Tags
Azalea, blackbird, blue tit, bluebells, butterbur, campion, candelabra flower, Churchill, Digby family, handkerchief tree, Himalayan plants, John Churchill, Minterne Gardens, Minterne Magna, ransoms, rhododendron, wollemi pine
A friend told me about the Minterne Himalayan Gardens on Monday, and I visited the next day. This is an ideal time of year to go, because of the rhododendrons and the azaleas and other spring wild flowers, but the great collection of wonderful trees would justify a visit at any time of year. I took so many pictures that I cannot make a choice, so here for the record are lots and lots of them, with occasional commentary.
I decided to call in on the little church instead of returning straight home.
The very first Sir Winston Churchill, his wife, and his daughter are buried here. On the left is the grave of John Churchill, the first Winston’s father.
I felt particularly for this woman, ‘languishing under a tediouse sickness for halfe a year’ before she died.
And there were a few other commemorative plaques which caught my eye, some of which told interesting stories.
A lovely afternoon under lovely weather.
After the obligatory coffee on arrival, I left the elegant Georgian stable block, which now houses café, shop and plant sales, and took a backward glance at it.
The first exhibition was a collaboration between the NT and the National Portrait Gallery, London. 
None looked like achieving anything, until the World War I when women proved their worth in ‘men’s’ jobs. I actually got a little angry inside as I looked at the changing pictures , some of which are in the slideshow below, showing just what work they had done. 
But it was closed, so I went back to the entrance café, not wishing to take a meal in the main restaurant in the house. After having my soup, I went off in search of the old 1950s Post Office, but reading the notice saved me the tramp over there, though the path looked enticing.
I came across a granite cross, which I have since learned was erected in 1873 in memory of the 10th Baronet who did so much to develop the estate, by 40 of his friends. But for me the main interest was that it was swarming with harlequin (i.e. non-native) ladybirds, scurrying about, never still and occasionally flying off and returning. 
Details. 
You could see the house from nearly everywhere in the extensive gardens. 
And this was a view from the kitchen garden (of which more later). 
Now some views of the beautiful gardens. 
Exit was through the kitchen gardens, bordered by flower beds. 
And even the plant sale area was a feast for the eyes. I resisted this time. 
I’m told the gardens are wonderful in spring, at snowdrop and crocus time…
Views from the balcony.
We moved on to the Great 
While Mary stayed down and worked on a crossword, I climbed to the top, 253 quite shallow steps. Access was by a broad central spiral staircase. I counted the steps between each floor, 33 to begin with, reducing to 21, so I suppose this was to give the impression, with perspective, that the tower is higher than it really is. Around the outside of the staircase is a broad landing in every floor, with considerate benches (that is a figure of speech!) on every second landing. At the top, the windows are glazed, and you cannot get out on to the balconies.
Then around a parkland area.
A speedy passage through the sweltering Palm House, 
and out the other side, 
back to the café to pick up something to drink. This we consumed sitting on a bench nearby, reflecting on the day, and counting the intervals between the planes which were going over our heads to land at Heathrow Airport (every 60 to 70 seconds, poor residents). 
A lovely day, during which sunshine and cloud had appeared at totally convenient intervals for our comfort. We parted at Kew Gardens station, I for my Underground (which was largely over ground) for Paddington Station and the West Country, and Mary on her Overground (which was partly under ground) for North London.
From there, we continued along the coast to the west, and then turned inland to another upland, very different from what we had seen, a plateau heathland, once more above the clouds. 
They were building a huge reservoir where we made a brief stop (in the middle of the left-hand brown area on the map), but we were there to see more of this magnificent native plant, called Pride of Madeira, echium candicans. 
I’d liked it so much the first time I saw it, on the first day, that I’d bought a t-shirt. The flowerheads really are this big. ![20180627_094406[1]](https://musiewild.files.wordpress.com/2018/06/20180627_09440611.jpg?w=529)
The label says it was made in Madeira.
At the end – a place called Risco – there was a long, but narrow, waterfall, to which I found it difficult to do justice in photos. 
Back at the hotel, it was time to pack, then go down one last time to a restaurant near the seafront, and climb back again.
At the end of our walk was a tunnel, through which the levada continued, and along which we had been intended to walk, but I was glad that that thought had been abandoned – it would have meant uncomfortable bending over for 800 metres. 
I did venture a very little way into it, and if this photo is viewed on a big enough screen, the light at the end of the tunnel can just be seen.
My memory of this place in November 2016 was of a meal taken in a revolving restaurant. This time our stop was for coffee, and then for a very short exploration of the local geology. I nipped off at one point to buy some cherries from a stall, and when I rejoined the group they were all staring at the beach. I could see a tern or to. 
And I liked these contrasting grey textures. 
Only on looking more closely did I see that some of the stones were in fact terns, roseate terns I was informed. 
From here we were taken just a very short distance westwards, and deposited to walk along the old coastal road (closed to traffic) for about a mile.
Two of us were ahead of the others, so we were the first to venture in to this tunnel, which we could see was dripping wet for the first and last several metres. 
It was fun, once emerged from it, to see the others noticing the ‘hazard’ and then venturing in. 
From here we were taken via Seixal to Châo da Ribeira, where there were picnic benches. The sun had gone in again, and it was again a little chilly. We were joined by 5 feral cats and a kitten, all very wary, but won over by gifts of ham and cheese. 
From here we went for a short walk in the 
Lunch had been late, and we were running later. We made just one more stop on the way back to the hotel, to see the rare Madeiran saxifrage. Here it is: 
and here are some of us looking at it. 
Another lovely dinner in a Funchal restaurant, another fitness session back up to the hotel. Then watching a fireworks display taking place back down in the harbour, an event which the town of Funchal lays on every Saturday evening in June.
Unfortunately I was beaten after an hour or so. By the wind. Not having had full sensation in my feet for a couple of years now, passing over a high and very exposed spot, unbalanced by camera and binoculars round my neck, and wearing a wide brimmed sunhat, I was actually terrified that I would be blown over by a gusts of the (pleasantly warm) wind onto the hard stony ground. Very reluctantly I had to turn back and reach a more sheltered spot, where I sat for a while. 
After a bit, I moved further towards the car park, and found an almost suitable boulder on which to sit. For a long while. I confess that I did get a little bored, but amused myself taking more photos.
And a video.
I could indeed identify people from our party. I assumed they were sitting to have their lunch (which I took to as a cue to have my own) but I learned later they had been birdwatching and had seen, among other things, canary and rock sparrow. Oh well, I had watched grasshoppers … 
and a rather elegant wooden tourist boat, the Bonita da Madeira, following the coastline of the bay. 
Together once more, we went back along the south coast towards Funchal, and stopped at Ponta da Garajau, 
for liquid refreshment and what was intended to be a further walk down a cliff path to find a particular plant. 
However, the authorities had roped it off as too dangerous. This did not stop our leader venturing just a few metres into it to collect this insect from a cactus. 
He then passed it to a volunteer who agreed to crush it in her palm. 
This was the cochineal insect, much prized as a very expensive trading item centuries ago, and which set me off singing to myself an extract from a madrigal by Thomas Weelkes (1575-1623), Thule, the period of cosmography. This includes the line, ‘The Andalusian merchant, that returns laden with cochineal and China dishes,…’.
We had been told that the last part, to the top of the Pico, was just 400 steps. The white splodge at the upper right of this picture is a refuge at the bottom of those last 400 steps. 
After quite a lot of walking I had admitted to myself that there was no way I was going to inflict that last stage on myself, and indeed that I would probably turn round well before it. In fact I did make it to the refuge, but once there was not in the least enticed by the thought of being able to see a very rare plant (viola paradoxa, a yellow violet, an oxymoron to me!) at the top, or by the encouragement of my companions to attempt it. 
I ate my lunch at this halt, 
pleased to find that it was not totally occupied by others already. Given that doing the walk were many people of many nationalities – German, then French, then Portuguese in my estimation far outnumbering British people – I was pleased to have a bench to myself.
to have a wander around the coastline, 
and to admire the geology. 
I hadn’t really twigged before that volcanic rock could be sedimentary, but of course these lines are formed by layer upon layer of volcanic ash and other spewings.
Indeed, on the previous occasion I had noticed that there were ‘levada’ walks from that place, known for its trout farms, and I was pleased to have the opportunity this time to follow them up. We did two, one before our picnic lunch and one after. The first 
took us to a viewpoint at Balcóes. I took all these following photos within ten minutes of each other and from the same spot!
I struck out on my own, as did most people, leaving the very keen botanists with Martin, along a broad levada walk, again from Ribeiro Frio. 
After a rest at out hotel, we walked down to town for a meal in one of the dozens of restaurants in the Rua de Santa Maria, where you take your liberty in your hands if you haven’t already a booking (we had) or at least a target firmly in mind!
