It enters the dark hole of the head.

The window is starless still; the clock ticks,

The page is printed.

Something to think over...

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2019/dec/18/demagogues-power-rewilding-party-trust-power-government

Writing in the dark

Or at least before daylight appears.  I have already seen the thick ice on the car when I let Lucy out into the garden and it is also foggy once more.  Welcome winter weather!!

The radio is awash (couldn't resist) with news of hundreds of thousands of washing machines with an inherent weakness in their opening catch which causes fire, and if you own one well just put everything on 'cold wash'.  Funnily enough a friend came yesterday afternoon saying that her washing machine had broken down and she was thinking of having it mended for £600, one would have thought a new one might be cheaper.

Yesterday evening Mark and I went to the Carol Service in the church next door, Jo had made me promise to go there and there was surprisingly a good turnout.  Deep bass of the men offset by the higher notes of the women.  The readings were short and sweet and though I had said to Mark he could leave if he found it boring, he stayed.  

The church was decorated with the rich dark green of the holly and the ivy, threaded with thin red ribbon and fronted with dozens of small candles, it looked beautiful, some of the holly came from our holly tree.

When we started to leave, the vicar came down the aisle, obviously intrigued by the youngest person in church - Mark.  When Mark said he came from Bath, vicar thought he meant the village up the road - Great Barugh, which is always called Great Bath, which  goes against the grain of sensibility I call my brain.  We explained we came from down South.  I do like the vicar and his wife, they really care for their communities, he is a bit of an evangelist but if you believe you believe.  But he was the one who regularly visited our widower who sadly took his own life a couple of weeks ago.

As for words...........

"The name "Barugh" means 'rise of the land' which has its origins in Anglo-Saxon. The name was first recorded as Berg and Berch in 1086 and comes from Old English beorg 'hill.' The pub in Great Barugh, which dates back to 1632, is the heart of the community; it is one of the oldest remaining buildings in the village. This is the only local village amenity, with Great and Little Barugh having no shops, post office or village Hall. Ruins have been found at sites in both Great and Little Barugh including those of a Roman villa. There is also evidence of a Roman road which led to York. "


https://theheritagetrust.wordpress.com/2017/04/16/happy-easter-i-dont-go-to-church-but-i-do-go-to-churches/

Tuesday 17th December

Gloomy fog is today's weather.  My son is staying for a few days.  Picked him up from the station yesterday and watched with horror as the people disgorged themselves from the train.  It looked like a London tube train, yes the new timetables and training of train drivers has hit most services  yesterday.  The board read 'cancellations' on every other train. Just to add to the fun the town of Malton was choc-a-block with traffic and diversion signs, the A64 going to Pickering was closed at the traffic island.  Welcome to the small island of Britain!

I can hear him showering next door, strange having someone around.  He should be showering in the 'en-suite' in the back bedroom, hate that word so pretentious.  But it is leaking somewhere and now a water stain decorates the ceiling underneath in the sitting room.  But my plumber is coming today to do something about it.

Feeding my family is not too hard, I made a chicken dish with lemon and sage yesterday and it reminded Mark of the creamy, lemony dish I did with rice.  Funnily enough that was my grandfather's dish and I haven't done it for ages, basically because I don't buy cream any more.  Today it will be salmon with sweet chilli sauce, red cabbage and new potatoes.  They also like my version of a pasty.......... which is basically bacon, onions, mushrooms, potatoes and herbs wrapped in puff pastry.  The real pasty has of course real beef and turnips?

The joke comes from the Cornish Pasty, the Ginster is apparently but a pale image of the real pasty.  See they can't spell tolerate, but then I get picked up countless times by the American version of my own language!

The other Cornish joke I picked up from a friend on F/B was this........

It of course refers to holiday homes that stay empty for much of the year, forcing the youngsters to stay in the towns and unable to afford the houses in Cornwall....

Balance

Before we all start kicking people who are already down, take Alan Johnson for instance,  I would say that I have never had any strong feelings one way or the other for Corbyn.  His sons stood up for him firmly in the Guardian and I applaud their sentiment.  Corbyn has battled against those of different views to him, in the arguments, stupid simplistic words are hurled around.  He also has had to battle against right wing news coverage by such papers, that unfortunately seem to dominate  public space.

Whoever he stood up for in the past, would have been seen as right at the time, things move forward though.  The delicate issue of antisemitism in the party is still to be sorted and I have neither the understanding of these inner politics or how prevalent they are.  Unfortunately in my simplistic world, Israel has a lot to answer for in its dealing with the Palestinian problem but that doesn't make me antisemitic.

But enough of that, today I thumbed through photos of a different kind on Facebook.  This time from 'Incredible Edible Todmorden' a town I shall probably move to.  It is community involvement at its best, they tend vegetable and fruit trees in the public spaces, they come together and in the space of the church, create things for their town.  Someone cooks for all of them, children and old people mix together.  One can see traces of the old hippy brigade amongst the gray hairs but it is how we should be moving forward.  Also when at times flooding occurs in the town, it is Islamic people who bring hot and cold food to help out those who have no electricity.

Britain at its best is 'kind' that is what the children were making in signposts in that church, as sticky chocolate fingers made truffles, and grown-up fingers stuck cloves into oranges, they had come together in the true spirit of Xmas.

Yes even outside the police station

Catching the moment - Cornwall

North Cornwall;  Land of the Celtic Saints and prehistoric stones, a strange landscape for it has been industrialised in its past and Bodmin Moor ground is undulating from past diggings. We visited twice, and each time the weather was dour, mists rolling across the moors, the stark deserted buildings with their tall chimneys.  A creative muddle of a hard past as people tried to make a living, and never forget that the Cornish people would like independence from mainstream Britain.

But the sun must have shone for I found one photo with the bluest of skies.  We have a good friend down there, fascinated by the prehistory he has his own small group which 'restores' the stone circles on Bodmin and is at the moment doing work on King Arthur's Hall, a strangely fascinating archaelogical feature that is in need of interpretation.  Large, it is rectangular shaped with standing stones round its perimeter and  these stones and bank surrounds a pond.  Set lonely on the moor with a prehistoric settlement but a twenty minute walk from it, it is an enigma, why rectangular when stone circles seem to predominate. 

Here on the moor you will find the three stone circles called The Hurlers overlooked by the Cheesewring Tor,  not too far from the quarried tor there is the bronze age Rillaton barrow in which a gold cup was found, and just further along hidden in a jumble of rocks, is the remains of Daniel Gumb's cave home.

Famous cromlechs such as Trevethy and Lanyon Quoit and the exquisite little quartz stone circle of Duloe and not too far from it a 'sacred' well.

There are disappointing aspects to Cornwall, too many tourists and such famous places as 'Jamaica Inn' well don't go there if you remember the drama, it is a dull building.

King Arthur's Hall

Unknown church

Celtic crosses

Moor ponies near the car park

Daniel Gumb's 'cave' with the mathematical equations carved on the top, he carved gravestones for a living.

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.

Chief sitting below the Cheesewring

Trevethy cromlech

Lanyon Quoit

Part of The Hurlers

A happy time

Duloe Stone Circle

Rillaton barrow, gold cup resides in the British Museum

Jamaica Inn

Saturday 14th December

What do I do in the early morning? I potter through photographs of sunny days and churches.  What I notice is the stark difference between the uncultivated land and farm land.  This morning they have been discussing the constant rain that has fallen on our poor benighted* land the last few weeks.  Will they get the wheat sown? a farmer in Lincolnshire spends half a million quid on seed for peas, and is dithering at the moment - no 'Bird's Eye' peas next year?

We live in an incredibly beautiful country, yes it is crowded and its politics make you sick but our temperate climate has drawn a palette of colour and pattern that speaks to the heart.  In Yorkshire, it is the pleasing sight of cottages lining the road way.  Set back from wide verges, it is a reminder of the drover roads as the cattle came down to market.

Our cows are out in summer on the fields and in winter housed in  sheds on straw,  I can only hope we keep this system going and do not fall foul of the industrialisation of farming animals in artificial conditions on lots.

We can go through as many elections as possible, but it can't stop good people gathering together to save the environment around us.  Each day I follow the adventures of the Hedgehog Trust in our district as it takes in the young, starving little hogs and feeds them in a warm environment sending them off to safe gardens when they have recovered.  There is someone down the road that works tirelessly in planting trees and protecting the natural world. We are in the village questioning where to plant a tree donated by Ryedale Council, one tree will not solve the problem but hey-ho its the thought that counts...

*Words suddenly come to the fore and 'benighted' is how I see our poor country at the moment.  Something to read on rain, who puts it so much better.

The open road out of Hutton-le-hole

tranquility

You are never far from sheep in Yorkshire

Issues always need fighting

The old rubs shoulders with the new.

A Christmas card

A Christmas Card to all of you


And some music that both Paul and I would play for serenity. It was one of the last things on his blog

Rain on the Temple xxx

Daily Mash - "Britain kicks itself in b*locks again" AND it is Friday the 13th

Satire by the way is not dead in this country, try  reading the Daily Mash! though they can get near the knuckle....

Let me start: By congratulating the conservative candidate who took Bolsover from Skinner overnight.  I do really think at the age of 87 years old that Skinner has had his day.  But the warm conciliatory speech of the conservative winner (still don't know his name) made me think, gosh they have polite and caring people in that party.  It was all a great win for that party - shame of course but Corbyn has not shown one iota of where he wanted to go over the last few years and he has paid the price.  

Johnson is prattling more dreams in the air on the radio, and all I can say to my country - you have got what you wanted, now pray the lying git holds true ;)

Now to more parochial affairs, I might even say climatic.  The strong winds of a couple of days ago blew down an electricity pole in our neighbouring village, so now a string of generators grace the verges outside the village hall.  Going out shopping yesterday, came back along the road only to be greeted by the inevitable 'Road Closed'.  So I diverted around the single tracked back lanes with confidence because I knew them. But these narrow lanes bounded by grass verges and deepish ditches became a nightmare, mud on the tarmac from the tractors and deep ruts in the verges where people had pulled over.  Alright when there is no traffic it is fine but having to squeeze past large cars and vans was worrying, almost lost it when the car got into a spin but luckily no one was there.  I think it will be wise to stock up just in case we get locked in to our homes by unforeseen circumstances......

Thursday the 12th December!

The holiday period draws nearer, and I have still to buy cards!  Yesterday was the gardening club lunch.  Actually it became a party for we did games... a quiz, pass the hat, and something ridiculous with paper plate ears.  Not forgetting pass the parcels, which hinged on a story about left and right.

The food was good, three large quiches from someone who bakes, probably professionally.  Salmon/asparagus, stilton cheese/broccoli and an ordinary quiche.  The butcher also from Kirkby had cooked a large ham which was delicately sliced and then a dozen salady things.  From Tabouleh, to apple/walnuts/celery salad and a beautiful dish of rainbow tomatoes.  Then came pudding, though in this instance I shall call them 'sweets' an abundance of meringues, cream, trifles, pavlovas and a chocolate cake.

It was Jo's first time at the lunch and she was impressed, various drinks, and tiny jewel like mince pies with cheese. Appleton-le moor club did us proud.  We caught up on news.  Another sad death of a widower in our community, self inflicted.   This little village buzzes with activity, nature and history adorn the walls and it is very much a moor's village curtailed by farm land.  You have to negotiate the sheep that wander around on the road.

A few more photos of the area around this part of Yorkshire, but first a photo from just outside Bath.  The place is called Langridge (long ridge) and was a favourite walk.

Moss on the lookout for bullocks, being an intelligent collie he would dive over the nearest stone wall and keep a distance following me

I love the darkness of the landscape that comes when the heather turns brown with death, and see below when it is burnt

Light and airy trees at Cawthorn Roman Camps

The actual ramparts of these three Roman forts, were they practice or did they indeed form part of the defence barrier that ran from Malton to the coast round Whitby?

Excellent defence

the burning of the moors

The landscapes of Britain (I no longer think of us as Great) are varied, the hills giving a diversity of shapes through their underlining geological rock.  There is a certain drabness after the bright colour of the heathers, if you look carefully at this last photo you can see a grouse looking up.  The privatisation of land for the simple act of killing grouse is an argument of strong contention.  But all over these moors you will see the little grouse hideways for the driven killings.  And never forget the thousands of pheasants commercially produced for killing as well. 

Wednesday 11th December

Gosh the count down is happening, swords are levelled, and the war of words, lies and deceits go on. It will all be over soon.  

My day began at 5.30 am, after the storms of yesterday as rain and wind beat against the front of our west facing house, I had to try and get all the wet cardboard, which I had religiously trodden down out onto the road for the waste recycling lorry (before 6 am is the rule) without it blowing away.  Luckily the moon was out and helped me on my way.  Lucy was excited by all this fun and games and trotted round the garden as we put food out for the birds and opened the chicken hatch.  

Soon the making of bread, and maybe mince pies, and then later Xmas lunch in Appleton-le-Moor.  So a quietly busy day. 

Pottering through my photos and I find Rosedale village, this is the place where our river starts from.  The photos show summer, harebells amongst the heather, and old stone.  The church has a stone seat as well, Rosedale was a priory in medieval times.  Moors, fields, villages and churches.

Yorkshire moors

part of the priory

Sunday thoughts

Sunday thoughts;  Wandering round old churches and pubs.
  

People are already asking what will I be doing for Xmas.  On the day itself I will  not be alone but with my darling Paul, I will light the candles and smile at the christmas's we spent together never quite finding the right food to eat on the day.  I will not be lonely for my son will come earlier in the month for a few days and then my daughter over the weekend before.

We never made it a big spectacle, and I am happy in the knowledge that my daughter will be happy in her home with her four children at the kitchen table.

My fairly shy nature has made socialising a bit of a nightmare, in actual fact I am happy to think, to wander at will over old walks and with my beloved.  Tears are always shed but they are not harmful, they allow the soul to grieve.

Some music will always make me cry, Paul would not dance but was the perfect centre in my life, a magical gentle being who had appeared late. Yes I rage against the illness the took him away from his beloved home, the last fight to get him home to die that I lost, but I treasure every moment with him.

So on this day, I remember the happy times, here at the Cat Pub in Essex.

And as a late note.  Dear Jo called round yesterday with what looked like a very dead plant in a pot.  It was a Japanese Anemone, a favourite of mine. She is small, talkative and great fun.  She is the keeper of an old pony, a blind sheep and four wild kittens and a very tall husband who is a town crier - life still goes on!

Stone figurines

I start with books.  Chosen for their Celtic stories, Miranda Green and Anne Ross for introducing me to the wonderful world of gods and goddesses.  Ronald Hutton for explaining the history of the 'Druids' to me.  'Celtic Mythology' written by an Irish writer, whose name is impossible to spell but whose books hold the most glorious spooky black and white photos.  There is Barry Cunliffe's The Ancient Celts.  And if by accident Leslie Webster's Anglo-Saxon Art has found its way in.  If you want Saxon gold bling then read that and be inspired.

There are tales, myths, stories, call them what you like but they represent a rich heritage of history and tradition. Why have I chosen these though? Well it was Jennie yesterday messaging me about an exciting find up in the Scottish Isles. A series of oddly shaped stones round a hearth.  They reminded me of something, the Cailleach, or the old hag that haunts the mountains of Scotland, you can read her in the landscape.  She belongs to a trio of females, the old woman, the mother and the daughter.  In Irish mythology she is represented by the wicked Morrigans.

So what did she remind of, the memory whirred round for an hour or two then came up with the little shrine in Glen Lyon.  This little family of stones represents a story, and over time when winter approaches the stones will be put in the little turfed roof house and then brought out in spring.  According to Anne Ross it was a shepherd who did it in her time, but now others do it.  You can read the story here

The largest represents the Cailleach (old woman), accompanied by the Bodach (old man) and their daughter, Nighean.  

Glen Lyon is a long valley and requires some hours of walking to get there, the story is probably early medieval, but has a wonderful resonance when you arrive.   

Iron Age battle shield found at Pocklington

I love Celtic, I do not quibble over the word as so many intellectuals do, I welcome the artistic heritage that goes into the beautiful curvilinear design of  their work, only perhaps picked up in the 1920's in the Arts and Craft movement.

The above is a shield found in a 'square barrow' of the Parisi tribe who in the Iron Age lived in East Yorkshire.  Their barrows with body, chariot and horses are found in their cemeteries, the above shield comes from  Pocklington.  The body is dated somewhere between 320 bc to 174 bc, which is rather a long dating sequence.  The ponies found in the grave were deliberately displayed as almost leaping out of the grave, a reminder that there is another world to be entered and their owner has only seen a temporary residence in this world and now go on to better things.  Groaning food tables, beautiful women (gosh have I not seen this elsewhere?).

The newspaper article says it is 'the most important  ancient find this millennium' and perhaps it is but such work continued through the century, and by the way, was not the product of this country but came from the Europe we are now departing.

Here is something similar, the pony was after all the 'Ferrari' of the Iron Age, it is a copy of course, but also needed protection from the constant war faring.

I get quite excited by such work, lying in the earth for hundreds of years, they reveal on their discovery a world that was equal to our own and are a humbling experience. And how the belief in another world was so embedded, look at a much later Saxon burial at Loftus, the lady buried in a bed with her jewellery.

Parisi wiki entry: Burials in East Yorkshire dating from the pre-Roman Iron Age are distinguished as those of the Arras Culture,^[ and show differences from surrounding areas, generally lacking grave goods, but chariot burials and burials with swords are known but are similar (chariot burials) to those ascribed to the La Tène culture of areas of western and central Europe, giving a potential link to the similarly named Parisii of Gaul

https://www.yorkshirepost.co.uk/heritage/iron-age-shield-found-in-pocklington-is-one-of-most-important-ancient-finds-this-millennium-1-10137418

Amazon Forest - Extinction Rebellion

The video speaks for itself.

Zummerset

Somerset.  Okay, Tom Stephenson mentioned  Jacob Rees Mogg and like a fish having a worm dangled in front of her nose I dived in - cannot stand the man.  So on hunting for him through Twitter found him at one of my favourite places, which is Stanton Drew Stone Circle yesterday.  He is the candidate for Midsomer Norton, which is but a few miles from Bath.

My mind began to question why on earth was he standing lonely surrounded by megalithic stones. Then the word 'symbolism' came swanning through my brain, he was drawing our attention to our 'ancestors'.  Sods law will probably tell him that they emigrated across the channel from Europe, if not before when there was a land bridge between us and them.  He mentioned a song by Adge Cutler, front singer of 'The Wurzels' popular in their time for their Somerset renditions of terrible songs, I will put a video down below.

Now Stanton Drew Stone circle is I think the third largest stone circle in Britain, not as popular as Stonehenge and Avebury, and slightly way out in the countryside but spectacular in its own quiet way, and somewhere I would go for peace and quiet.  Before the stone circle, archaeologist had discovered that timbered posts laid out in nine  concentric circles was had been built, in fact before the stones were set in place.  Similar wooden posts have been found at Stonehenge.  The fascinating thing about Stanton Drew is that in the pub garden, set adjacent to the church is 'The Cove' thought at first to be three stones set together but now it is thought in fact was a Neolithic long barrow.  Note the proximity of church to prehistory, always fascinating.  Just type Stanton Drew Stone Circle into search and you will find photos.

So JRM your analogy is rather poor, as was the history book you wrote, but you do strike a pose with some aplomb, even though you are an absolute idiot!

Okay it is funny, but we will never go back to those 1960s days of dialect nostalgia, our world has grown up since........................

Later edit JRM at Stanton Drew

Monday 2nd December

December 1st, the first day of winter and also Advent.  Not so icy as yesterday morning but cold the windscreen of my car is iced over.  Hopefully it will melt before I go to pick up my daughter from the station.  Plus, hopefully there will not be any work on the road as there was a couple of days ago.  Patch working the road of course.

Corbyn is coming to York today, well I have already made my cross on the postal vote and it is once more thrown away on the Greens, so he will have little luck with me.  This is a conservative area, last time 60% cons and 26% labour and lots of little lines for the rest of the parties.  I cannot contemplate the Liberals, two reasons really, the betrayal of the student loans, and their present leader, Jo Swinson - too enthusiastic by far.

Two days ago at midday coming back from a friends house I heard the sound of geese overhead flying South, clever creatures were escaping the cold coming from the North. This skein of flying birds was something to behold, and calmed my day.

I have been spinning wool, and I think silk, which I bought from a new supplier, the wheel has a soothing effect rather like the geese.  
The soft warm light of early morning is spectacular, frozen fields of white but the trees have a soft amber glow.
The news again is terrible the killing of those two young bright Cambridge people.  Their lives cut short by a terrorist and everyone debating the consequence of religious fundamentalists.  The good thing is that there were  brave people to take him down.  And also calls for restraint from the newspaper articles, the garbage they write about.  What we don't what in this country or on the street is vengeance, and the police handle such incidents fairly well.  We are a multicultural country, many people from other countries come here, there are a few bad people amongst them but then look at a far right 'British' thug, and judge them.

Jack's father in the Guardian - Jack would be livid his death has been used to further an agenda of hate.

"That door opens up a world where we do not lock up and throw away the key. Where we do not give indeterminate sentences, or convict people on joint enterprise. Where we do not slash prison budgets, and where we focus on rehabilitation not revenge. Where we do not consistently undermine our public services, the lifeline of our nation. Jack believed in the inherent goodness of humanity, and felt a deep social responsibility to protect that. Through us all, Jack marches on."