Cornwall 2022 – 8. Frenchman’s Creek, and the Minack Theatre

Tags

Daphne du Maurier, Frenchman's Creek, Helford, Helford River, Herring gull, Kestle Barton, Minack Theatre, National Trust, Ordnance Survey, Penarvon Cove, Philip Pullman, shelduck, The Firework-Maker's Daughter

Friday, 1st July. As I was to be out that evening, I made plans just for the late morning/early afternoon. I had seen a walk on the National Trust website that rather appealed, not least for its (lack of) length.

But first just a couple of photos from my patio.

Shelduck

The Canada goose chicks. Its very easy to understand that birds evolved from dinosaurs…

But this bird, no doubt my previous visitor, obviously thinks he’s a human being. While I was having my breakfast he actually tapped on the windowpane several times!

Before setting off for my walk, a further visit to the very convenient Marks and Spencer was required. I had noticed the day before that my trainers were starting to come apart, in a manner which could be dangerous given my plans for the day. I found a pair not ideal but at least satisfactory. (The ones I liked most were only available online.) I would definitely not have chosen pure white had there been more possibilities.

The walk started at the village of Helford and took in a large stretch of Frenchman’s Creek.

Sadly the tide was out, so the Helford River was not looking its best.

But the estuary was pretty.

From Helford village, the walk went to Penarvon Cove and then across country to Frenchman’s Creek. (I must read Daphne du Maurier’s novel again.)

Penarvon Cove

The mouth of Frenchman’s Creek as it joins the Helford River. Not much creek, nearly all mud.

Because the tide was out, the creek was indeed very narrow

There remained more cross country walking to return to Helford. I was dependant on only a description of the NT walk, with no plan, so I was very pleased to have downloaded the relevant Ordnance Survey map to my phone, which, as it tracked my path, enabled to to confirm where I was. (I can really recommend the latest generation of OS maps, which give this right to download permanently when you buy the paper map. I had hesitated, thinking that looking on a small phone screen would be useless, but it’s quite the opposite and you can zoom right in to see detail which would be difficult for aging eyes on the paper map. Or you can spend £25 a year and have the whole country’s maps on your device for the year.)

The instruction was to cross the yard at Kestle Barton. It did not mention an apparently very recent addition – the possibility to buy icecreams and cake there. (There was an honesty box. I did not have change – so I bought both and enjoyed consuming them in the lovely garden there. That was my only lunch.)

The final stretch of the walk was described as very muddy, and it certainly was. At some points it was possible to ‘rise above it’, as in the picture below, but not at others. My ‘lovely’ new white trainers, not to mention socks and trousers, got pretty messy. I was very glad not to be wearing my leaky old trainers, and pleased to reach my car.

A backward look at the Helford estuary

The evening’s outing was a visit to the Minack Theatre, which I had seen from the air two days previously. I had booked my ticket from home, and the day before had seen this poster for the opera I was to see at St Erth station. A programme had been helpfully sent digitally the day before, and I had downloaded it to my phone.

Making our way down to the seats

A friend had told me that, when she went, she had seen dolphins while waiting for the start. No such luck this evening. Perhaps the chilly wind (note the sea below and the ribbons!) put them off. I certainly wished I had even more warm clothing with me.

It’s filling up behind me

The instrumentalists, mainly woodwind and brass, were in a tent just to my right. At times, they drowned out the singers. Catching the words in opera is tricky enough at times, but I knew theme of this ‘children’s opera’, and the spectacle and music were good.

Just five singers taking multiple parts. I felt so sorry for them – they must have been really cold!

The singing White Elephant and his keeper

Just look at those ribbons!

During the interval, I was privy to a delightful episode right next to me. A party of 12 was there to celebrate the birthday of a two-year-old. They sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to her, and cut a Colin the Caterpillar cake. The little girl was as good as gold throughout the full-length opera.

In the second half, three dancers from a local dance school were involved

Minutes from the end, a few fireworks – essential given the title of the opera, ‘The Firework-Makers’ Daughter’ (based on a story by Philip Pullman)

Singers and instrumentalists take their bow

There just remained all those steps to negotiate.

Piddletrenthide – 2

Tags

Arabic numerals, Cerne Abbas Giant, Dumberfeild, Ivy House Garden, Piddle Inn, Piddletrenthide, Plush, River Piddle, Roger Bacon, Tess of the D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy

When planning my trip to the village, I had read that there was a rather interesting church there. As I finished my cup of tea after my visit to the Ivy House Garden (NGS) I asked Bridget, the owner, where it was. I could have walked there, but decided to go in my car as it would have added 30 minutes’ delay to the cats’ teatime!

On my way back to my car, I saw this.

The Piddle Inn appears to be a hotel only now, not a hostelry. But on my drive to the church, I passed two pubs, so it would appear that Piddletrenthide is well served for ale, and eating out opportunities.

Once parked, I found the River Piddle in a more natural state than I had seen it previously, strictly channelled parallel to the main street. The River Piddle is very little:

It can be/has been spelt rather differently:

This so attractive garden was right by the church. I hope the owners don’t mind my including the picture I took of it here.

I entered the churchyard,

and almost the first thing I saw was this:

“William [and] Thomas Dumberfeild Members of the family immortalised by Thomas Hardy in ‘Tess of the D’Urbervilles'”

Sundial over the church porch. It can’t have worked for a very long time, as it is in the shade of a splendid, large tree.

Some wording can just be made out over the west door. To quote the Wikipedia entry, “Over the west door of the church-tower is the Latin inscription: “Est pydeltrenth villa in dorsedie comitatu Nascitur in illa quam rexit Vicariatu 1487“. The inscription translates as: “It is in Piddletrenthide, a town in Dorset [where] he was born [and] is Vicar, 1487.” As the vicar in that year was Nicholas Locke, presumably the tower was dedicated to him. This is an early use of Arabic numerals in England at a time when the use of Roman numerals continued for another century elsewhere in England.”

The reference to Arabic numerals set me on their trail, since these are the figures saying 1487.

Not entirely recognisable to me. But this article explains all. That’s how Roger Bacon (c1220-1292) would have written those digits.

I was delighted to find the church was open to visitors.

Bridget had told me that the church had a lovely acoustic. I was on my own there, and, inspired by this window, I sang a verse from ‘The Holly and The Ivy’, the one with the words, ‘As white as the lily flower’. Yes, the church’s acoustic was neither too resonant nor too dry.

I could get no nearer to this monument, no doubt relating to someone very important in the history of Piddletrenthide.

The last pictures (but not text, far from it!) are of a few of the many hassocks which were grouped together in the lady chapel’s pews. A notice explained that the church in the nearby village of Plush had been declared redundant in 1988, and that these had been worked by ‘some of the ladies of Plush’ between 1978 and 1980.

I took many more hassock photos than this, but, fortunately for the length of this post, I forgot to steady my hand sufficiently to ensure little blurring in the fairly dim light. (I couldn’t resist, even so, including the image of the cyclists.)

The expedition ended with a lovely drive back over the Dorset hills, and a welcome from clamouring cats.

On Sunday morning I woke up with a jolt. I had left my walking pole, in its collapsed state, by the table I had sat at in the garden. While I recalled throwing my coat on the back seat of my car, I had no recollection whatever of picking my pole up at Ivy House, and putting it in my boot.

Oh! Already, I had felt guilty about driving quite a distance to get to Piddletrenthide, and now I was faced with another such journey. I researched the cost, and to the best of my ability the environmental cost, of buying a new walking pole, but found that they only came in pairs, and they were pretty expensive.

I decided that I should go back for it, but combine it with visiting some other attraction in the area. I was due to I have my 4th jab this (Tuesday) morning, so thought I would go on to Cerne Abbas, to see the Giant carved into the chalk hillside, have a meal at one of the two pubs in Piddletrenthide, perhaps the Poachers Inn since, “At the northern end of the village, reached by a footpath from the Poachers Inn, is Morning Well (or Mourning Well), where several springs feed into the River Piddle. In his book Portrait of Dorset Ralph Wightman described it as where “springs bubble out of the base of a steep wooded hill into a shady pool….It is an enchanted place, raising memories of holy wells and pagan groves.”, (Wikipedia again.) Then I would hope to pick my walking pole up after lunch.

So first thing this morning, I rang Bridget to check that it would be convenient to call at Ivy House then, and she told me that, despite extensive searches, they had not found my walking pole.

While we were still connected by phone, I went to my car, checked the boot, and saw that the walking pole was there. Oh! I was absolutely mortified, and made my profound apologies to Bridget for having troubled her. Which I do so again publicly in this post.

At least you are spared your blushes about the Cerne Abbas Giant, that is, unless you click this link.

Piddletrenthide – 1

Tags

Doomsday Book, Ivy House Garden, NGS, Piddletrenthide

A village in Dorset, on the River Piddle, recorded in the Doomsday Book as having thirty hides.

It was ages since I had visited a garden in the National Gardens Scheme. There weren’t many gardens near me planned to open yesterday, so I went a little further than usual, into Dorset, to visit Ivy House Garden in Piddletrenthide, described as, ‘A steep and challenging ½ acre garden with fine views, set on south facing site in the beautiful Piddle valley. Wildlife friendly garden with mixed borders, ponds, propagating area, large vegetable garden, fruit cage, greenhouses and polytunnel, chickens and bees, plus a nearby allotment. Daffodils, tulips and hellebores in quantity for spring openings. Run on organic lines with plants to attract birds, bees and other insects. Come prepared for steep terrain and a warm welcome!’

The garden was opposite the village stores in the main street, where the abundance of parked cars told me that the attraction was popular. I took a walking pole from the car, given the warning about the steep terrain, not so much for going up, but for coming down again.

This was the view that greeted me as I entered. The picture does not convey just how steep the garden is.

The garden did not lend itself – with dramatic exceptions – to photos of vistas, being suited rather to cameo appearances. I made my way slowly and steadily upwards.

These ladies look as if they’re singing, don’t they?

These ladies, and one gentleman, were, in close harmony. I was amazed to see that they were using just words as aide memoire. I could never have managed without my part’s music. Their repertoire was extensive.

This picture gives a better idea of how steep the garden was – and I was not yet at the top.

The gate led to a lane, which I did not take. But I did take advantage of a nearby seat for a while.

View from the top

I took a different way down for some of the way.

The singers are still there – and this time one, at least, seems to be using a musical score.

About half way down (I had been using my walking pole because I had gone ‘off piste’ and there was no handrail there) I met Bridget and her husband, owners of the property for the last 36 years. Bridget told me that they had bought the place for its garden, which in 1986 had absolutely nothing in it. She also told me that Alfie, the dog, had ‘made’ a video for the NGS: https://ngs.org.uk/a-trot-around-ivy-house-garden/

Two other ladies were camera-shy

This was my favourite spot. And one of the garden’s many seats was strategically placed there.

A coffee and cake down in the courtyard completed my visit to the lovely garden, but not to Piddletrenthide. I went on elsewhere, but, as I have to return in the coming days, my next post will be on that and the rest of this visit. (I often say at the end of my posts that I must return some day, but for reasons that will become apparent next time, I really have to!)

Cornwall 3 – 9. Ecclesiastica

Tags

Breage, Cornwall County Council, Hiberno-Saxon cross, John Miller, mediaeval wall paintings, Nine lessons and carols, Roman milestone, Royal Cornwall Museum Truro, St Breaca, Truro cathedral, Truro Museum

I may have made that word up.

Before going round the Truro museum, in the morning of Wednesday, 8th September, I had had a coffee (ordered by QR code!) in the café next door, and shared a table with a stranger visiting from Leicestershire. (Covid-wise, I managed to sit a good few feet away from her.) She asked me if I had yet visited the Cathedral, and I decided to do so in the afternoon. She in turn thanked me for various ideas she had gleaned from my own visits already done. We both said that there was so much to see in Cornwall that we would have to return to the county.

The rain had fully stopped by the time I left the museum, though the air was still very damp. It was only a short walk to the Cathedral.

I couldn’t take a view of its west front from further back because of this:

It was rather fun to watch. I think they were replacing old benches, and adding to seating capacity in the square.

Inside all was much quieter.

I particularly liked all the verticals of this aspect.

As well as the architecture, there were many objects of interest.

The origin of a 141-year-old tradition:

This is half of a beautiful piece of embroidery, but I could not see what its function was. It was about 2 ft/60 cm high, and presented behind glass at ground level in a side aisle.

This fantastic painting is explained below.

With commentary by the artist:

A backward look as I was about to leave.

After that, there was another church in my sights. One of the booklets I had been studying to prepare the Cornwall trip was an old one by the Archaeological Department of Cornwall County Council, but I had not yet been able to use any of its suggestions. However, the village of Breage could be on my way back to my BnB in Penzance with a little diversion. (Though I do wish I’d not relied on my satnav which, so helpful in finding me a car park in the morning, led me a totally unnecessary merry dance through single track lanes to get there. I should in this case have looked at my maps.)

The 15th century church of St Breaca‘s attractions, from the booklet, were a Roman milepost, which took a while to find, mediaeval wall paintings and a cross.

This sundial was over the entrance to the church. I took this photo as I went in. By the time I came out, there was a wan sun, but will as I did, it was never strong enough for me to check how well the dial was keeping time after 226 years.

John Miller, in the commentary to his painting in the cathedral, had referred to Cornwall as the land of the saints. Here is a reference to the local ones. Another panel gave a description of each.

At last I found the Roman (3rd century) milestone, tucked away in a corner.

Discerned by those who could read it was its abbreviated transcription of ‘the Emperor Caesar our lord Marcus Cassianus Latinius Postumus, pious, fortunate, august’.

The church was as wide as it was long,

as can be seen from this model.

There was an impressive list of every incumbent of the parish since 1219, and one before.

The cross, in the churchyard, is described as Hiberno-Saxon.

The next day was meant to be the peak experience, though I was having my doubts as to whether it would happen…

Cornwall 3 – 4. Prussia Cove and Cudden Point

Tags

Bessy's Cove, Cornwall, Cudden Point, Hilary Tunstall-Behrens, International Musicians Seminar, John Amis, Kenneggy Sands, Natalie Wheen, Perranuthnoe, Porth-en-Alls, Prussia Cove, red admiral, Sandor Vegh, St Michael's Mount

This was my choice for Monday morning, 9th September, the third day of my holiday in the far tip of Cornwall. I thought the walk would probably stretch me, but I had a reason for choosing it, from my other ‘walks’ book, by the Ordnance Survey.

It started at Perranuthnoe, the sun having cleared the heavy sea mist which prevailed just 20 minutes earlier as I had set off eastwards from Penzance.

The remains of the sea mist

For about half of its distance the walk would be through fields and lanes.

Looking back towards Perranuthnoe once I’d made the necessary height.

Interesting stiles in Cornwall

The walk started at the north-west tip and went clockwise.

Interesting stiles in Cornwall. This one’s almost level, despite appearances.

After half an hour I realised that I had failed to take my walking pole from my boot. Too far in now, I would have to manage without, something I was not looking forward to for the second part of the walk, along the South-west Coastal Path, up and down, up and down, cliff and cove, where my pole would, I thought, make all the difference to the ‘down’ bits.

I was most surprised to see this beehive to my right at one point, though further from me than this photo makes it appear.

Just metres further on I saw this shack, clearly party of a homestead. For the next couple of hundred metres, well spaced out, there were more dwellings, rather less ‘shacky’.

The last section of the inland part of the walk went north-south, along a path with, to me, a vertiginous descent, and very slippery because of little pebbles and soil. How I missed my walking pole to steady me, balance not being my strongest point. I grew increasingly fearful of the coastal path to come. At points down this steep path I used the method toddlers use when going down stairs…

As I neared the end of this descent, I could see Porth-en-Alls House, which took me back to 1973, though I had not seen it from this angle before. But I did recall seeing from the House the waves crashing onto the rocks of the promontory.

The House can just be seen centre, slightly right.

Kenneggy Sands. At this point I was to turn right onto the South-west Coastal Path.

Where inland met coast was my reason for wanting to do this walk. When I was in this tip of Cornwall for the only previous time, in 1973, I had stayed for three weeks at Prussia Cove, near Marazion. This was, and still is, an estate of holiday cottages on the coast, and mine was one of the Coastguard Cottages, which I had all to myself.  I was there, on unpaid leave from H M Treasury,  as secretary to the International Musicians Seminar, founded just the year earlier by the celebrated Hungarian violinist, Sandor Vegh, and by Hilary Tunstall-Behrens. It still runs, and still takes place at Prussia Cove, based on Porth-en-Alls House. (I had no knowledge of H T-B’s exploits when I was introduced to him on taking the job!)

Two longer term consequences of my involvement in this event arose for me personally. The broadcaster and music critic John Amis, and radio presenter Natalie Wheen, visited for a couple days on behalf of the BBC.  I found myself singing 4-part music with them once or twice. We remained in touch and had few further sessions, this time with five singers, back in London, once in my flat in Kentish Town.

The other consequence arose because it was my task, on the eve of Sandor Vegh’s arrival, to visit the cottage where he was to stay to check on, (or was it to light?), a fire to warm the place. (I think this was April.) The ‘cottages’ on the estate are well spread out, and a black and white cat was hanging around one of them. I can never resist talking to a cat, and I was a little embarrassed that she followed me all the way back to my own cottage. Free to leave if she wanted, she adopted me, and my reward was to find a dead mouse by my slippers nearly every morning when I woke up. I was informed, by the estate owners I think, that they thought she had been left behind by some previous holiday makers. Missy, as she became, virtually jumped in my car as I left Prussia Cove to return to London, my lovely companion for the next 12 years.

After 15 minutes or so, I arrived at Porth-en-Alls House. From that angle it did not seem at all familiar to me. But I was delighted to hear string chamber music emerging from this building, stopping and starting as if learning/rehearsing was going on – for these concerts perhaps?

I vaguely remembered this parking area, the upper part of which is on the SW Coastal Path. Perhaps the reason I recall it, unlike the House, is is that my car wouldn’t start and had to call the AA. Embarrassingly it turned out that I had just run out of petrol, (half of their call-outs they told me). Living in London, and a new driver, I had not got used to doing long journeys and and failed to check the fuel gauge sufficiently!

I snuck this photo, in which a violinist can just been seen. One of these presumably.

I failed to see the Coastguard Cottages, and I had neither the energy nor the time to go searching for them. It was very hot, not a cloud in the sky all day.

Bessy’s Cove, one of the four making up Prussia Cove, and the nearest to the House

Looking back at Bessy’s Cove. I recall singing three-part madrigals with two other women, sitting on one of the rocks.

My dread of the Coastal Path was unnecessary. That descent to the coastal path had been much worse than anything I encountered from then on. That said, this climb was steep!

Reached the top, I sat down on the narrow path, rested and took this photo. Fortunately no-one wanted to get by in either direction while I was there.

I arrived at Cudden Point.

This was the view as I passed over it, with Perranuthnoe in the far distance.

Brief exchanges with people coming in the other direction, or just resting, added to the pleasure of the walk. Footsore and very weary, I could see Perranurthnoe was getting nearer,

and then as I rounded every headland, it came nearer and nearer (as it were).

St Michael’s Mount can be seen in the mist. Nearby, blackberries sustained me.

Three hours and 15 minutes after setting off, I arrived at the Beach Cabin Café, where a cheese sandwich and some apple juice refreshed. And I hadn’t even had to queue, despite the staff shortages in hospitality venues announced everywhere.

My ‘sandwich’ half eaten (it was a doorstep with copious filling, salad and crisps, much more than I wanted) I walked the few paces down to the beach to see what was attracting those going by, before climbing wearily back to my car.

It was only 2 pm, so the day’s entertainment could not end there.

A musical week

Tags

Beauchamp course, Cerney House Gardens, Covid, early music, Gloucester Royal Hospital, Gloucestershire Academy of Music, Rendcomb College, Southwest Ambulance Service

Or six nights, five days, anyway. I had done the ‘Beauchamp’ early music course in 2001, when it was based at a place called Beauchamp House, in Churcham in Gloucestershire. Most people camped, and a few of us, including me, living in France at the time, stayed in B’n’Bs.

The scale of things being too large for me on the whole, I had not done that course again, but this year I just felt I wanted to get together with lots of fellow amateur singers and players to make music for a few days under the aegis of some known and trusted tutors. The course had not been held at Beauchamp House for many years and had known several different homes since. It is run by the Gloucestershire Academy of Music, and this year was being held at the independent school, Rendcomb College, near Cirencester, for the first time. It was amazing that the course took place at all this year, and all precautions were taken to ensure a Covid-safe environment, including all participants having to take a negative-outcome lateral flow test within 48 hours before arrival. In the event two people were ‘pinged’ during the course of the week and went straight home.

I arrived on the Sunday with an hour or so to spare before dinner, and walked round (just) part of the grounds.

The Music and Art block, not that we used it, remaining in the Main Building for all our sessions

The Main Building

The timetable was that all 70 participants, plus the four tutors, were all together working on one piece in the evenings, the first session of the day was in instrumental specialities (I was with 30-odd singers), and pre-lunch and post-tea sessions were in changing mixed groups, with the post-lunch period being free.

The view from the terrace as we finished our first evening session, on the Sunday

During Monday’s free time, I took up the suggestion of the very able organisers and visited Cerney House Gardens, just two miles down the road. I took lots of photos of course, and these will be the subject of my next-but-one post.

On Tuesday evening, I was taken to Emergency at Gloucester Royal Hospital, in an ambulance for the first time in my life. I have written that up, and that will be the subject of my next post. (Teaser: it was a mental, not a physical problem.) Here is a photo I took in the ambulance, which will show you that by that time I was sufficiently well to be sitting up, not lying on the ambulance’s gurney, and aware enough to think of taking a photo with my phone. This is Shaun. He has just done a lateral flow test on me. Phil was driving.

I missed breakfast on Wednesday morning. It was not to be served until 8.00 at the hospital (very civilised compared with what I have experienced in the past), and I was in a taxi back to the course at that time. Having had very little sleep overnight in Emergency at the hospital, and being very scruffy indeed, I did not feel up to creeping in for a late breakfast at Rendcomb. I skipped the first music session, and was found a banana, a chocolate bar and some cake to fortify me at 11.15, at the end of the coffee break. From then on I took full part in all the sessions, bar that of Wednesday evening which I decided to devote to R and R. In the afternoon’s free session, Jill D invited me to join a really excellent group of three recorder players and continuo instruments to sing the mezzo part in a lovely piece by Bach. The players sounded gorgeous. I think I acquitted myself reasonably well, but there were some complicated harmonic changes, and I was only working from a part, not a score, so would have done better with a little work on it beforehand. I really enjoyed the brief interlude though.

I remembered to get my camera out of my bag a few more times, but mostly forgot.

David Allinson looks pleased enough to see me at the Wednesday afternoon session.

David Hatcher takes a ‘small’ group in the Main Hall on the Thursday.

Coffee break

On Thursday afternoon I got a group of four viols and two voices together to do six-part music. Sadly it did not work quite as well as the previous afternoon’s free music-making, not least because I was not on particularly good singing form.

Not bad for a school dining hall, eh?

My last photo shows us nearly ready for the final session, on Friday evening. Most of the 70 plus participants can be seen in the picture, but sadly the huge variety of modern copies of renaissance instruments cannot. Hats and coats are because (Covid-safe) ventilation through the huge doors in the four corners of the room meant that it was blowing a chilly gale for most of us – August! – except for those in the large bay of the window.

One way and another I was shattered by Saturday. My aim to make good music with lots of other amateur musicians had been fulfilled – but there were elements I could have done without!

[Works I was involved in were by: Aliseda, Anon, Byrd, Croce, A Gabrieli, Guerrero, Hildegard, Isaac, Padovano, Palestrina, Praetorius, and Victoria (lots). The other tutors were Sue Addison and Julia Bishop.]

Barrington Court

Tags

Barrington Court, Bustall, Gertrude Jekyll, Lockdown, Mark Rylance, National Trust, Strode House, Wolf Hall

I’m not complaining, but there is just one problem in having to book a time in advance to visit a National Trust garden (because of totally reasonable social distancing precautions). It is that you can’t decide to go spontaneously, depending on the weather. But I was lucky last Friday. I had not been able to get a ticket for Barrington Court in the morning, when I had originally wanted to go, and the only spot available was mid-afternoon.

In the event it poured with rain in the morning, was dry, if pretty overcast, in the afternoon, and started raining as I drove home. As I say I was very lucky. Moreover, as a member of the National Trust, I would not have suffered if I had decided not to go, as my visit was free of charge. I wonder if they refund paying non-members who on the day choose not to go because of really bad weather?

There are two main buildings at Barrington Court, a sixteenth-century house, built to a characteristic Elizabethan E-plan, and, immediately beside it, a seventeenth-century former stable and coach block, in red brick, now Strode House, which normally includes, among other things, the restaurant. The gardens still show much of the influence of Gertrude Jekyll, in Arts and Crafts style. There are in addition various 1920s outbuildings.

From the car park. Reception is closed, but two ladies check your ticket, explain that there is a one-way system, and remove the barrier.

On the way to the kitchen garden

Moreover, with no restaurant functioning at present, there is no outlet for the crops.

There is no explanation of who this is, nor of the owner of the head he has (presumably) just removed.

Hopefully the restaurant will be open again, and able to use these pears before long.

These buildings in normal times are used by craftsmen and women to display and sell their wares, and to run workshops.

Two-way system along this avenue. The house lies outside the plan of the visitable part of the estate.

Swinging right, to go over the moat, and approach the back of the magnificent Tudor house.

Strode House to the right

This is just the ‘dreary’ back of the house.

Before going round to the front, I am tempted by this gateway to go into some parkland.

This gateway leads me back into the formal area of lawn in front of the houses.

I dutifully follow the mapped one-way system, and walk round the lawn before approaching first…

… Strode House,

then the west wing,

and then the (south) front door, through which one would normally be able to pass. But never mind the 500-year-old house. The thought that the fabulous Mark Rylance was passing through this door just a little more than five years ago (for the filming of Wolf Hall) was enough to give me the shivers.

Gables, finials, twisted chimneys and mullioned windows.

After this I had to retrace my steps along the broad avenue. At this point I had an unfortunate encounter with a silly woman and her jumping up dog. ‘Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you, he’s very friendly.’ Never mind that he was indeed jumping up at me, obliging her to come close to me, that she still didn’t manage to control him and the only way he would remove himself (his name was Watson) from me was to point hard at his owner, who had by now withdrawn herself from my immediate space when I protested, and shout ‘GO AWAY!’ What is it about such owners who think it’s OK for their dogs to jump up, that you shouldn’t mind having your clothes mauled, and that you should love the antics of their dogs as much as they do?

I was quite discombobulated by all this and had to take myself in hand as I made my way to the formal gardens.

Until 1920 this area was a cow yard, and these were calf sheds, aka (I have learned today) bustalls.

On my way back to the car park, one of several lions guarding the outbuildings.

As a coda, I just have to share my huge pleasure at having been able recently to get together twice, with different sets of friends to make music, live. Not over Zoom, not joining in someone else’s recording, but actual live music-making as it used to happen BC. Well, not quite exactly as it used to happen, because this was al fresco. On Sunday we were five, that is two singers and three viol players. On Monday we were four singers, this time gathered in my garden,

and I have a brief video record of it here.

Twixtmas at Trefeca

Tags

Black Mountains, Coleg Trefeca, commemorative trowel, early music, Ffynnongroyw, Howel Harris, Howell Harris, Methodism, Strawberry Hill gothic, Talgarth, Teulu Trefeca, Trefeca, Welsh Methodism

A four-day, three-night house party for early music-making fans, between Christmas and the New Year, has been happening for years and years, I’m told, but this had been the first time I’d heard of it, and this was the first time they allowed someone in who only sang, with no other string to her bow, as it were.

To quote Wikipedia, “Trefeca (also Trefecca, Trevecca, and Trevecka), located between Talgarth and Llangorse Lake in what is now south Powys in Wales, was the birthplace and home of the 18th-century Methodist leader Howel Harris (English: Howell Harris). It was also the site of two Calvinistic Methodist colleges at different times; the first sponsored by the Countess of Huntingdon (an English methodist leader) in the late eighteenth century; the second supported by the Welsh Calvinistic Methodist Connexion in the later nineteenth century.” Coleg Trefeca is now the conference centre and retreat house of the Presbyterian Church of Wales, with 14 twin-bedded rooms and several meeting rooms of various sizes. It is a Grade II listed building, and includes the Howell Harris Museum. It welcomes not only religious groups – evidently.

I arrived with a friend in her car (mine would not have taken all her many viols) late afternoon on the 27th, and found that some, after a quick cup of tea, were already planning to make music. We waited until the first official session after dinner, and I sang at that session with five viol players. I was not really intending to take photos during the stay, so have no photograph of that group as I was not with it again.

But my camera finger got itchy the next day, when I realised just how many interesting things there were around the place. First to catch my eye was this clock.

and its explanation, which, as with every other label, was also given in Welsh.

… though it stood at 11.40 throughout our stay.

Behind it was a display cabinet.

including these objects:

Baptismal bowl, presented in 1901

When I saw these cups I thought they were pure 1960s, but they’re 18th century.

“Scissors and keys owned by the tailor and novelist Daniel Owen, (1836-95) of Mold, who depicted Methodist life in his works”

We occupied the place fully. So manifestations of our own lives were all around.

Three viols in their cases, and a cushion

An unlit showcase in another room included these:

“It was the custom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries to present a commemorative silver trowel and sometimes a gavel to those who laid foundation stones of chapels. Seen here are some examples.”

“Chopsticks presented to John Ellis Jones (1875-1968) of Ffynnongroyw by Miss S. A. Jones of the China Inland Mission”

When I walked into the library during this free/informal playing time, I was inveigled into singing one verse of the piece they were playing (it had optional words) in return for being allowed to take their photo.

The dining room and part of the kitchen. Very good food was served, with no tempting cooked breakfasts, and light lunches. Just right.

Also found around the place were carriers for wind instruments and bags of music.

The weather did not tempt me outside on day two, so this was taken through glass.

Beverage station. The excellent and cost-saving system at Trefeca means that, on a rota, we took it in turns to make drinks during the breaks, and to serve and clear up after meals. Many hands, and all that.

I sang with recorders

I just happened to look out of my window at 8 a.m. on day three.

This presaged much nicer weather, and later in the day I was tempted outside.

The Coleg with its twentieth century accommodation block, very recently refurbished.

The ‘Strawberry Hill gothic‘ original buildings

(‘The beginning of wisdom is the fear of the Lord’, if my schoolgirl Latin is correct.)

They said I must go and find the weather-vane. This is the best angle I could get on it.

This being the setting where you could try things, I asked, to the organiser’s surprise, if I might have a session with the ‘loud wind’ (as against recorders) though I’m told I must now refer to it as ‘renaissance wind’. I took out the loud version of my voice, and I was pleased to say that the general consensus was that it had worked. These loud instruments are banished to the chapel (the small one if I read the Welsh correctly).

Cornett, kirtle, and three sackbuts of various sizes

Just a couple more pictures of items in the house:

From near to far: an eisteddfod chair won by Sarah Jane Rees (1839-1916), peot and temperance advocate; a chair owned by William Williams (1717-91) ‘Wales’s’ foremost hymnwriter’; a blacksmith’s anvil owned by Thomas Lewis (1759- 1842), another hymnwriter, and, furthest, if I remember correctly, a chair owned by Howell Harris himself.

When I first saw this, I was just reminded of the dock in a court, but in fact it is a pulpit, made of oak and wrought iron, used at Trefeca from 1768 to 1791.

As we travelled across the beautiful South Wales countryside on day one it had been smothered in mist and fog. As we returned on the afternoon of day four it was glorious in low sunshine – but of course my camera was in my suitcase.

Arnhem Remembered 3

Tags

Antoon Verbekel, Argyll and Highland Sutherlanders, Army Air Corps, Arnhem, Auschwitz, Bailey bridge, British Army, Dorsetshire Regiment, East Yorkshire Regiment, Freedom Museum, Military Police, Monmouthshire Regiment, Netherlands, Operation Market Garden, Pete Hoekstra, Peter Leech, RAF, Royal Air Force, Royal Canadian Air Force, Royal engineers, Royal Household Corps, Royal marines, Royal Navy, Royal Tank Regiment, Royal Welch Fusiliers, Somerset Light Infantry, St-Petrus Kerk Uden, Uden, Uden War Cemetery, War dead

Monday, 16th September was a wet day, and fortunately we did not have to go outside of the monastery, having a full day of rehearsals and a concert in its chapel that evening. I took very few photos, just two, of guests at our concert.

The first is of 97-year-old British veteran, Private George Avery, 71st Field Company, Royal Engineers. (My grandfather served behind the trenches in the Royal Engineers in the First World War, and in the Second my father in the RAF and my uncle in the Royal Navy. How I wish, like so many, that I had asked the questions when I had the chance. And, additionally this day, I was conscious that it would have been my mother’s 100th birthday.)

In September 1944 the Royal Engineers prepared for the drive north to Arnhem, and in February 1945 built the longest Bailey bridge in the world. Private Avery was at Auschwitz shortly after Liberation and says he will always remember that.

Here he is in those days. Same cheeky smile!

The other photo I took minutes later, of the US Ambassador to the Netherlands, Pete Hoekstra. He was born in the Netherlands, but moved to the US when he was three. He had been at the Freedom Museum the day before and had been urged to come to our concert if he was free. Here he is addressing us before the concert, with his wife, Diane, and ‘our’ American, Bill.

The chapel was full, with nearly 300 in the audience, the Ambassador unnervingly just feet away from us as we sang. Here our conductor, Peter Leech, is giving us concert feedback at the beginning of our rehearsal the next day, as we sat in our same places.

Tuesday 17th September. After lunch at the monastery, we set off in the coach for Uden. We were greeted there at the Commonwealth War Cemetery, right in the middle of the town, by a former mayor, Mr Antoon Verbakel. He has been for many years the chair of a group concerned with honouring those buried there, some 700, the vast majority of whom are British. He told us of the history of the cemetery, and said that, while their annual war remembrance ceremonies ares in May, he personally comes to the cemetery at the same time as – and he choked with emotion at this point – as our Queen is honouring the dead in Whitehall on Remembrance Sunday. He presented Peter with a book he had written giving the story of the cemetery, after which we were free to walk around.

A 32-year-old Flight sergeant from the Royal Canadian Airforce, 26.05.1943

A 19-year-old Trooper from the Royal Tank Regiment, 29.09.1944

A 20-year-old Private from the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, 07.11.1944

A 26-year-old Russian prince, serving with the Monmouthshire Regiment, 26.10.1944

A 20-year-old Pilot Officer from the RAF, 15.06.1943

A 20-year-old Private from the Dorsetshire Regiment, 16.02.1945

A 19-year-old Private from the East Yorkshire Regiment, 09.03.1945

A 21-year-old from the Royal Marines, 13.04.1945

A 20-year-old from the Polish forces, 31.03.1945

A 31-year-old Navigator from the RAF, 27.01.1943

A 25-year-old Corporal from the Royal Welch Fusiliers, 25.10.1944

A 21-year-old from the Glider Pilot Regiment of the Army Air Corps, 25.09.1944

A 33-year-old Corporal from the Somerset Light Infantry, 04.10.1944

An Unknown Soldier from the Royal Household Corps, October 1944

A 29-year-old from the Military Police, 13.04.1945

And many hundreds more, including servicemen from New Zealand and Australia.

It was time to walk to the parish room of the St-Petrus Kerk, where we would give our second concert. This was not just any old kerk. It was the size of a cathedral!

It was just as big inside as it was outside, as we discovered during our rehearsal.

Between rehearsal and concert, we were as bad as the youngsters…

For the concert, the church, while not packed, was very full, probably the same number as the night before. We were delighted to see Private Avery and his family there again in the front row, joining in, along with the rest of the audience, our encore, an arrangement of ‘We’ll meet again.’ The Dutch know it as well, if not better than the British do.

Arnhem Remembered 2

Tags

barnacle goose, carrier pigeon, cormorant, EU, Freedom Museum, greylag goose, Groesbeek, Nationaal Bevreijdingsmuseum, National Liberation Museum, Nazism, Nijmegen, Operation Market Garden, Rhine, Rhineland Offensive, sugar beet, Vreiheidts Museum, Waal, Wiel Lenders

Sunday 15th September. We were free for the early part of the morning as the chapel was being used for eucharist. So I went out for a short walk with Clementine and Mariske. The first thing I saw of note was a huge pile of sugar beet, a first for me.

A pleasure lake pleases both humans and cormorants

Two adjacent fields were full of wild geese, Barnacle and Greylag. The farmers do not like them, I was told.

Clementina and Mariske did not take much persuading to climb onto this sculpture ‘The sunken windmill’, on the site of a real one which had stood here from about 1300 until 1929

After a late morning rehearsal and lunch, we piled into a coach to be taken to what had, until recent renewal and enlargement, been called the Nationaal Bevreijdingsmuseum (National Liberation Museum). Having just reopened on 1st September, it was now called the Vreiheidts Museum (Freedom Museum). The Museum was the sponsor of our entire weeklong visit. The journey to Groesbeek took about 45 minutes.

Passing via Nijmegen, we crossed the Waal, a distributary of the Rhine.

As we arrived, a Dutch Band, calling itself Bill Baker’s Big Band, was playing American dance music of the ‘forties.

We stood and listened for a while, before moving to the museum itself.

The museum itself may be finished, but its landscaping has not quite yet been completed. Its dome is reminiscent of a parachute.

Once inside we assembled in the café, were given vouchers for refreshments to be taken later, and were welcomed by the Director of the Museum.

Items on sale

I don’t think this radio equipment was on sale!

Beatrix and the Director of the Museum, Wiel Lenders

As planned, we moved back to the performing area,

and sang four short items from our programme, not under the tent but in front of it. The woman singing with the band had been amplified and I was a little concerned that the audience would not be captured by our acoustic sound, but they were, and were highly appreciative. I was delighted to find that we had been singing under the EU flag.

After refreshments, we were then free to look around the museum. This was very comprehensive, and dealt fully with the build-up to WWII, its roots in WWI, poverty and unemployment, the rise of Nazism, and moved on to the course of the war, particularly as it affected the Netherlands. Here are just a few of the many photos I took, some of them not as focussed as they might have been by my less than steady hand in dim light.

A short film introducing the Museum

It was inevitable that much of the explanation had to be in text panels. These were in Dutch, English and German.

Unemployment leading to unrest

The outbreak of war, and Nazi occupation of surrounding countries. (I use the word ‘Nazi’ deliberately. I learnt later in the week that one of the two brave Germans in our group was very uncomfortable at the use of the ‘German’ in connection with the events.)

A reference to WWII in other parts of the world

The stories of individuals

A German (I can’t avoid the word here) one-person bunker, offering protection against flying shrapnel and shells.

American carrier pigeon’s uniform. Pigeons ‘were normally transported in cages. This uniform was used for short transports during which a pigeon could be tied to a soldier’s uniform with a piece of string. Paratroopers sometimes jumped with the carrier pigeon strapped against their chest.’

My time started running out. I had no time left to sit down, choose my language, and watch the mock up of the progress of the Operation.

A photo of a small part of the parachute drops in September 1944.

And I just had to rush through the last sections of the Museum

As I went round, I felt so strongly that our current politicians, many of them a near generation younger than me, should be obliged to visit this museum to understand what the EU is really all about, and why it was created.

This was ironically brought home even more as we realised that our route home was actually taking us through a small corner of Germany. Only the yellow street signs told us we had crossed a country border.