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.

Cornwall 3 – 2. A racing start

Tags

Helen Glover, Market Building Penzance, Penzance, STeve Backshall, Tour of Britain, Tour of Britain 2021

For the afternoon of Sunday 5th September I had booked a National Trust visit, and I had received a few days earlier an email from them saying to allow more time to arrive because the Tour of Britain would be passing nearby, which could disrupt traffic. On looking into it further, I could see that the very start of Stage 1, eastwards along the Western Promenade, was to be just two minutes’ from my BnB in Penzance, and also that, because it would be looping round to go westwards, there would be an opportunity for me to see it going by just ten minutes’ walk from where I was staying. Having been knocked off my bike on the way to school by a careless motorist at the age of 15, and walked to school thereafter, I haven’t cycled since. (As a result?) I’m sadly not interested in cycling as either a spectator or a participant, but I could see that there might be some good photo opps.

Stage 1

The start

It was diversions already in place which had given me the tour of Penzance (I exaggerate a little) the previous afternoon, and investigating the start area which had been the subject of my brief photographic excursion in the evening:

Sadly, it was not for my arrival that the flags were out.

As well that I am not planning to leave the immediate area before noon on the Sunday.

My BnB, Chiverton House (not my car)

After a good breakfast on the Sunday, I made my way, double-masked – very few had any sort of mask on at all, – down to the front, to be there an hour before the start. There were already many people, both milling and static.

I was to understand the main point of the screen later.

In pale blue are participants in the children’s tour.

Twenty minutes later I left, and masses of people were streaming in. I was thinking to go up the hill to where I would be able to see the riders actually going by, instead of just launching themselves. I had time to return to my room and had a chat with Alan, my landlord. As I walked up to the top road, among the many people streaming down hill was a very familiar face, a man I recognised as a presenter on the telly, with a woman, presumably his wife, and twins in a buggy. Only later could I place him – Steve Backshall the naturalist, and his wife, Olympic champion rower, Helen Glover (whom I now know is from Penzance, and went to the public school near where I live on a sports scholarship).

On my way up, this coach caused some excitement, but I didn’t find out why.

I  was up on the top road by 10.40, (the race due to start at 11.00), and there were so few people there that I checked that with one of the police officers (not these!) that the race would indeed be passing along that road in due course.

I found myself an excellent vantage point. A few more people had the same idea as I as the minutes passed.

At about 10.45 the children’s race came by.

Then a few more, not sure what category.

Was this nurse prudently hanging on, before crossing to the care home behind me, or positively interested in the race?

At 11.04, came the main peloton. I  was shooting on burst, at 5 pictures a second. My camera took 20 pictures – which means the whole thing went past in four seconds!

The follow-up support took much, much longer.

After all that excitement, I wandered on into the centre of the town, then down to the front, and back along the Western Promenade from which my car had been barred the previous afternoon.

Several shops marked Penzance’s start of the Tour, this a florist.

I thought perhaps that this was an ecclesiastical building turned to Mammon, but in fact it has always been secular. It’s the Market Building, Grade I listed.

I was pleased to see all the granite paving stones.

St Mary’s Church

Back to the start, nearly deserted.

Taking down the dais, to be erected at the next day’s start point?

There was still a small crowd at one point. As I approached the screen I could see why.

As I returned to my BnB, I was pleased to see that I would be able to drive away from the area in the afternoon with no hindrance. And I further reckoned that the cavalcade would all be well past the NT attraction I had booked on to for the afternoon.

Mendip Hospital – people

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Dr Robert Boyd, Friends of Mendip Hospital Cemetery, Mary Ann Norman, Mendip Hospital, Morag Hervey, Somerset and Bath Pauper Lunatic Asylum, Well Mental Hospital

I am somewhat behind with my blog posts, so here is just a brief account of, in effect, Part 3 of the trilogy on this hospital, which I visited – now converted into luxury dwellings – on Christmas Day last year, and whose cemetery I visited a few weeks ago. This third part concerns the Wells Museum exhibition, now over, but due to open at the Wells Bishop’s Palace shortly, about the inmates/patients/residents, whom I shall henceforth refer to as residents.

Most of the exhibits were principally typed text, not ideal for a blog intended mainly for photographs, nor indeed for the visitor. I do hope the Friends of the Mendip Hospital Cemetery , whose work goes so much further than just the cemetery, will find the means of putting it all online. It is all on members’ computers, and just needs someone with the know-how to be found (and probably paid for) to convert it into a web site. The material is fascinating.

Doctor Robert Boyd was the first Resident Physician and Superintendent of what opened as the Somerset and Bath Pauper Lunatic Asylum, became the Wells Mental Hospital, and ended up being called the Mendip Hospital.

When I read this I was reminded how Covid-19 had prevented me, since February 2020, from making my monthly visits to a local nursing home to sing bygone popular songs to the residents.

Once photography came in, an image was taken of very resident on arrival.

There were many, many accounts of individuals. It would be good to be able to sit down and read more of them at leisure, each one a story to be told.

The following photos are of various members of staff and their families.

I did read the whole of this large panel, a very sad tale of Mary Ann Norman, 1833-1913, a homeless woman living on the streets, on prostitution, and on drink, in and out of of both Shepton Mallet Prison and the Asylum. No-one wanted to know her then, but we can give her attention now.

A talk given by Dr Morag Hervey in 2000 on the history of the hospital is here.

It is so good that the Friends of the Cemetery are not just maintaining the grounds but reviving the stories of the residents of the hospital itself.

Possibly the least interesting blog ever

Tags

Coronavirus, Covid-19, Glastonbury, Minor Injury Unit, Street, Vaccine, West Mendip Hospital

Going out just once a fortnight for my Click and Collect shopping and any other essential bits and pieces, there hasn’t been much to blog about since Christmas. How I long for restrictions to be lifted and to visit a garden or some such!

But I did have an extra outing yesterday, late afternoon Friday. I went for my first Covid-19 vaccination at the local Minor Injury Unit, the West Mendip Hospital, a few minutes’ drive away in north Glastonbury. My doctors’ surgery had called me three days previously and gave me not only this appointment, but that for my second jab, 12 weeks forward – to the very minute. (Then on Thursday I received a letter from the NHS inviting me to book an appointed online, to be ignored if I was already fixed up.)

I thought people might object to my taking photos, but not at all. The atmosphere was great, the many volunteers all very cheerful, and the one professional I met, a nurse from a surgery in Street, likewise.

First Philip

told me where to park, a task taken up a few yards on by Rob.

Then this lady, whose name I didn’t get, directed my reversing into the very nearest spot to the hospital entrance.

She told me I could go straight in. (Twelve days earlier a neighbour had had to park a long way away and was told to wait in the car until she was collected, and that they were running 15 minutes behind.)

I had arrived early deliberately because I had unrelated business with the normal hospital reception. This lady told me to explain that to the specially set-up desk.

I did so, had my hands sanitised, carried out my task, and returning to that special desk took this photo.

I was given a form and directed along this corridor This cheery gentleman is not blocking but welcoming me!

He made sure I turned right, and that I went along a corridor, where there was a row of about ten socially distanced chairs. My neighbour had had to sit on the nearest, and gradually move up, a chair at a time, each chair being sanitised after each movement. (The organiser in me would have done that bit differently, but in my case only the first (= furthest away) was occupied, and I sat on the second.)

I had just started reading the form,

when Nurse Emma came up to me and invited me into her cubicle.

She went through the form with me, and left the cubicle for a few seconds.

I’m kicking myself for not taking a photo of her actually drawing the vaccine from the vial when she came back, but I was too engrossed in asking her how much liquid she was going to put into me. The answer was 0.3 millilitres. ‘Is that all?’ I said, thinking of Tony Hancock in a reverse situation.

Having done the necessary (another photo-op missed) she gave me a very detailed leaflet, from which I later learned that I had been given COVID-19 mRNA Vaccine BNT 162b2. I left a box of chocolates with her, and she directed me to a waiting area, where I restored my left arm’s clothing, and took this photo. All were (unsurprisingly) intrigued as to why I would want such a thing, but they gave their permission.

15 minutes later I was on my way out.

This lot at the entrance insisted (well, it was the man on the right again) that for completeness’ sake I should record them as I left in both directions,

and that was that.

Today the top of my arm is quite sore but not at all red, and that tells me that the antibodies are getting on with their work nicely. In 11 weeks and 6 days’ time, to the minute, I shall, all being well, be back there again.

Grantown-on-Spey 2

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Anagach Woods, bird cherry, bog cotton, Caledonian forest, Clan Chattan, Clan Grant, Clarsach, Cromdale brooch, Curling, Decimalisation, dipper, Grant Arms Hotel, Grantown-on-Spey, Grantown-on-Spey-Museum, grey wagtail, James Grant, James Grant of Grant, mallard, pied wagtail, Ramsay MacDonald, River Spey, Spotted flycatcher, Springwatch, Strathspey, Treecreeper, wild lupin

Friday 31st May. On offer this morning was a walk in the local woods, led by Simon, one of the experts on hand in the hotel. With three other residents, I availed myself of it. We started at the local golf course,

where we saw nothing of interest, though Simon did his best to convince us that this was a rare Scottish wild cat.

The Anagach Woods were established in 1766 by James Grant of Grant (more later), but they look very natural, and provide excellent habitat for local fauna.

Treecreeper

And flora.

Bog cotton/cottongrass

As we walked through the woods, for much of the time to the right was acidic boggy land with stunted trees that could be 200 years old.

To our left, classic Caledonian forest, (the BBC’s ‘Springwatch’ is currently coming from just a few miles away) allowing lots of light through to nourish berry-bearing plants, good food for native species.

I was frequently a little behind my companions, as I was the only one taking photos.

Particularly if they involved reflections

The lichen is called Old Man’s Beard

We emerged from forest into more open land, and I learned that this native tree was called bird cherry.

We reached the River Spey, and went on to a bridge. (Of which, annoyingly, I did not think to take a photo when we later went down to the path on the right hand side.)

You don’t often get the chance to see a mallard’s orange feet so clearly.

On the far side of the bridge I was able to see this bird, identified for me as a spotted flycatcher.

I said that I couldn’t see any spots, even when it obligingly turned round for me.

But spotted flycatcher it was, I was assured.

From the bridge I was also able to wonder at these wild lupins, through which we were to wander minutes later. We also saw a very newly fledged grey wagtail.

Once down there, along the bank we watched a fledged pied wagtail being fed. Its parent was too quick for me.

Further along was a dipper, again it was thought, newly fledged, not least because it was showing a marked reluctance to dip.

And then there were two, sibling fledglings. Believe it or not.

As we started to walk back, completing a loop, it started to spit. I was able to notice and admire these patriotic finials.

By the time we were back at the hotel, via the Post Office in my case, it was pouring.

And still was in the afternoon, so instead of pursuing my rural intentions, I did that standby of wet afternoons, the local museum.

Which was small and perfectly formed. I learned that the Clan Grant had been around for a few centuries when Sir James Grant of Grant, he of the Anagach Woods, and known as ‘the good Sir James’, decided, in the mid-eighteenth century, to create a town on the River Spey. It didn’t become quite the boom town he had hoped, because it was too distant from anywhere, but it throve nevertheless, especially once it had become such a sought after place for holidays and leisure a hundred years later.

I learned about the superclan (that’s my word) Chattan, and its motto ‘Touch not the cat bot [without] a glove’, meaning that they were fierce fighters. This was a confederation of clans and large families with origins at least as far back as the fourteenth century. The wild cats engraved on this large 1600s brooch, the Cromdale brooch, suggest it may have a connection to the Clan Chattan.

Sir James’s plan of Grantown-on-Spey, showing the Anagach Woods, and The Square, in fact a thin oblong, where the Grant Arms Hotel is located.

The former town clock mechanism

Alone in the museum, for 15 minutes I got quite emotional as I took up the invitation, below, to try the clàrsach, which was perfectly in tune, picking out tunes and even singing with it. (In the evening, I spent some time researching the cost of and how to play the instrument, I had been so moved by the experience, but have reluctantly come to the conclusion that I am unlikely to be any more successful with this instrument than I have been with any requiring the co-ordination of more than two fingers!)

Tearing myself away – I felt I could have stayed there for hours – I perused the rest of the museum, which featured various professions and achievements of the town’s residents, including the inventor of the flush toilet. (No pictures!)

Endorsement of he hotel by Prime Minster Ramsay MacDonald in 1934, from its wording apparently solicited.

I was fascinated by these next two images when I came to see them on screen. The light was flickering a little on the display of the curling stone, but my eyes did not see the complete darkness the camera did as it took the photos on burst.

Finally, the 1970s are clearly history to some, though I can remember the day we converted to decimal coins as if it were yesterday. Ironically, I was working in H M Treasury in Whitehall at the time. The lady on the sandwich kiosk was having a terrible time with the new coinage, and the queue was very long indeed!

Namibia/Botswana/Zambia 10

Tags

African fish-eagle, Ayre's hawk eagle, Black-crowned night-heron, buffalo, Bushbuck, Darter, Egyptian goose, elephant, Great white egret, Grey go-away-bird, hippo, jacana, Little bee-eater, Little egret, Mahangu Safari Lodge, Malachite kingfisher, Namibia, Okavango River, Squacco heron, waterbuck, White-backed Night-heron, White-fronted Bee-eater

Friday 1st March, late afternoon cruise on the Okavango River, upstream from Mahangu Lodge. For the most part we hugged the opposite bank, which I think formed part of the national park.

As we move off, we look over to the lodge and its double-decker boat. We’re on the single decker one.

Waterbuck

Disappearing bushbuck

Malachite kingfisher, with prey

Great white egret

This very large elephant seemed extremely angry as he ripped up the grass. Anthropomorphism on my part, no doubt.

Little egret

Egyptian geese

African jacana

What a difference in light when I swing my camera to the opposite bank.

Squacco heron

Darter

White-fronted bee-eater

On the other bank, two go-away-birds

Ayre’s Hawk-eagle

Little bee-eater and White-fronted bee-eater

Little bee-eater

African jacana

Staring out at us, a juvenile Black-crowned night-heron

Buffalo

Bushbuck

African Fish-eagle

Malachite kingfisher

People were very excited to see this, an ‘uncommon resident’, a White-backed Night-heron.

The light was falling, and the boat hastened us back to the lodge. My camera had difficulty with the light level as I pointed it at these hippos, …

… and at my colleagues as they relaxed after a fascinating couple of hours. Time to look at photos rather than take them.

Namibia/Botswana/Zambia 8

Tags

Anchieta's dwarf python, black mamba, Black-croned Night-heron, Kaisosi River lodge, Namibia, Pied kingfisger, Red bishop, red-billed hornbill, Rundu, Striped mongoose, termite mound, weaver bird's nest

Thursday, 28th February. Before sunrise, all the others went off, after a coffee, for a bird-watching walk around the grounds of the Lodge. Being rather birded out, I allowed myself a few more minutes in bed, though still had had my breakfast pretty early, well before the others got back to have theirs. I filled in time by wandering round the grounds on my own in non-birdwatching mode, and then visiting the ‘Reptile Walk’ of the lodge, which had sadly seen better days.

The bar, where we had had our lunch on the two days we were there.

Trees often grow through termite mounds, apparently because of the greater fertility of the soil, and possibly their greater water content

I didn’t go looking for birds, but sometimes you just can’t avoid them. Red-billed hornbill, in still poor, early morning light.

Anchieta’s dwarf python. Quite big. actually

Black mamba. Not very big, but I’m glad there’s glass between me and it.

Later, as I went to join the vehicles to leave, this family of striped mongooses, very much at home in the grounds of the lodge, were taking advantage of the hose water.

We covered a lot of ground this day, 430 km/267 miles. It was pretty hot (35 degrees C max) , and thunderstorms threatened, never amounting to much though.

Weaver birds’ nests.

Even a refuelling stop is the opportunity for birdwatching.

Ooh, and here we are at a sewage works.

Fortunately, the problem with Jakes’s vehicle (a tyre I think) arose in a town, Tsumeb. Jakes explains it, Neil listens, and the mechanic mops his brow.

Namibia is rich in minerals.

Our lunch was taken at a Roy’s Rest Camp, whose proprietors have a wacky sense of humour!

Looks fairly normal to begin with, just a little run-down. (It gets good reviews though).

Just two examples among many of eccentricity.

The dining area seems normal, until you start noticing little curios. No pictures because I was eating…

… and then keen to get back to chat with this man. A Scot, who had lived in Australia for the last 40 years (though you’d think he’d never left Renfrewshire from his accent) who is travelling the world with just a 150 cc bike, (there in front of our right-hand vehicle), a mobile phone, and virtually no plans. Is nearly at the end of his years-long odyssey. Amazing fellow. I got this photo, with his permission, but didn’t like to ask his name.

Once we got going again, there was little time to stop for wildlife photographs, and I snatched such pictures of Namibian rural life as I could through the windows of the vehicle.

When we were nearly at our next destination, near Rundu, a dust storm arose as we went through the town. “Windows closed please!”

Shortly afterwards, we arrived at Kaisosi River Lodge on the Okavango River, with Angola on the other side.

Four rooms in this building. Mine was downstairs, in the nearer half, the river beyond.

From the riverside, No 3.

Just so peaceful after a long day’s journeying.

View from the ‘French’ window.

View from the verandah by the dining room.

But the dining room was not – yet – for us. After settling in, we went out to visit ….. a sewage works.

Homeward bound in the shower with firewood.

Black-crowned Night-herons

Red bishop. The first we had seen, but we were to see more.

Embroidery on my pillowcase. Pied kingfisher.

Tennis in Bath

Tags

Anne Keovathong, Bath University, Clare Balding, Fed Cup, Georgia, Great Britain, Harriet Dart, Jo Konta, Katie Boultar, Katie Swan, Serbia, Slovenia, Tennis

When the Fed Cup, the women’s equivalent of the Davis Cup, comes to the UK for the first time in 26 years, and it takes place at the Bath University Sports Training Village, just a (theoretical, but we won’t dwell on that) hour’s drive away from me, well I have to go for at least one day, don’t I? I did so yesterday, 6th February, for the first day.

Having allowed an enormous amount to time to get there, I arrived at my seat on the Centre Court, my re-usable travel cup filled with coffee, just as the first singles players, from Georgia and Serbia, were warming up. There followed in the ‘morning’ session, which finished at 3.30 pm, another singles match and a doubles between the two countries.

Many others seem to have had travel problems. The stands gradually became more occupied, but they were not entirely full at this session.

This young woman lost.

This young woman from Georgia had attitude – but she also lost, …

… to this one from Serbia, in two sets.

For the doubles, the first Georgian singles loser – right – was joined by a much more powerful player, who took a nasty fall in the second game.

Her ankle was strapped up, and the pair went on to win in two sets, taking the overall score to 2-1 in Serbia’s favour.

The ‘afternoon’ session started at 4.30 pm. I took a few photos on my way back to the courts.

This is how it works. No, I haven’t fully understood it either. Suffice it to say that what I was watching was Group 1, Europe/Africa, Zone B, Group B, and the results of this round robin, which will be finally determined on Saturday, (GB play Hungary and Greece meanwhile) will help settle country placings for the 2020 Fed Cup.

A gaggle of ball boys watches events on Number 1 Court. (The ball girls on the whole were more on the ball than the boys.)

Many more camera operators in this session, because it was between Great Britain and Slovenia.

Katie Boulter arrives, followed by coach Anne Keovathong

The coin toss

A familiar face passes in front of me after first set

Many, including myself, responded to the organisers’ request to dress in red. The stands were full for the afternoon session.

I wish I’d taken more close-ups.

A big hug from the GB coach after Katie wins in two sets.

Post-match interview with Clare Balding.

Next up was Johanna Konta for her singles.

My goodness she had us worried in the first set. So many times she looked as if she was going to lose it. My heart was thumping, and I had to make myself take long slow breaths. I didn’t know I cared so much!

Phew! She pulled through, and the second set came more easily to her.

The doubles match was played by young Katie Swan and Harriet Dart. They raced away to 5-0 in the first set, but were held to 6-2.

And in the second set they again raced off, this time to a 4-0 lead.

But the Slovenians again managed to hold them to 6-2. So overall Great Britain won 3-0.

I rushed off, not staying for the media interview. It was 10.10 pm. And I was home in 55 minutes. Some people go for all four days. I don’t think my heart could cope with the stress, especially if Jo Konta were to do that again!

PS, 4 days later. Great Britain went on to come top out of all eight of the countries in this group, and a play-off in April will determine whether they are promoted to the next tier.

Moving freely in Europe and in London

Tags

Brexit, Covent Garden, Last of the Summer Wine, London Transport Museum, Ode to Joy, Olive Simpson, Parliament, Regent III, Routemaster, Sarah Connolly, Simon Wallfisch, Trolley bus, women poster artist

Less than a month after the last time, I was in London again two days ago. The purpose this time was to join (mainly professional) singers and instrumentalists to sing and play – over and over again – the European Union anthem, the Ode to Joy by Beethoven, outside Parliament, to protest the need for musicians to have freedom of movement within the EU.  On my way to a meet up point in Smith Square, I went past the media village that has been camped there for weeks.  This is only part of it, and it has recently been fenced off to the public, which now means that protesters can not easily be seen behind presenters.  We were going to do our best and loudest.

Difficult to estimate our numbers, but I reckon we were some 200 or so. Here’s a part of us.

In the middle is Simon Wallfisch, singing lustily in his fine baritone, and at the same time playing his cello, its case on his back.

Surrounded by professionals. (Photo Helen, Olive’s sister)

I’m behind the singer, Dame Sarah Connolly, the originator of this protest. (Photo Chris Mercer)

With my singer friend, Olive Simpson, thanks to whom I knew about this event. She has just brought out a book, ‘Molly’s Musings’.  Wit and whimsy. (Photo Helen, Olive’s sister)

Father Christmas has his opinion.

Apparently we were covered in German TV news bulletins, Reuters also took a story, and we could be seen on Sky News.  I watched the BBC 1 o’clock news on catch up when I got home, and certainly we could be seen and heard, very faintly, if you knew to look and listen for us.  (The banner ‘Musicians depend on freedom of movement’ was far too far away to be read though.)

But I didn’t go straight home. There were several hours before my coach back to Somerset was due to leave.  So I walked along the Embankment, and up Savoy Street to Covent Garden, and the London Transport Museum. This is housed in the old Covent Garden flower market. It would be more accurately, but cumbersomely, named the Transport in London Museum, not least because it starts in 1800.

I tried very hard not to take photos, especially as I didn’t have my camera with me, and my tablet, on which I had taken the earlier photos, was in the Museum’s cloakroom. But I didn’t succeed. I had my tiny phone on me and took lots of pictures. Fortunately the quality of the results was such that my selection here was easy to make!

A replica.  The originals will not have stayed this shiny for long, and maybe never were, given the quality of today’s paints!

Wonderful ironwork

Inside this Metropolitan Railway carriage was just like the mainline carriages I remember from childhood. Indeed the whole visit was an exercise in nostalgia.

I remember these ticket machines!

But my memory does not go quite as far back as this bus and tram! The former was used in the First World War for troops.

I do remember the trolley man putting the pole back on the catenary though.

There was a temporary exhibition of works by women poster artists.  Women were welcome to put forward their art from the outset.  I could have spent a very long time indeed in this part of the Museum, so was delighted to find that there was one copy left of the accompanying book when I asked at the end. 

Fans of ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ will understand that I was delighted to find there had been an artist called Dora Batty.

People get nostalgic about the Routemaster (left) , but I get nostalgic about the model of London double-decker red bus before that, the Regent III (centre). We used to catch the 120 as the first stage of a trip to my grandmother’s in Staines.

A final look at the lovely ironwork, before meeting Mary in the café for a cuppa, family catch-up, and lots and lots of political talk, (as by now the  Commons Brexit Withdrawal Vote had been withdrawn.)

I would hope to return to this museum in the future. I could easily have spent the double the time I did there.

The Mid-Somerset Show, 2018

Tags

dog show, dry stone walling, Mid-Somerset Show, Somerset Rural Life Museum, wicker

It would not normally have occurred to me to visit the Mid-Somerset Show, but as a volunteer at the Somerset Rural Life Museum, I had been invited to help on their stand for a couple of hours.  So I arrived some 50 minutes early to take ‘a quick mooch around’ beforehand.  Ha! Quick? – it was vast!

As I arrived, there seemed to be an awful lot of dogs around.  I soon understood why.I moved on after a few minutes. The Somerset willow/wicker industry is still thriving, (and indeed we display a wicker coffin in the museum).  There was dry stone walling, and timbercraft. I particularly liked the bench which could be moved around like a wheelbarrow. (A wheelbench? Or a benchbarrow?)

I had seen that there was to be a cider pressing at 10.30, so I made my way to the marquee where it was to take place.  I saw no pressing, perhaps because judging was still taking place, but was delighted to discover the Rural Life Museum’s stall nearby, as I could now stop worrying that I would never find it.

There were things to entertain children, and  dozens, if not hundreds, of stalls selling things to consume, to wear, and to play with, and offering services, commercial, voluntary and public, (no photos of any of these).  There were horses, and ponies, sheep, young (and older) shepherds dispensing advice, sheep judgings, sheep products, small goats (and large), alpacas, pigs, and a judge getting down to things.  Cattle big and small,

This animal was so huge, I thought it to be a bull, but another photo has shown me that it is a cow

I had wandered about the huge showground so much that I was a little concerned that I’d never find the cider and Somerset heritage marquee again. I was just about on time. One of the children’s activities we offered was stick weaving, which I had never heard of. Custom was slow to begin with, but it picked up, and it was useful that there were two of us to chat with both children and grown-ups.  A few had visited the Museum before it  closed in 2014 for refurbishment, and some had already visited after it had reopened last year.  Some children had already visited in the last few months with their schools, and were keen, and primary school teachers took an interest, as did grandparents.

I had intended to leave the showground when my two-hour stint was up, but I was conscious that there was a lot more to see, and also I hoped to find a leather belt to buy from a craft stall (which I did in due course).  As I emerged from the heritage tent it was very sunny and warm – not forecast – and teeming with people.  I saw more horses, bees and bee products, bantams,

It’s true there was something of a breeze, but I suspect this beastie had its feathers permanently ruffled.

golden goose eggs (?) and other kinds, and Egg Sheeran.  Just when I thought there couldn’t be any more kinds of animals (and was pleased not to have seen cats in cages) I came across a few rabbits. Human exhibits changed every hour. This is the Barnacle Buoys, who often sing in support of the RNLI. (Apologies for the words clipped at the beginning and end.  The latter is ‘ago’, and is sung one tone up followed by one tone down – for those concerned.)

The essence of a country show is its produce and homecraft competitions.

Upcycled denim competition

Fewer people made it to the far end of the marquee

More child’s play. Well away from the main dog classes was a ring where some kind of obedience test was happening.  I didn’t stay long enough to understand what it was all about, but this apparently obedient dog is here being persuaded by the ring master – in vain and for the third time – to retrieve a ball and take it back to its owner.  

Its owner is in the blue shorts

Beginning to get hungry, and not keen on any of the fast food on offer, I made my way back to the car park at 2 pm.

The dog classes were continuing.

Some dogs were more co-operative …

… than others.

All had been amazingly well-behaved.

I was so pleased that the SRLM had appealed to its volunteers for help, and intend to go again another year.