Wednesday, 14th September. Today was to include our first boat trip.
But first, before breakfast, it was time to examine the moth trap, set up overnight because conditions were thought likely to be favourable. This time there were some temporary captives, of which to my eyes this was the prettiest.
For today’s tour, we skirted Fort William again, but this time turned west before needing to cross Loch Linnhe. We drove the first part of the Road to the Isles, along Loch Eil and stopping at the side of Loch Eilt.
In the dim distance we could see at least one of the Small Isles, part of the Inner Hebrides, south of Skye. Zooming with my camera, which sadly focussed on the near vegetation, I could see that the sun had picked out one of them, while Eigg (with the apparent knob on, though in fact it’s the end of a range) remained in the shade.
Loch Moidart
Followed a pleasant walk along the River Shiel, mainly in woodland. We were particularly looking for butterflies, but the weather was not really warm enough to bring them out, though I found plenty to please my eyes.
GoosanderA foreshortened view of Castle TioramSadly by the time we had come close, the sun had deserted it.
No need to walk back to the van. Angela had driven it to the end point of our walk. She took us to Acheracle, where we were take a boat along Loch Shiel, where we hoped to see, particularly, white-tailed (aka sea) eagles.
We did, near the beginning of the trip. As many as five in the air at one time for a short while.
Juvenile. Most uncharacteristic to see one on a fence post
A boatman threw a fish out, and I was fortunate enough to see this eagle come to get it,
Again Angela was waiting for us with the van, and on our way back we stopped for a walk at Fassfern, again hopeful of seeing butterflies, and also dragonflies. We didn’t, but had some lovely views and one breathtaking one.
Explanation: I did not lie on the ground to take a picture of the sky through the plants. It is reflected in the pool.
We abandoned the pool and started climbing a gentle hill. At one point I turned round and took a sharp, involuntary intake of breath. Ben Nevis was picked out in the early evening sunlight, and gave me my header picture for this post. A little further up, and we had this, the full Nevis range.
No pine marten this evening when I was looking (and knitting), though one or more surely came later, as the bread was all gone in the morning, as ever. The wood mouse, another regular visitor, could not have carried it all off.
Saturday, 10th to Sunday, 18th September. I stayed at Glenloy Lodge, our accommodation hosts, Jon and Angela, being our wildlife hosts also. Sadly, they are giving up at the end of the year.
In this map, the Isle of Skye is top left, that of Mull bottom left, Loch Ness top right, and Fort William somewhat to the right of the middle, at the head of the narrower part of Loch Linnhe. Glenloy is just a few miles due north of Fort William. Marked up are all the places we visited in the 556 miles we did in the week, except that we went a little off the map beyond Loch Ness once. Clicking/tapping on the map may enlarge it.
I had, reluctantly but due to several uncertainties about rail travel (and reckoning that I couldn’t actually prevent the plane from flying, whereas I could prevent my car from burning up fuel), flown to Glasgow from Bristol, and then taken a scheduled bus service from the city to Fort William. I had planned to listen to a number of podcasts I had downloaded during that last, three-hour, part of the journey, but in the event was so taken by the beautiful scenery that I just looked out of the window all the time. It was very sunny, and I didn’t think I would be able to take any useful photos because of reflections. But, frustrated all along Loch Lomond, I couldn’t resist any longer, and grabbed my phone to take a few of Glencoe. This is the most successful.
Those geography lessons about glacial U-shaped valleys kept coming to mind.
Jon met me at the bus station, and told me that there was just one other guest, David. It was not long before we had our meal, after which was the evening ritual of looking out, from the comfort of the sun lounge, for the pine martens who came to enjoy the peanuts and peanut-buttered bread put out for them. So strokeable – though perhaps not with those teeth. As long as we stayed indoors they were not fazed by our presence.
Before breakfast on Sunday, we were summoned to see what, if anything, had been attracted to the moth trap overnight. The answer was no moth, but a couple of sedge flies.
Each day, once we had set off at about 9.30, we were out until 6.00. This day, led by Jon, our first stop was in Glen Roy, famed among other things for its ‘Parallel Roads‘, mythically caused by giants racing in competition along the hillsides, but in fact caused by the shorelines of a retreating lake, which finally disappeared when a glacier blocking it melted.
We were meant to be looking for wildlife, but this is the first creature that caught my eye.
These sika deer were a very long way away. I could not see them with the naked eye.
Young stonechat, waxcap fungus, grass of Parnassus (shame I took only this out-of-focus photo), yellow saxifrage
The Parallel Roads can be seen here.
These black-faced sheep distracted me. We saw hundreds of them every day.
Here the Parallel Roads can be seen, along with another geological feature, the river terraces of loose deposits left behind as the River Roy retreated. The little houses are shielings, summer accommodation once used by those tending animals, and their families.
The River Turret flows into Glen Roy. You need to cross this very attractive bridge to continue up the latter.
Two carnivorous plants, round-leaved sundew and butterwort
Campanula and friendSomewhere in here is a dragonflyLooking back down Glen Roy
The shieling children did not escape schooling in the summer. This is where they went for it.
Wood tiger moth caterpillar
We turned back a way. Views up and down the glen from our lunch spot.
Before leaving the glen entirely, and having seen a couple of exciting golden eagles, impossible to photograph, we saw two old monuments, and at Spean Bridge a modern one.
Said locally to be a communion table used by the Roman Catholic populations after the Jacobite rebellions. Communion cup carved much more recently.
This memorial to the Commandos, who trained in this area, was inaugurated by Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother in 1952. I was to learn much more of this later in the week.
We moved on via the Mucomir Power Station on the River Lochy (which afforded no interesting photos) to the Eas Chia-aig Falls, where the the lower pool is known as the Witches’ Cauldron.
Near there we saw some map fungus and some lungwort.
On to Loch Arkaig, where we took a short walk. The light was not good, and we just made it back to the car in time before it started raining.
Wagtails of various kinds
Very distant adult and juvenile dippers
Osprey. It really does have a head.The evening’s pine marten
I am very conscious that one of the readers of this blog used to live right by Glen Roy. He will no doubt be correcting any errors I have made!
Time for another visit to The Newt in Somerset. I’d done the Cyder [sic] Tour there a month previous, and had come away with samples. I’d then taken the opportunity to walk down to have a quick look at the exterior of the new Roman Villa Experience (they’re all ‘experiences’ these days, aren’t they?) and back along a vast new area that the enterprise had opened up.
A few days ago, I met Mary off her – delayed – train at Castle Cary station. Arrived at The Newt, we started with the obligatory coffee, and did a bit of setting the world to rights – it’s a big job these days.
This merged seamlessly into lunch.
We were booked in to the Roman Villa for 3p.m., so set off an hour earlier to make our way there via the newly opened area. This involved setting off from the pergola and its many different members of the gourd family.
Going ‘the long way round’ it was about a mile to the Villa, but there was plenty to entertain us on the way, including The Grotto with its Wyvern. The difference between a dragon and a wyvern?
First of all, dragons have four legs, while wyverns have only two. Their front legs are fused to their wings, so they cannot move their wings as easily as dragons. Dragons are also a lot larger than wyverns, and they are believed to be the most powerful creatures in the world. Indeed, it’s very impressive: dragons are very hard to kill and, unless they are killed, they will live for thousands of years.
Still, wyverns, who are considered to be one of the breeds of dragons, can’t be called harmless in any way. Though smaller, easier to attack, and with fewer powers, wyverns can move around a lot faster than dragons, thus making them a big advantage. So, you can never underestimate a wyvern: due to the fact that it’s so swift, it might attack and kill even more efficiently and effectively than a dragon.
When I’d visited in July I had heeded the advice below. I really am too literal-minded – children were actually being encouraged to be disobedient, when they would have had a flaming surprise!
Sadly, by the time of this visit, the Wyvern had no head – some children had been too violent. Safety, electric wires and all that, had led the management to remove it entirely. (It is to be replaced.) But here’s a picture I had taken of it on my previous visit.
We moved on, and were amused by these parallel sheep, all moving towards our right.
Even on my first visit to The Newt, in January 2020, I had seen, in the inaccessible distance and from another angle, what looked like a dovecot. Now we were able not only to approach it but to go inside.
Through the, evidently unglazed, windows, were several views, including this one of the Roman Villa for which we were heading.
Reception and the museum
The Newt’s website said to allow 90 to 120 minutes for the tour of museum and villa. Reception said not to linger too long in the former, as the house alone would need at least an hour to be appreciated. We only had two hours before they would close – and we had ordered Roman food for the end.
We were issued with GPS-guided headphones. In the museum, one pressed a lit ring by an exhibit to learn more. In the house, commentary was stimulated by proximity to any given area. I love audioguides – but there is a huge disadvantage in that you have to rely on your memory a few days later … So there are many lacunas now …
The reconstructed Roman villa is by the site of a real one, burnt down in the 4th century, and first re-discovered in the 19th. Part of it is incorporated into the museum and part of it has been returned to the ground.
More historical information is here and here. The latest archaeological excavations took place after Koos Bekker, the South African billionaire owner of The Newt in Somerset, had acquired the property in 2013.
I was frustrated not to be able to tell which exhibits were originals and which reproductions. (But these surely were all the latter.) Only on examining some of my pictures have I realised – I think – that there were symbols by the captions which would have told me. (Next time – which is soon.)
The villa, seen from the museumThis was the spa/bathing area.These light fittings are made up of small shards found on the site.From the games exhibitsPart of the food and cooking exhibit
More time would have allowed a more in depth perusal of the exhibits, (and outside the holidays would have perhaps avoided some rather noisy children, but they were having enormous fun). We moved on to the villa, through vineyard and orchard.
We were welcomed to the ‘Villa Ventorum’ by Diana, in Roman dress. She explained that this room is the furthest most visitors would have been allowed, a place where business transactions would have taken place. From then on our visit was led by the audioguides.
They told us the route to take. There were no stewards, no barriers, no ‘do not touch’s (though our headphone commentary made that polite request) and no – conspicuous anyway – CCTV. And I should mention that the visit is entirely free once entry to The Newt is paid, either by annual membership, or as a guest of a member.
I wondered whether a 21st century person had modelled for this portrait.Indeed, could it be Karen Roos, joint owner of The Newt?
Recognisably the British Isles, though Scotland’s round the bend.
No detail has been missed in the development. The Villa has only been open to the public for a couple of months. My assumption would be therefore that this scorched effect has been added artificially.
We met this cheery fellow in the peaceful rear garden.
A child’s bedroom, and a child’s collection
Parents’ bedroom, and parents’ jewellery
The ‘bibliotheca’ was always in a mess, we were told through our headphones.
The route from Villa Ventorum to London and beyond
Next, to the linked music and entertaining rooms
I cannot imagine how one could eat recumbent, propped up on one arm.
Round to the front of the villa again, and down to the lower courtyard to be served our Roman street food.
This young man told us that the stall was totally authentic, apart from the stainless steel serving pots. We each had what could be described in modern terms as a vegetarian wrap – containing broad beans, asparagus, coriander and a few other lovely things – delicious. I had cider with mine and Mary a sort of cold mulled red wine, the name of which I couldn’t retain.
View from the room in which we ate
We walked back the direct way to the hub of The Newt, still about a kilometre, wondering whether we would see any of the deer.
We certainly did, and they seemed, untypically, to be herded to an area which was inaccessible to the public (possibly because the rutting season is coming up?).
I had never seen so many of them together.
This beech tree fell during Storm Eunice on 18th February this year. As the panel beside it says, it is being left there to become a home for fungi, beetles, and bugs, and, in due course, to become compost. Such shallow roots for such a tall tree!
We had some time before Mary’s train back to London, and, since all refreshment facilities had by now closed, we sat for a short while on a conveniently placed bench, with Newt Lake and the young apple orchards ahead of us, and Hadspen House, the Long Walk and the kitchen garden at 2 o’clock.
In due course we made our way back to the car park.
Just yesterday, when a friend called to offer me some plums from her garden, I was telling her about the Villa. We have arranged to go together in about a month’s time, when I will hope to fill in some of those lacunas, and indeed to observe more.
Footnote: Never – £500, £600, £700 and rising per night! – will I be in a position to take photographs of those parts of The Newt reserved to guests in its hotels, Hadspen House and The Farmyard. But here is a short article by those involved in the interior design, which will show a little of how the Other Half lives!
Well, not strictly Cornwall, but Devon. Monday 4th July. I had sadly from my patio to say goodbye to the birds on the RSPB Hayle Estuary reserve, and start making my way home.
I was not going to be able to pick Bella up from her cattery until 4.30, so had plenty of time to make one last visit, and chose the National Trust’s Castle Drogo, near Exeter, a 20th century castle. I saw a robin in the grounds, and realised I had not seen one all week.
Castle Drogo was built by Julius Drewe, founder of the hugely successful Home and Colonial Stores . (He retired on his fortune in 1889 aged only 33.) He was convinced that he was descended from a Norman baron called called Drogo de Teigne, from Drewsteignton, and bought land there, overlooking the River Teign, to build a castle. He asked Edwin Lutyens to be its architect. Lutyens would much have preferred to design ‘a delicious loveable house’, but Drewe insisted. Construction started in 1911, but in the event, he lost heart after losing his eldest son in the First World War, and started to dislike the cost of it all, and only about a third of the original concept was realised by the time construction was completed in 1930. Drewe died a year later, but had been able to live there since 1925. It is the last castle to be built in England.
I just loved its Art Nouveau Tudor style. (That’s my description; I’ve not seen it elsewhere, and Wikipedia calls it ‘mixed-revivalist’.) It is entirely built in granite, and was given to the National Trust in 1974, its first 20th century acquisition.
Drogo nomen et virtus dedit: Drogo is my name and valour gave me arms
The building may have been twentieth century, but the collected pieces were authentic.
Julius DreweOpposite him, across the main stairwell, his wife, FrancesEven parts of the castle where the owners would not be expected to go were beautifully designed by Lutyens. Off this corridor are various service rooms.No label to this room – the housekeeper’s sitting room?In one corner of the butler’s pantry, the internal telephone exchange and the indicators of summonses by bellsOff the butler’s pantry, the bell hop’s roomThe kitchenThe sculleryThe internal staircase. The granite steps are entirely cantilevered, the beautiful wooden handrail not attached.Shower, Spray, Plunge, Hot and ColdA more informal drawing roomfor the familyRoom dedicated to the memory of the oldest son and heir, Adrian, killed in WWILantern lighting the kitchen
To reach the undercroft, which became the chapel in the revised design, it is necessary to go outside. A chance to see the wonderful granite blocks again.
After some lunch in the recent visitor centre and cafe building, I spent an hour or so wandering in the gardens. The rose garden was outstanding, and would have been even more stunning had it been brighter and warmer. (It seems strange to be saying that at a time when UK all-time heat records have just been broken by a considerable margin.)
‘Gertrude Jekyll’
My final stop was at the circular lawn, where a mesmerising robot lawnmower entertained me for a few minutes.
But let my final picture in this series of posts about this so enjoyable holiday in Cornwall – and Devon – be of the class of animals which had given me such pleasure all week, the birds. Much more entertaining on the lawn than the robot was a pied wagtail, a species which, as with the robin, I hadn’t seen all week.
Sunday, 3rd July. Membership of The Newt in Somerset gives free entry to a few other gardens in the UK (and one in South Africa!). I had my eye on two of them as I considered what to do on my last day in Cornwall. But I found that neither Trebah nor Tregothnan opens on a Sunday. So I turned to my booklet, ‘Cornwall’s Archaeological Heritage’ for the first time this week, and also to my National Trust handbook. The former told me about Trencom Castle, a hill fort just a few minutes from where I was staying. Among other things it told me that, “The enclosure may have originated in the Neolithic period and many flint arrowheads were found here in the early 20th century.” So I made this my first destination. But first I had of course to look out to see what was happening in the RSPB reserve, and have some breakfast.
Cormorant over by the Causeway
Guess who appeared while I was eating. But at least today he didn’t tap on my window.
I really like these Cornish stiles – especially if they provide a post to hold on to.
The top of the fort was not high, about 180 metres (the same as Glastonbury Tor), and my car was parked at 135, so not much effort was needed. The path was well trodden.
Yet another view of St Michael’s Mount
I didn’t stay at the top for long, not least because there was a party of walkers up there disturbing the peace.
The main visit of the day was to Trelissick House, National Trust. ‘The estate has been in the ownership of the National Trust since 1955 when it was donated by Ida Copeland following the death of her son Geoffrey. A stained glass memorial bearing the Copeland coat of arms was donated to Feock parish church by Mrs. Copeland. The house and garden had formerly been owned and developed by the Daniell family, which had made its fortune in the 18th century Cornish copper mining industry.’ (Wikipedia, which does history so much better than does the National Trust on its site) The Copelands had been co-owners of Spode, the ceramics company based in Stoke-on-Trent.
The Water Tower is one of several holiday ‘cottages’, as the NT calls them, on the estate.
I started in the garden and grounds.
This was not the only time in Cornwall that I saw both pink and blue flowerheads together on hydrangeas. I don’t understand how that can happen, unless the gardeners tamper with the nature of the soils. But what do I know about botany – or chemistry for that matter?‘Jack’s summerhouse’ from which, but for the trees in the way, one could have seen the King Harry Ferry over the River FalIts floor
At the entrance there had been a notice saying a choir would be singing on the terrace of the house at 1.00 pm. I heard their songs wafting towards me as I wandered around, and at one stage was near enough to zoom a photo on it. I thought how pragmatic the uniform was in the not very warm weather. Blue jeans of any hue and any black top.
I went round to the front of the house and looked round. ‘Trelissick is not your typical country house visit. It is presented as neither home nor museum, but was opened in 2014 simply as a place to enjoy the view. It plays host to a modest collection – including ceramics …’ Here is one which rather pleased me.
I think these were ensconced in the Drawing Room for the afternoon!
It became warm and sunny enough to sit out on the sheltered terrace. The choir had long gone, and I found a vacant deckchair.
Not a bad view.
I heard someone nearby talk about a castle in the distance, and sure enough, with my camera on maximum zoom, I could see Pendennis Castle, about 800 metres away, in Falmouth. (It’s on the list for next year.)
Back for my last evening at The Old Quay House, I spent my time, as every evening bar Friday (Minack), divided between Wimbledon and bird-watching.
The gang and their friend …… who has temporarily deserted the Shelduck family …… and occasionally likes to be alone.OystercatcherCurlew in the fading light
Back on Terra Firma, I wandered around, casually making for the St Ives Museum.
This was the only photo I took, the entrance, as photography inside was not allowed. This made me rather grumpy, but I couldn’t help enjoying the really old-fashioned, crammed displays, of all lost life and livings in St Ives and indeed Cornwall. But sorry, no photos.
On my reluctant way back to the seafront, where the hordes were gathered, and this wasn’t even the height of the holiday season,
I couldn’t help noticing these street names.
I picked up two little pots of seafood, and a huge Cornish Heavy cake, which I consumed before leaving the crowds, and then made for the Barbara Hepworth Museum and Sculpture Garden. Before you get into the garden itself, there is a small indoors display.
From the garden, you can see Hepworth’s workshop.
I hadn’t really registered too much the ‘Garden’ bit beforehand, but on remarking this to an attendant, I was told that the planting was exactly as Hepworth had planned, as was – mostly – the positioning of the sculptures. Nor had I been too sure that I would like the latter, but I really, really did.
I enjoyed looking at them from different angles: such as this,
and this:
There remained Tate St Ives, but not my stamina. Two exhibitions were enough for one day. But I did want to see the front of the building, so walked round to Porthmeor Beach, which I had seen from the sea in the morning. I also had the idea that it could be a relatively quiet place to have a cup of tea.
Down at street level, I could see that the beach, and even more the sea, was well occupied. There seemed to be a surfing lesson going on.
Time to trudge (uphill mainly) to the railway station for my shuttle back. This time the carriages were crowded. It wasn’t that everyone was staying in St Erth or Hayle, it was that St Erth station car park is officially a park and ride facility for all those coming from near and far for those visiting not only St Ives, but also Penzance.
My scenic ride back picked up not only Porth Kidney Sands at the mouth of the Hayle estuary, but also, as I zoomed the camera, The Old Quay House, and particularly my room, with its private patio.
The Canada goose family and Herring gulls.
Time for a little more bird-watching, or rather -gazing. Most of these were some way away.
CurlewCormorant, crow and Herring gullsVery distant Canada geese, the family not among themI recognise that look, on my roof!He didn’t hang around this time though.Curlew taxiing for take-offThe swan with its apparently favoured company, shelduckAnd a couple, much nearer, of Black-headed gulls
I’d so enjoyed my holiday in Cornwall in June 2021, and found there was so much more I wanted to see and do there, that I decided to book for this year, though in more comfortable accommodation, (the subject of my next post). I drove south-west on Monday 27th June, and, having now reviewed the more than 1000 photos I returned with, can see that I have about 11 blog posts to prepare, for a week’s holiday.
Last year I had extraordinary thoughts of returning to the Eden Project on my way, specifically to have a go on the zip wire there. But in the event I replaced that idea, for a variety of reasons, only one of them not being sure whether I really dared, with a visit to The Lost Gardens of Heligan. So, having dropped Bella off at her cattery (unvaccinated Tilly remaining at home) I arrived at the venue in good time for a light lunch during which I perused the guide.
(What’s the opposite of foreshortening? This picture makes the guide look longer than it is.)
Heligan has a history going back to the thirteenth century, but was ‘lost’ and increasingly overgrown between 1914 and 1990. Its timeline is here.
This view greets you as you step into the gardens.
I then took Beacon Path. As I often do in discovering a new place, I started by staking out the perimeter, clockwise. During my week in Cornwall, I saw many such tangles of rhododendron trunks.
After a while I found myself in an area called ‘New Zealand’.
The guide explains that the so called ‘Flower Garden’ is also about fruit and vegetables.
This is possibly my favourite photo of the visit,
or perhaps this.
The Sundial Garden
I started to explore more widely than just the main gardens, and came across this wood turner, who was making honey dippers, near Home Farm.
The East Lawn was a large play area for children.
But I was headed much further on, down, down, down, through The Jungle to the Burma Rope Bridge.
This was great fun. I held back to get a clearer picture of what was before me (fortunately no-one was queuing behind me) and to avoid the stupidity of the not-so-young man two in front of me who insisted on bouncing around and disturbing others on the bridge.
At the other end, and after a few yards right, I followed none of these following directions, becoming conscious of the time, and took the Diagonal Path behind me. It was quite steep.
So I was glad of the several opportunities it gave to rest.
Approaching Home Farm again, I saw the very recently installed Bugginghum Palace, which hopes to make it into The Guinness Book of Records as the largest insect hotel in the world.
On Home Farm, a ‘chicken tractor’. It is moved frequently to give the residents fresh grass.Bee boles dating from about 1820. Bees continue to play an important part in Heligan’s work.
This is the “Thunderbox Room, a lighthearted title for the gardeners’ lavatory. … It was in the first of the two cubicles in 1990 that Tim Smit and John Nelson first noticed the names on the wall. …. numerous barely legible signatures… August 1914… shortly to depart to fight in the First World War. Of the total of thirteen Heligan men who were to serve… only four survived.”
I was disinclined to enter just to see an old-fashioned loo, especially given the low headroom, but then I noticed a swallow flying in, and suspected that it was visiting a nest.
I was right. Just inside the doorway, behind me …
I hung around, my camera at the ready, to be rewarded with this, for no more than two seconds.
I was doubly pleased to have entered the Thunderbox Room, as it led into the Italian Garden.
Minutes later I was in The Ravine,
then came across this curious tree. It is a Douglas Fir, with a Witch’s Broom ‘necklace’ round it, highly prized by bonsai specialists apparently.
Flora’s Green, near to Beacon Path and the exit
It was time for me to leave – licking an ice-cream. I had not seen the entire estate, far from it, and this is only a tiny selection of the photos I took. But Marks and Spencer called…
People (including me) call it ‘The Stonehenge Exhibition’, but the display at the British Museum is not on Stonehenge, but about the world in which it was created. I visited it with my London friend, Mary, last Friday. (My previous post is on the Jubilee-riddled London I encountered then.)
Mary had visited the very comprehensive exhibition twice before, so went ahead to pay more attention to later exhibits. I learned from this and did not spend ages on each item, flitting somewhat. My eye – and particularly my camera – was disproportionately attracted to shiny objects. As ever, this is just a small selection of photos I took.
“This scratched wood found near a camp of tents surrounded by woodland suggests the threatening presence of bears.”
I was thrilled to find this. The Sweet Track, named after the person who found it when ditch cleaning in 1970, is buried on the Avalon Marshes, near to my home. It has been dated by dendrochronology to precisely 3807-3806 BC, and is preserved by the peat bogs. I have seen reproductions and imaginary pictures of it, but never a section of the real thing. I could find no suggestion that this was not part of the original …
This exhibit, using a moving light show, showed both the structure and the finished object (see header picture) of the oxen pulling the cart and cart itself. The original, excavated in Germany, was lifted as a single object to preserve the archaeological evidence.
Grave goods, sculpted in chalk, from a child’s tomb, 5000 years ago, Yorkshire“400 carved stone balls are known, mainly from eastern Scotland.”The motifs on this one, from Aberdeenshire, “connect it to distant Irish tombs, pots from feasts around Stonehenge, and designs inscribed on the walls of houses in Orkney”. The balls are all about 7cm/2.5 inches in diameter.Alpine valley of Valcamonica in Italy, about 4,500 years ago. “These designs reflect new attitudes to gender, economic and agricultural productivity, and conflict.”Belt plates found on the stomachs of Scandinavian women in their graves, 1400 BC. Denmark.Cape worn by a woman, perhaps a leader, a priestess of even perhaps considered to be a divinity. Mold Flintshire, 1900-1600 BCThe celebrated Nebra Sky Disc, symbol of the exhibition. An offering, but too valuable in terms of the knowledge it contained, to be buried with any one individual. Saxony-Anhalt, Germany, c 1600 BC.“Calenders of the Cosmos?” inscribed with symbols, worn as hats, France and Germany, 1600-1200 BC. (There are in fact just two hats here.)Found in a grave 30 km from Stonehenge, symbol of a sun cult, “the cruciform motif may represent the four arms of light seen at sunrise and sunset.” 2400-2200 BC.Neckpiece found in a Shannongrove bog, County Limerick, Republic of Ireland. 800-700 BC“Pilgrims or Pioneers?”Jet buttons or fasteners, Borders, Scotland, 2200 – 1900 BCAstonishing preservation of some bear skin
These tiny gold pins, almost invisible to the naked eye, were attached to a dagger pommel, using techniques seen in Brittany and Mycenaean Greece.
Grave good found in Clandon Barrow, Dorset, 80 km southwest of Stonehenge, 1950-1550 BC“This astonishing cauldron was riveted from sheets of bronze and was repaired numerous times. With a capacity of about 70 litres it could boil enough meat to feed a sizeable gathering of friends or potential foes.” Battersea, London, 800-600 BCCast to the sky before it sank into a pool. “This offering was a hard sacrifice perhaps made to confront uncertainties in a period of major environmental and social change.” Shropshire, 800 BCSun pendant, gold and lead, Co. Kildare, Republic of Ireland, 1000-800 BC
A final comment at the end of the exhibition, which is on until 17th July 2022:
(This article explains a little more to the background to her remark. “[A 1967] article surveyed the discussion of Stonehenge as an observatory: she believed that it was not, that its significance was ritualistic and religious, and that attempts to see it as a scientific construct were as much a product of the present time as the ideas of other ages about Stonehenge were of theirs.”)
The purpose of my trip to London was to see the Stonehenge Exhibition at the British Museum, but it would have been impossible not to be aware that a rather significant jubilee was about to be celebrated, that marking 70 years of the reign of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.
Just in time for the festivities, (but five years late) the Elizabeth tube (metro/subway) line had been opened just three days before my trip. The driver of the mainline train bringing me up from the West Country had helpfully said that access was to be found to the side of Platform 1 of Paddington main line station. Just as well, since there was no signage until very near to the entrance.
Movement was among airy, cavernous stations throughout, and what felt like natural daylight everywhere.
The trains are light and airy as well, open end to (very long) end. Like certain sections of the Circle Line.
My goodness did the Elizabeth Line make a difference to my own movements around the capital! Just 3.5 minutes from Paddington main line station to Tottenham Court Road underground station, (which will increase marginally when the the line’s Bond Street platform opens in the autumn. Meanwhile its roundels read alternately, as we whizzed through, ‘Station Closed’ and ‘Opening Soon’).
Once I had arrived at Tottenham Court Road, my saving of time all evaporated. Even though I had the assistance of the sun’s shadows to determine points of the compass, I still managed to set off in the wrong direction, and what should have been a 6-minute walk turned into a 20-minute one. Thank goodness for texts/SMSs. Mary was able to go and have a coffee while she waited for me.
Once I’d made it to the museum
we made use of Mary’s membership of it, and had a coffee in the members’ cafe.
I’ll cover the exhibition itself in my next blog post.
Mary knows London bus routes inside out, and after our visit to the excellent exhibition she confidently had us walking past Bloomsbury Square Gardens,
to the stop we needed for the bus to get to her home in Kentish Town,
where I was invited to join in a Zoom call with Mary and her siblings,
before her eldest, Susan, top left, who lives very near, joined us for a meal.
The following morning, Saturday, was Mary’s regular get-together for tennis in Regent’s Park. It was a little chilly to begin with, but this did not detract from enjoying the wonderful display of roses.
Crossing the Inner Circle, which surrounds the rose garden, a.k.a. Queen Mary’s Gardens, was a risk to life and limb as cyclists whizzed round!
I took many photos of them, of which here are a very few.
At the tennis courts.
Zooming in on the far end of the courts, I could make out a tennis lesson for youngsters.
I had seen a photo of a flag-lined Mall, and had a yen to reproduce it myself. After we had had sociable coffee with the other tennis players, Mary’s unerring knowledge of the routes soon got us to a bus which would take us to Trafalgar Square. Oxford Circus was not very busy (she said).
Regent Street more so. The yellow sign warns of road closures for the following day to enable Ride London to take place.
I hoped to take my photo of the Mall through Admiralty Arch, but this was as near as I could get, as a very polite policeman directed me back round the outside of the Arch. (Ride London also was inconvenienced by the Jubilee preparations as it usually finishes in the Mall, but did so this year at Tower Bridge.)
The Arch from the Mall side.
I post this photo only to show another, very cheery, policeman.
More zooming in, and this was the best I could do for my hoped-for photo. Crowds (and clean-up lorries) prevented me from getting dead centre.
We had alighted on the tail end of a rehearsal, for, as we soon learned, Trooping the Colour, part of next weekend’s Jubilee celebrations. Did the crowd know of the rehearsal, or had they, just like us, stumbled on it by chance? There were absolute hordes there, making photographic opportunity very random.
Two young Grenadier Guards were selling programmes for the ceremony. (I have no idea what is in the mind of the fellow to the right.)
Two Grenadier Guards selling programmes for the forthcoming ceremony
Statues of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother that I’d never seen before.
I was hoping to take a photo of the front of Buckingham Palace, but we were diverted by solid barriers before getting there. We skirted round to the right, and at one point I could see the whole of the roof of the building over the barriers. Two men from a private security firm were standing by, and one of them (the other held back all the time) told me “No photos, security.” “Ridiculous’ I thought, and said, ‘this is the UK!’ I was quite riled, especially as it called to my mind an incident that had occurred to me on my first day in Uganda in 2013, when a corrupt young soldier (again with his companion holding right back) tried to get my camera from me because I had taken a photo of an enormous bird (a Marabou stork if I remember correctly) in a tree next to some kind of military establishment. I was quite sure he was only going to let me have it back on payment of a ransom, so I wasn’t going to let it go. I won. Anyway, I was quite sure that this security man, whether misinformed or just plain bossy, had got it wrong. There were no notices of any sort forbidding photography, nor could there be any possible reason to justify what he said.
In due course I gave up, and a few steps further on was able to take his photo, with, though it does not show up, a corner of Buckingham Palace in the background, and no-one objecting.
And just a few yards further on, I got this corner of the Palace.
where Mary notice the interesting functional ceiling, Ã la Pompidou Centre,
and we had a very nice meal, chosen from a very wide menu.
Emerging on to Piccadilly, we saw that it had flags too, though not at such frequent intervals as we had seen elsewhere.
Regent Street had lots.
Back in Kentish Town, we called into a cake shop, and bought a celebratory ‘Queen’s Jubilee White Chocolate Chip Cookie’ each, which we had with a cup of coffee, or half a cookie each anyway. It was very sweet and very enormous.
A game of ‘Upwords’, at which Mary, as usual, beat me, and it was time for me to leave. Again the Elizabeth Line helped speed me on my way to Paddington, and this time it was quite crowded. Today the news tells us that in its first five days, a million journeys were made on it. Mine contributed two to that total.
Street village, that is. (It prides itself on being a village, despite being bigger than the town of Glastonbury to its north, on the other side of the River Brue.)
On Saturday (14th May) I was invited by my friend Liz, Somerset County and Mendip District Councillor, who lives in Street, to the unveiling of some murals in the Library Gardens, a small green space on Street’s High Street. (How did Street get its name? “The place-name ‘Street’ is first attested in Anglo-Saxon charters from 725 and 971, where it appears as Stret. It appears as Strete juxta Glastone in a charter from 1330 formerly in the British Museum. The word is the Old Englishstraet meaning ‘Roman road’.”) The Wikipedia article on Street, while needing a bit of an update, has a lot of interesting background information.
The murals were commissioned by Street Parish Council, working in partnership with Mendip District Council (to merge, in a year’s time, along with Somerset’s three other district councils, and with Somerset County Council, to become a new unitary authority called Somerset Council) and Street Library Trust. They were painted by local artist Jonathan Minshull.
When Laura Wolfers, Chair of Street Parish Council, reached out to shake my hand, I realised that this was the first time I had shaken anyone’s hand since February 2020. Whereas in March of that year, I had declined to do so several times, with explanation, it would now have been very awkward to do so, although I am still being very cautious. And I have to admit, it felt good, alongside feelings of worried hesitancy. She didn’t seem to take it amiss when I then took a photograph of her chest, in order to capture Street’s ichthyosaur emblem (since 1894) at the base of her Chairman’s chain. (A parish council does not have a mayor.)
Here she is introducing the artist.
Among the many people taking photographs was her son.
And here are the murals. The captions are as provided in a handout.
“This panel represents the shoemaking process during Edwardian times inside the old C & J Clark’s factory buildings in Street, around 1900-1910.”
“This scene shows summer hay harvesting in the meadows to the south of the Clark’s factory buildings in Street in Victorian times around1860-1880.”
“The image shows the discovery of the ichthyosaur fossil specimens at one of the Street ‘blue lias’ limestone quarries in the 1850s. Here some discoveries have been dragged to near the quarry entrance ready for transportation to the recently started Clark’s collection and a lady from the village has brought her daughter to see the fascinating finds.”
Liz unveiled the fourth:
“This panorama shows the manual process of peat extraction from the levels around Street at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries, before mechanisation. The peat was cut into blocks calles ‘”mumps” or “turves” and stacked to dry in tower-like formations called “ruckles”, before transportation by horse and cart.”
There were some very short speeches, including by the artist.
While thanking friends and relatives for posing as the figures in the pictures, he said it was as well that one such, who appeared in each mural, was not there, as he was rather naughty. He was referring to his dog, Stanley.
Liz, who had been very much involved in finding the finance, also was invited to speak.
[Later edit: 33-minute background video on the making, hanging and unveiling of the murals here.]
Liz had collected me from my home in Glastonbury, and volunteered to take me back, but I had already decided that I was going to walk, following the River Brue for much of the way. I had to go along the pavement of a main road for about ten minutes.
Part of Clark’s 19th century building, also seen in the second mural. It is flying the Somerset flag.Like so many buildings in Street, and wider in Somerset, the Bear Inn is built in Blue Lias limestone.
After a short while, I was able to see my destination, by looking to my right.
Still on the road, and having crossed this rhyne, I had thought possibly to cut diagonally across to the Brue, but an electric fence redirected me.
But in due course I was able to reach the river. What a pleasure to walk among all those buttercups!
I reached the river.
Not buttercups here, but oil seed rape,and comfreyMany specimens of these creatures had been flying around for a while, and after extensive research, I think they are probably alderflies, of which I had never previously heard.They fly for just a few weeks each year.Clyce Hole (or Clyse Hole, depending on which Environment Agency panel you read), a water level measuring station
The River Brue was severely canalised, and indeed its channel to the sea redirected, in mediaeval times, and it shows from here on.
This little fella flew on to the branch, and just stayed there while I cautiously moved past him.
Being south of the Brue, I was still in Street, and this was my view southwards, with the lowest range of hills in Somerset, the Poldens, in the distance.
Not the most exciting bridge, Cow Bridge, circa 1930, of reinforced concrete with stone piers. Could one claim that it is art deco?
Anyway, it was time for me to cross and leave the Brue, and continue on to a rather busy main road. But I leant on the parapet contemplating upstream for a bit,
along with my neighbour, Terry, who I had just bumped into here. He was just out to take photos of buttercups.
Together we watched a rather unusual sight go by, after which I set off for the last, and easily the least interesting, leg of my walk.
They and I were rather a nuisance to the quite heavy traffic in each direction… no pavement…
After five minutes more I came to my turning off the main road. Taking the stile would have enabled me to continue on grass for about 100 yards/90 metres or so, but
I took advantage of a recently installed (local elections anyone?) barrier, the forerunner of a cycle lane to be created, in place of an unofficial traveller encampment.
Door to door it had been an hour, which would have been more like 45 minutes had I not stopped for various reasons on the way. A very pleasant walk indeed, in ideal weather, following a happy occasion for Street residents and visitors.
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