Focus on Street

Tags

alderfly, Bear Inn Street, Blue lias, buttercups, C & J Clark, Clyce Hole, comfrey, Cow Bridge, Crispin Centre, Hay harvesting, Horse and cart, icthyosaur, Jonathan Minshull, Laura Wolfers, Liz Leyshon, Mendip District Council, oil seed rape, peat extraction, Poldens, quarrying, River Brue, robin, shoemaking, Somerset Council, Somerset County Council, Street, Street Parish Council

Street village, that is. (It prides itself on being a village, despite being bigger than the town of Glastonbury to its north, on the other side of the River Brue.)

On Saturday (14th May) I was invited by my friend Liz, Somerset County and Mendip District Councillor, who lives in Street, to the unveiling of some murals in the Library Gardens, a small green space on Street’s High Street. (How did Street get its name? “The place-name ‘Street’ is first attested in Anglo-Saxon charters from 725 and 971, where it appears as Stret. It appears as Strete juxta Glastone in a charter from 1330 formerly in the British Museum. The word is the Old English straet meaning ‘Roman road’.”) The Wikipedia article on Street, while needing a bit of an update, has a lot of interesting background information.

The murals were commissioned by Street Parish Council, working in partnership with Mendip District Council (to merge, in a year’s time, along with Somerset’s three other district councils, and with Somerset County Council, to become a new unitary authority called Somerset Council) and Street Library Trust. They were painted by local artist Jonathan Minshull.

When Laura Wolfers, Chair of Street Parish Council, reached out to shake my hand, I realised that this was the first time I had shaken anyone’s hand since February 2020. Whereas in March of that year, I had declined to do so several times, with explanation, it would now have been very awkward to do so, although I am still being very cautious. And I have to admit, it felt good, alongside feelings of worried hesitancy. She didn’t seem to take it amiss when I then took a photograph of her chest, in order to capture Street’s ichthyosaur emblem (since 1894) at the base of her Chairman’s chain. (A parish council does not have a mayor.)

Here she is introducing the artist.

Among the many people taking photographs was her son.

And here are the murals. The captions are as provided in a handout.

“This panel represents the shoemaking process during Edwardian times inside the old C & J Clark’s factory buildings in Street, around 1900-1910.”

“This scene shows summer hay harvesting in the meadows to the south of the Clark’s factory buildings in Street in Victorian times around1860-1880.”

“The image shows the discovery of the ichthyosaur fossil specimens at one of the Street ‘blue lias’ limestone quarries in the 1850s. Here some discoveries have been dragged to near the quarry entrance ready for transportation to the recently started Clark’s collection and a lady from the village has brought her daughter to see the fascinating finds.”

Liz unveiled the fourth:

“This panorama shows the manual process of peat extraction from the levels around Street at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries, before mechanisation. The peat was cut into blocks calles ‘”mumps” or “turves” and stacked to dry in tower-like formations called “ruckles”, before transportation by horse and cart.”

There were some very short speeches, including by the artist.

While thanking friends and relatives for posing as the figures in the pictures, he said it was as well that one such, who appeared in each mural, was not there, as he was rather naughty. He was referring to his dog, Stanley.

Liz, who had been very much involved in finding the finance, also was invited to speak.

[Later edit: 33-minute background video on the making, hanging and unveiling of the murals here.]

People hung around chatting to each other, as they do on these occasions, enjoying the lovely sunshine. Then five of us went for coffee and cake in the Crispin Centre’s café.

Liz had collected me from my home in Glastonbury, and volunteered to take me back, but I had already decided that I was going to walk, following the River Brue for much of the way. I had to go along the pavement of a main road for about ten minutes.

Part of Clark’s 19th century building, also seen in the second mural. It is flying the Somerset flag.

Like so many buildings in Street, and wider in Somerset, the Bear Inn is built in Blue Lias limestone.

After a short while, I was able to see my destination, by looking to my right.

Still on the road, and having crossed this rhyne, I had thought possibly to cut diagonally across to the Brue, but an electric fence redirected me.

But in due course I was able to reach the river. What a pleasure to walk among all those buttercups!

I reached the river.

Not buttercups here, but oil seed rape,

and comfrey

Many specimens of these creatures had been flying around for a while, and after extensive research, I think they are probably alderflies, of which I had never previously heard. They fly for just a few weeks each year.

Clyce Hole (or Clyse Hole, depending on which Environment Agency panel you read), a water level measuring station

The River Brue was severely canalised, and indeed its channel to the sea redirected, in mediaeval times, and it shows from here on.

This little fella flew on to the branch, and just stayed there while I cautiously moved past him.

Being south of the Brue, I was still in Street, and this was my view southwards, with the lowest range of hills in Somerset, the Poldens, in the distance.

Not the most exciting bridge, Cow Bridge, circa 1930, of reinforced concrete with stone piers. Could one claim that it is art deco?

Anyway, it was time for me to cross and leave the Brue, and continue on to a rather busy main road. But I leant on the parapet contemplating upstream for a bit,

along with my neighbour, Terry, who I had just bumped into here. He was just out to take photos of buttercups.

Together we watched a rather unusual sight go by, after which I set off for the last, and easily the least interesting, leg of my walk.

They and I were rather a nuisance to the quite heavy traffic in each direction… no pavement…

After five minutes more I came to my turning off the main road. Taking the stile would have enabled me to continue on grass for about 100 yards/90 metres or so, but

I took advantage of a recently installed (local elections anyone?) barrier, the forerunner of a cycle lane to be created, in place of an unofficial traveller encampment.

Door to door it had been an hour, which would have been more like 45 minutes had I not stopped for various reasons on the way. A very pleasant walk indeed, in ideal weather, following a happy occasion for Street residents and visitors.

Graffiti and Van Gogh

Tags

Bristol, Brunel, Chromatic vision Simulator, David Olusoga, Feeder Canal, Floating Harbour, Immersive Experience, Kasunori Asada, Mary Beard, Neil McGregor, Propyard, River Avon (New Cut), Temple Meads, Van Gogh

Several months ago, I had seen publicity for a Klimt ‘Immersive Experience’ – whatever that might be, but it looked interesting – to take place at a yet to be declared venue in London. I toyed with the idea, but with no idea of where in London it might be, and therefore how long it would take me to get from my arrival in the capital by train or bus, I decided against. However, when I saw, a few weeks later, that there was to be a Van Gogh ‘Immersive Experience’, also at an unknown venue, but somewhere in Bristol, that seemed more doable, so I booked for last Thursday. When the venue became known I was very pleased, as it turned out to be near to Bristol Temple Meads railway station, so not only doable, but doable direct by one bus from near my home.

Not that near though. I should have allowed 20 minutes to walk to my bus stop. As it was, I left 3 minutes later than I meant, but I would still have got to the stop on time. The bus overtook me when I was still three minutes’ walk from the bus stop. I ran, and ran, and ran, very cross that it seemed to have arrived early. I made it, even having to wait for a couple of minutes while people in front of me paid their fares. The bus left exactly on time, so I couldn’t really complain. (It took seven minutes for my breathing to return to normal, so unfit am I.)

Still, I then had 80 minutes to just sit and enjoy the countryside going by. I got off at Temple Meads, and went into the station to buy a sandwich, passing this statue as I went.

Isambard Kingdom Brunel

It was rather less controversial than another statue in Bristol, now in its more rightful place in a Bristol museum. (That one was mentioned by Neil McGregor in a lunchtime slot on BBC Radio 4 a few days ago, and also came up in questions at a talk by David Olusoga that I went to in Street recently. He pointed out that statues – of whoever – were rarely put up because the subject was widely admired at the time. They were erected by a few of his (sic) rich friends. And the historian Mary Beard had told him that the Romans regularly just changed the head on statues to reflect changing interest.)

The venue, called the Propyard, was located about half a mile, 0.6 km, away, in what was clearly a former industrial part of the city. To get to it I had firstly to walk along Cattle Market Street alongside the station, which led into Feeder Street. I noted a rather clever traffic/illegal parking management scheme there, of particular interest because Bristol have been advising my local authority on a somewhat similar scheme to be installed in Glastonbury.

A very wide pedestrian pavement, a wide, two-way cycle lane, and a one-way vehicle way.

I also noticed (interesting) graffiti all the way along. The Propyard’s Facebook page calles it an art trail.

Here, to my left, three waterways converge. To my left, the River Avon (New Cut). Ahead of me, from where a pleasure boat is emerging, the Floating Harbour (the original course of the Avon until 1809 as this article explains), and to my right, a cut opened at the same time, called The Feeder.

I walked along Feeder Road, The Feeder canal to my left, and was pleased to see after not too long a big ‘PY’ on the side of a building which turned out not to be the Propyard, but immediately beyond it.

This is the Propyard, a former warehouse, once used by the MoD for testing torpedoes! It opened as ‘a space for contemporary arts, music, food, and culture’ in July last year.

To be honest, for the first half hour, I could not see what all the fuss about this ‘experience’ was. Panels of straightforward facts about, and analysis of, Van Gogh’s life and work, obviously no originals, with just more modern touches, like the ability to download the panels onto one’s phone via an app. I felt a bit sorry for the young children around. And the constant noisy music was annoying me.

This short film was interesting. It was about Van Gogh’s liking for and use of bright colours. It concluded with the theory that he was colour blind, and needed bright colours to be able to distinguish between one tone and another. I have looked into this since, and found a number of articles dating from 2012, about a Japanese artist-philosopher, Kasunori Asada, who has applied his Chromatic Vision Simulator to Van Gogh’s work and reached the startling clour-blindness conclusion.

A fair chunk of the exhibition was devoted to discussion on VG’s many versions of sunflowers in a vase.

There were a couple of dioramas of his works. The child in this one is real, and her brother joined her a few seconds later, when they proceeded to romp on the bed. Something for children at last!

At last the Experience began to kick in. After the fairly conventional exhibition, one walked through this small room…

into this huge one.

I recalled the publicity, which has people standing around in a large space surrounded by Van Gogh themes on huge walls, phones in their hands. I took dozens of still and moving pictures; here is a tiny selection. I also just sat and watched for long periods. The whole show, which seemed to go through the various phases of his life, lasted perhaps 25 minutes.

Now I understood why music had been present throughout the earlier stages of the event. And normally kids’ running around annoys me, but here they enhanced the experience. At last something to engage and entertain them.

I looked immediately to my right to see this, but it was also diametrically opposite.

I left when the show reached where I had come in, and in the next room decided not to accept the invitation to create my own masterpiece by crayoning in between the lines.

Nor to buy anything in the very well-stocked (and to my mind expensive) gift shop. But I did recognise the right-hand painting as being on a jigsaw I had given at Christmas.

The way out was through the bar. Ah, I hadn’t needed to buy a sandwich at the station – but then I wouldn’t have seen Brunel’s statue.

When I had been researching how to get to the venue, Bing Maps had told me that I could get off my bus a stop early, and walk alongside a waterway to get to Feeder Road, so that seemed like a good idea for my return journey. This was how it began.

Having gone under this bridge I looked back. The River Avon is low, the tide being out (or the waterway being managed – I have no idea).

Spoiler alert, I should have crossed this bridge to get back to the main Wells Road and my bus stop, but it didn’t even occur to me, it came so soon.

I was enjoying my rural urban walk.

I thought that this moorhen was pulling up some weed, but closer inspection reveals that it is scratching itself with its green leg.

‘This must be my bridge’, thought I, ‘I hope there are some steps up to it.’

There were, but I came out not on the main road as I expected, but a short side one, leading on to it. ‘Nice new flats’ I thought, ‘Don’t remember seeing those from the bus, but then I was sitting on the other side and looking out the other way.’

I looked for a bus stop, and when I got there, I didn’t see my number bus listed. Fortunately I had brought my book of Bristol street maps with me. And found that I had clearly come out not on the Wells road, but that for Bath. The two had diverged some way back. I hoped there was a short cut through for pedestrians.

There was.

Followed by this.

Followed by this.

And the climb hadn’t finished yet.

Nearly back at the Wells road, I looked down a side street. The first bridge I had passed under as I went along the river can just be seen in the very middle of the picture – if your screen is big enough.

A minute or so later, at 15.47 precisely, having tottered up all that way, I was at the bus stop at Totterdown. The timetable said the bus I wanted was due at 15.47. I saw no bus disappearing into the distance and very much hoped that it was just late, otherwise there would be a 30-minute wait. It was, and five minutes later I was able to rest my weary legs for another 80 minutes.

An interesting day! I wonder if some of those graffiti artists are colour-blind?!

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!)

The Newt in Somerset – March 2022

Tags

fallow deer, Storm Eunice, The Newt in Somerset

Just a brief post of record really. My latest visit was last Tuesday with my bridge partner, Daphne, and her visiting 95-year-old aunt, Vera. But we didn’t see much of The Newt, because, despite the fact that we met up in the car park at 2.30, we sat talking in the café in the Story of Gardening until we were kicked out as the café was closing, and then we were kicked out of the gardens before we had completed our wander around, again because they were closing.

I say ‘kicked out’. We were in fact treated with the utmost courtesy by the staff. The car park is some way from the entrance, and we were met on time by pre-arrangement by a buggy, and were driven to the Threshing Barn, where we were lent a wheelchair.

Daphne and Vera had not managed to have a post-prandial coffee, and I’m always game for refreshments, so we made for the café at the far end of the deer park, on the grounds it was likely to be less crowded. (In the event there were not many people anywhere.)

I did do my share of pushing, honest. Indeed, the beginning part of the walk there was up a very steep hill, and even with two of us I had to ask for a short stop.

We were pleased to find that the deer park lived up to its name, and saw the group of fallow deer.

I think there are sixteen of them in this picture, but they are well camouflaged.

Every time I go along the walkway to the Story of Gardening, my eyes think that the supports are just hanging in the air. In fact they are well jammed into the ground.

Yet another victim of Storm Eunice?

The main entrance to the café had a notice on it directing us to this side door.

We did not notice the time pass, as we consumed the delicious coffee and cake that Vera treated us to, and put the world to rights. In (over)due course we made our way back to the main area, this time with the brakes on down the steep hill, and started to walk around the most accessible bits of the garden, once Daphne had bought a few bits in the farm shop. The Newt is clearly between seasons, but with lots of signs of glorious things to come shortly.

We didn’t get to go in the greenhouse, since a nice young man explained to us that it was past closing time…

Oh yes, everyone has gone home…

But there was still a buggy to get us all back to the car park.

Uphill, December 2021

Tags

Bleadon Levels, Brean Down, Brownie 127, electricity pylon, Flat Holm, Limekiln, Powder house, saltmarsh, Severn, Steep Holm, T-pylon, teal, tidal gate, Uphill, Uphill Hill, Walborough, Weston-super-Mare

First Friday of the month, so it was time for my next walk with Zoe, and her turn to organise. She chose the nature reserves and environs of Uphill, which is just south along the coast from Weston-super-Mare. For uninteresting reasons my camera was hors de combat for most of the time, so these photos were taken on my phone, with one exception. Despite apparently threatening skies, the weather was kind to us, not too cold, not too windy, and the sun even came out for a short while.

From where we had parked our cars, we set off across a not very interesting golf course, and arrived at the beach. Despite my September holiday in Cornwall, I couldn’t actually remember the last time I had been on one, (though in fact I had crossed one at Marazion, as I walked back from St Michael’s Mount). We looked north to Weston.

We looked out to see the sea. Which we couldn’t, but saw Brean Down, Steep Holm, (owned by the Kenneth Allsop Memorial Trust) and, faintly in the mist, Flat Holm (which I’ve just learned is part of Wales, and managed by Cardiff Council).

The sign says DANGER, SINKING MUD. Many a life has been imperilled along this coast by those ignoring the warning.

And we looked, and then walked, south.

At about the level of Brean Down we left the beach but continued parallel to the sea.

You’d think that the mound ahead gave the area its name, but “The manor is recorded in Domesday Book as Opopille which derives from the Old English Uppan Pylle meaning “above the creek”.^[13] The Pill is a tidal creek which joins the River Axe near where the river flows into Weston Bay to the north of Brean Down. The Pill is connected to the Great Uphill Rhyne which drains the moors to the east of the village.” (Wikipedia)

Whatever it is called, there is somewhat less of the hill left now. The sun came out as we reached the old quarry…

… and the old limekiln. The panel explains that this was a particularly fine example of the species, which were mainly built between 1780 and 1850, and that at the time lime was used for liming acid soils, as a basis of mortar, and for whitewash.

The nineteenth century powder house was considerably further on. Its explanatory panel told us that explosive stores were usually situated well away from quarries, in case of explosions caused by sparks or other sources of flame there.

At one point I looked back over my right shoulder to see Brean Down, now well behind us.

Ahead the sun was low and bright, almost too much for the eyes, as it reflected off the briefly tarmac-ed path. I mused on the fact that you would never have taken a photo straight into the sun at the time of my grandmother’s Brownie 127.

In the course of our relatively short walk we found ourselves on at least three different nature reserves: Uphill Hill, Walborough and Bleadon Levels. At this last, we turned right in the direction of the sea, for a hundred yards – or metres – or so. Had we continued south at that point we would have taken this path.

It would have been foolhardy to attempt to cross the saltmarsh to get nearer the sea.

We started northward again toward Brean Down.

Taking great care to avoid puddles – specially as I had forgotten to put my wellies in the car – it was nevertheless possible to raise one’s eyes to look inland from time to time, and to see Uphill Hill, the quarry, the Old Church of St Nicholas, and a beacon lit for various national celebrations. It is what remains of an old windmill, and probably 18th century, says Wikipedia.

Ahead lay the dock area which we had passed on the way out.

I obliged my camera into action to zoom in on these very small ducks which flew into our view. They are teal.

Beside us in due course appeared the creek (right to left) used, when the tide is in, by boats wishing to leave the dock. That silty mud, swept down the River Severn from the Welsh mountains, is why walking on some parts of the beaches in the area is so dangerous.

This sliding wall of concrete beyond the dock is explained …

… by its label.

We stopped at a café by the docks for a coffee, and in my case a custard tart as well.

It was a 15-minute walk back to our cars through the village, during which this pretty bridge from road to a private garden caught my eye.

On my drive home across the Somerset Moors (Levels), trying in vain to avoid a long detour caused by a road closure, I noticed first an enormous erect pillar, with further bits bits lying on the ground by it, which I assumed was to end up as a new wind turbine – nice and blowy I thought in that vast open space. I couldn’t stop to take a photo, but as I went along I saw more of them, more elaborated, and it became clear that, while they were indeed to do with the generation of electricity, they were not some new design for producing power by centrifuge, (I’ll patent that I think), but a new model of electricity pylon.

In due course I was able to stop for a photo.

More information, by the National Grid, about these new T-shaped pylons can be found here, including a two-minute video of one being erected. It shows how monstrous they are in size – though they are apparently a third less tall than the traditionally lattice shaped pylons. They will carry electricity produced at Hinkley Point C Nuclear Power Station.

Yeo Valley and Chew Valley

Tags

Black-headed gull, Bristol Water, Chelsea Flower Show, Chew Valley, Chew Valley Lake, mallard, moorhen, Salt and Malt, shoveler, Yeo Valley, Yeo Valley Organic Garden

Anyone following the Chelsea Flower Show this autumn (it’s normally held in spring) will be familiar with the name, Yeo Valley, makers of organic dairy products. Their organic garden won the People’s Choice Award for large show garden this year, not bad for first-time participants.

I had visited their garden, with my friend, Zoe, previously – it is situated roughly halfway between the homes of each of us – but the weather had been miserable on that occasion, and we didn’t get as much from the outing as we might have done. Our birthdays fall close to each other, and, for our October birthday ‘first Friday’ monthly walk, we decided to visit the garden, and make a day of it, visiting other places in the area afterwards. We went on the second Saturday, as in October the garden only opens to the public on Saturdays, and this was forecast to have better weather than the first.

In fact the weather was gorgeous. The autumn mist above us allowed the hazy sun to bless us early in the morning, and had disappeared entirely by lunchtime. My camera clicked away – I couldn’t restrain it. In the order I took them:

At the entrance – some of the plants returned from the Chelsea Flower Show, awaiting the reconstruction of the Show Garden

Sarah Mead, head gardener, resident for 25 years and original developer of the garden

On 23rd November, I shall be ‘going to’ this talk by Sarah Mead and designer Tom Massey, on how the Show Garden came about.

One of several metal sculptures in the garden

We are approaching the café where we will stop for coffee

View from the café’s terrace

The egg is that featured in the show garden, though I imagine this may only be a temporary placement

Blagdon Lake in the distance

A small woodland area

Closer inspection of the egg when occasion offered

Zoe told me that this building has some connection with the planning in BBC2’s ‘Your Garden Made Perfect’.

A small boy and a big girl play with the mirrors

Given that it was getting on for mid-October, there was an amazing amount of colour.

At midday our allotted time was up, and we had seen just about everything there was to be seen. Zoe knew of a great fish and chips place, Salt and Malt, by the side of Chew Valley Lake, just a short distance away. Alas, I took photos of neither the view nor the fish and chips, but both were very good.

We drove round the Lake to the next car park, intending to do the short ‘Grebe Walk’, which would take us firstly through some woodland, and then along the lake to see, theoretically, grebes among other birds.

But on the return leg we saw nothing but reeds in the lake at that end. Whether this was deliberate cultivation for wildlife reasons, or because of Covid-related (or other) neglect we could not tell.

We walked on beyond the car park to see what we could see. We couldn’t get closer to the lake than this.

Zooming my camera showed me that the boats were colourful.

And, looking back, gave me the chance to see some unidentifiable birds.

We had no desire to find ourselves back at the fish and chip place, so turned back to where our car was parked, with a view to winding down from our day’s outing. The drive back to Zoe’s, where my car was, took us along a quite busy road, which serves as a dam of the lake, and which is actually a reservoir owned by Bristol Water, the fifth-largest artificial lake in England. The lake is also a nature reserve and an SSSI.

There were many people leaning on the rail, but the birds were unfazed.

Mr and Mrs Mallard

Black-headed gull in winter plumage keeping watch while his friends take a nap

Shoveller duck – eclipse plumage – and ?young moorhens

Moorhen

Zoe and I had not quite finished putting the world to rights, so before I got into my car, we had a cup of tea in her garden, and I admired the mini-woodland she and her husband are creating there.

Cornwall 3- 12. The Eden Project

Tags

Cornwall, Eden Project, Infinity Blue, Madagascar, Mediterranean Biome, old coffee machine, Rainforest Biome, Vanilla

I was homeward bound on Saturday, 11th September, but could not let pass the opportunity to visit on the way this world-renowned project. I had a booking for 11.00. My satnav the evening before told me that I would need 90 minutes to get there, which surprised me somewhat, but I allowed two hours. As I left my BnB at 9.00 it was saying I would need 65 minutes – the difference between Friday evening and Saturday morning traffic I suppose. But thank goodness I had all that leeway. There were huge hold-ups on the A30, due I think to road closures elsewhere, with traffic being funnelled on to this road. In the event I arrived just 10 minutes before my ticket’s time.

It was quite a walk between my car park down to the entrance – but not so far that I qualified for the shuttle bus. Just one more car park up and …

I find I have 108 photos, and have found it incredibly difficult to make a selection. I have only managed to cut them down to 58 – sorry – and they give only a glimpse into what was to be seen.

Here’s the plan from my pre-ordered guide. I should like to have been able to sit down and study it in greater depth before going round, but things were well-labelled.

Basically, I wandered around the Outdoor Gardens and then the Crops, which I think is how it is intended you should, then visited first the Rainforest Biome, followed by the Mediterranean one (only about a third the area, but with a few more species), then went along the Avenue to the Core. I seem to have missed the Zigzag through Time, and I don’t think I did justice to the Invisible Worlds.

My photos are largely without commentary.

I think this next picture is my very favourite of the day.

This queue (note one person peeling off left)…

… was for this. Good fun!

There was a link corridor, with shops and café, to the …

About 15 minutes into the Rainforest Biome, there was a notice warning people who were finding it too hot to turn back, as it was another 30 minutes to the exit. (A one-way system was in operation with little byways roped off, presumably because of Covid.) The Mediterranean Biome was also hot, in a lovely dry Mediterranean way, but I was very pleased to find this almost unpatronised drinks bar near its exit. Time for a chilled elderflower cordial.

Frim time to time there was a swooshing sound from above. I had just days ago watched Chris Packham and Megan McCubbin on television on a zipline, and thought, ‘How I would love to do that!’. And here would have been my opportunity! If I had known in advance about the possibility here, I would definitely have looked into it. As it was, I picked up a leaflet when I left.

‘Infinity Blue’ and, to a lesser extent, ‘Seed’ were the two main attractions in the Core.

Perfect smoke (or rather vapour) rings every time. They represent Oxygen.

‘Seed’ was about twice my height.

‘Infinity Blue’ from an upper floor. In about a decade it may be lowered into the sea as a reef habitat for marine life. (It’s not crooked, my camera was.)

Up a lift, across a bridge, and it was back to the entrance/visitor centre/exit…

… for a coffee before setting off on the rest of my journey home. I was amused to see this old coffee making machine on display, sadly not in use.

How to reflect on eight such days? I was absolutely shattered for a while after my return, but so happy to have spent my time so fully. Cornwall is a such a beautiful place, with so much to explore and experience. I tried, and I think I succeeded, not to let an underlying fear of Covid spoil my enjoyment, though it was unnerving to see so many people, freed of legal obligation, appearing to believe that if they did not wear masks indoors the risk was only to themselves, not to others. But it was heartening also to see how many did wear masks, especially those serving, in whatever setting.

I have to go back. I have to make that helicopter trip. I have to use more those various guides to archology, geology, walks, built places to visit. My Eden Project ticket is valid for a year! (I could – perhaps – go on that zipline…) I’m already thinking that I may take another holiday in the county next June, perhaps based at Hayle this time.

Cornwall 3 – 10. Godolphin and Porthleven

Tags

Bal maiden, Bickford-Smith Institute, Common Hawker, Godolphin, Godolphin House, Mary Lanyon, Mary Schofield, Porthleven, Robert Organ, South-west Coast path

Thursday, 9th September was to be the high point – literally and figuratively – of my time in Cornwall, fulfilling a lifetime ambition. Two months previously I had booked a helicopter flight to the island of St Mary’s, on the Scillies. As I checked over its arrangements on the Wednesday evening, I had had a shock, which I should have anticipated, given the weather. All helicopter flights that day had been cancelled, because of fog both at Penzance and on the Scilly Isles. I was also beginning to worry seriously about what I would do there once arrived, given the forecast of about 80% rain on St Mary’s for much of Thursday.

However, having also checked my right to a full refund, when I woke up on the day I found myself really hoping the company would cancel, given that weather forecast. It was also very misty in Penzance.

Dead-on 9.00 the company called me. They weren’t yet cancelling but were running huge delays, so [since I was booked on a day trip, not going over to stay] they were offering me the choice of rebooking, free of penalty, or receiving a full refund. I accepted the latter, obviously, and felt hugely relieved, my disappointment having already been overcome the evening before. I would have to fly in a helicopter for the first (and probably only) time in my life on some other occasion.

What to do instead? I could have occupied myself in my room, knitting, reading, listening to the radio, but they didn’t seem like ideal holiday pass-times. I decided to take a risk with the weather (not forecast to be quite so bad on the mainland) and to go to Godolphin (National Trust), to spend time indoors in the large house there. It didn’t need pre-booking.

The surface of the sea in the harbour was like a mirror as I passed, but sadly it was not possible to stop to take a photo.

It turned out to me much less house than I thought, so it was as well that the weather also turned out to be much better than forecast. At the exit of the car park was a notice board suggested various walks in the wider estate, so I decided to start out on the orange walk before making for the house and its grounds.

But I turned back when it started to drizzle, not least because I wasn’t really properly shod or dressed for a damp, muddy walk. (The drizzle soon stopped, fortunately.)

Checking in to the charging part of the property, I was given a ticket for the house for 1 o’clock, an hour off. Coffee (studying the plan – yes, I like plans and maps),

and a wander round the more formal grounds filled in the time nicely.

The door behind the colonnade I would take at the start of the tour

(If only I knew enough to photoshop out that turquoise coat.)

Notice by one of the shippons (cowsheds)

I knew I had been to Godolphin House in 1973, (though I could remember almost nothing of the visit), with some of my non-participant helper colleagues on the International Musicians Seminar, so I was somewhat surprised to learn from the welcoming guide that the Trust only took the house over in 2000. I checked out with her – yes, the previous owner, painter Mary Schofield, née Lanyon, did show people round sometimes. My memory also told me that the house was bigger when I visited – the Wikipedia article says that it was once much larger, but does not say when it was reduced.

The guide explained that the house was only open for visits like this when it was not let out as a holiday ‘cottage’, details here. Going round the house I was reminded by its style how some of us had rented my local NT ‘cottage’ Lytes Cary, for music-making holidays in 2013 and 2014.

Linenfold panels

A kitchen fit for a 21st century letting

When I came to this final room, called the King’s Room I believe, I thought how wonderful it would be for music-making with friends. It displayed large paintings by West Country painter, Robert Organ, a friend of John Schofield, (Mary’s son presumably).

30 minutes and the house was thoroughly ‘done’. The exit from the one-way system was into the King’s Garden, where I sat for a few minutes, just enjoying the quiet, and contemplating what to do next.

I returned to my car, and asked my satnav what attractions there were in the vicinity. ‘Helston Railway ‘ it replied. Super! Take me there, James, I commanded. After a few minutes it led me to a firmly closed gateway to what appeared to be a private property. I could not get an internet signal to find out more about the attraction. OK, thought I, I’ll go to Helston itself (car and I were several miles away) and find out more.

With a signal in the Lidl customer car park on the outskirts of the town, I found out that Thursday was one of the three days each week the volunteer-run railway was, um, running, and that I had in fact been very near to it at those gates.

But they were miles back, through narrow country lanes, and time was rolling on, so no way was I returning. I decided instead to go to the coast, to Porthleven just 2 miles away. It was heaving with people, but fortunately I found somewhere to park right by the harbour, allowed just 30 minutes. Given the crowds, I reckoned that was all I’d want.

These photos reveal neither the great crowds of people nor the touristy souvenir and other shops trying to tempt them, apparently successfully. I walked firstly along the left hand quay.

The inner harbour

And the outer. I don’t think the paddle boarders are in any danger. Not from the cannon anyway.

Returning along that quay, I waited a while to clear this view, over my right shoulder, of as many people as possible.

‘Bal Maidens’ were those women and girls who broke up the metal ores, after their menfolk had mined them.

When I walked along the right-hand quay I was not tempted to take pictures, as the crowds were really heavily gathered there, around the many tourist shops and cafés. The road rose sharply, and I took this looking back.

Past the last houses there was path off to the left, and I found myself once more on the South-West Coast Path. Indeed, technically, I had been on it all the time.

Perhaps it was as well that there was nowhere to sit, because it was time to turn back and recover my car from its 30 minutes’ permitted time.

Female Common hawker, I think

My final picture was a zoom in on this building, which I have since discovered is the Bickford-Smith Institute, which opened in 1884 as a gift from a former MP.

I confess to having been 10 minutes late back to my car, but that is how long it took to be served with an ice cream. As can be seen from the photos, the sun was out when I arrived, but it had gone by then, and as I drove back to Penzance, there was sea mist rolling inland.

So many possibilities for Friday, my final full day: including a walk in the Lizard area; further exploration of the Tin (= north Penwith) Coast; the Penlee Art Gallery; or a drive well north to Lanhydrock (to follow up Captain Thomas Agar-Robartes MP, of the memorial hall in Luxulyan).

Travelling again – 10. Lindisfarne

Tags

Berwick-on-Tweed, Covid, fritillary, goosander, kestrel, Lindisfarne, Lindisfarne Castle, Meadow pipit, Northern Marsh Orchid, pirri-pirri bur, poppy, scaup, small heath butterfly, stoat, swan, viper's bugloss

After a good night’s sleep, I looked out of the window of my Berwick-on-Tweed B’n’B’ bedroom, to see this.

My destination today, Thursday 17th June, was Shipley, in West Yorkshire, where I was to spend two nights with an old school friend (another Hazel) and her husband. My planned stop-off en route was just a few miles away, Holy Island, Lindisfarne. According to published information, the causeway to it would not be safe until 10.40, so I had plenty of time to kill. Having checked out after a good breakfast, I walked over to look at the sea.

Where there were literally hundreds of swans. No one picture could capture them all, and many were sailing (?) round to the other side of the harbour wall. I wondered whether this was in reaction to the tide falling.

I arrived at the Lindisfarne causeway around 10.30, expecting to have to wait, but that was not the case, and it was clear from the numbers in the car park that others knew that the published timings were set to cover only the extremes of safety.

But I stopped in a layby to take photos of the causeway first. I had never driven across a floodable causeway before, and was curious.

Once parked – quite a palaver in order to pay – I followed the crowds into the ‘village’ so that I could pick up the anti-clockwise circular path I intended to take. I’ll admit now that I did not have the plan with me and relied on just a brief look at this board. As a result I walked much further than I intended. But it was a lovely warm day – the only one in the whole of my time away – and a lovely setting, so apart from worries about time, that didn’t matter at all.

At the harbour, the ruined priory was to my right. Time did not allow further investigation.

The castle had been in view for most of the time, and indeed could be seen from all nearly over the island.

Not only did time mean I could not visit this National Trust property, but I should have had to book in advance because of Covid restrictions.

Some way further on, a kestrel was hovering overhead, and I followed its subsequent flight with my camera. I confess to being quite pleased with this picture.

I took a backward look at the castle.

Coming near to the shore, I wondered what these curious bumps were. A zoom on my camera revealed all.

A trio of goosanders

A spent a few minutes in the hide by this lake, but just before I got to it, …

I was thrilled not only to notice, but to get a photo of this stoat, as it stopped its scuttling for a second or two. (It could of course be a weasel; I did not see its definitive characteristic, the colour of the tip of its tail.)

Cygnets just a few days old

Scaup, I think, but I’m not sure

At this point I turned inland, but I went further than I intended, missing somehow where I should have turned south.

I should not have gone into these dunes.

Viper’s bugloss

I’m getting to recognise Northern Marsh Orchid – or am I?

Small heath

Starting to worry about time, I was feeling rather hot and beginning to feel hungry, and the castle and the priory seemed a long way off, but at least they were landmarks. I was definitely going south now.

I enjoyed, nevertheless, the lovely heathland flowers.

Presumably these are variety of tiny thyme, but they look more like a mass of seething mauve ants.

A fritillary of some sort

I saw so many meadow pipits

As I eventually emerged onto the road I saw both these lovely poppies and two people. “Is it far to the car park?” I asked, not really sure where I was. “Not very far at all’ they said – and I was very pleased that in fact it was barely 100 yards further on.

I can remember very little of the long drive to West Yorkshire. I just recall that I was very pleased to refresh myself before joining my hosts for an evening meal.

Travelling again – 7. Strathdearn and Insh Marshes

Tags

birch polypore fungus, butterwort, common rock rose, curlew, David Parkin, dung beetle, Findhorn Bridge, Findhorn Valley, Germander Speedwell, Grant Arms Hotel, greylag goose, heath spotted orchid, Insh Marshes, Nigel Marven, red deer, roe deer, RSPB, Ruthven Barracks, small heath butterfly, Strathdearn

I had been to Strathdearn on my visit to the area two years previous. I had been on my own and had had the good fortune to encounter there a couple of practised birders. On Monday 14th June, the location was one of the options on the programme, so I was able to benefit from the expertise of Richard, one of the Grant Arms Hotel‘s list of local guides. The meeting point was a car park ten miles along the Strathdearn/Findhorn Valley, where I took the obligatory photos looking ahead,

and behind.

We were some ten people from the hotel. Almost as soon as we were gathered, a herd of at least 20 red deer arrived. I was a little careless as I took the photo. They were at a considerable distance, but I should have held stiller. I include this merely for the record.

We also got a brief glimpse of an osprey, but not good enough for a photo.

It was blowing an absolute gale, a really cold one at that, and at times it was raining. Like several others I am afraid I just sat in my car for much of the time, and emerged only when I saw a brave few huddled over the roadside verge. They were examining two plants,

a heath spotted orchid, and this pretty, innocent looking thing, a butterwort.

Not so innocent. It is insectivorous, as a closer look at these sticky leaves shows.

After an hour or so alternately shivering outside and warming up inside my car, I gave up. I imagine the others were continuing with Richard to Burghead in the afternoon, but I had booked on to a different outing. I made my way back along the Findhorn Valley, admiring the views once more, and occasionally stopping to take photos when it was safe to stop in the passing places along the single-track road.

The art deco Findhorn Bridge at the beginning of the valley is interesting.

The inscription explains, ‘This bridge was built in 1926 to replace the bridge built by Thomas Telford in 1833’.

I had plenty of time before I was due at the meeting spot for the afternoon’s outing, so I stopped off at a hotel in the village of Carr Bridge for a coffee. I had to sign up for the Cairngorms own Track and Trace system and not to forget to sign out as I left.

Continuing on my way, I tried to capture the beauty of the distant mountains, some with occasional snow.

I was heading for the Insh Marshes RSPB reserve, and passed of over Loch Insh. It seems to be best known for its water sports activities, but I saw none of those, I’m pleased to say, and had the road bridge to myself when I took these, with not an activity in sight in either direction.

There’s a bit of a breeze, but it wasn’t cold here.

I was very early at the meeting place, ate my banana and wandered around a just a little.

I didn’t want to leave the beaten track, but just enjoyed the wildflowers on the verges, the sheep and the views. Not to mention the smidgeon of sun.

As I’ve said before, I do like a clump of flowering grasses.

It turned out that I was the only customer for this afternoon’s outing, so we were just three, Nigel Marven, Sue W of the hotel, and me. We went to a lookout. I was pleased to have expert company. I would have spotted nothing in these marshes without them.

But with their eyes, I was able to see at a great distance, (my camera is on maximum zoom here) a greylag goose and goslings (and more geese),

a curlew

and a roe deer.

We also saw a redshank, but my photo of that is so poor it does not even merit being included for the record. We came down from the viewpoint and started making our way to a ground level hide. Nigel went on ahead, and came back with…

… a dung beetle. No, until a few days earlier I did not know that the UK had dung beetles. Though ours do not gather and roll along those balls of faeces you see on the nature documentaries about Africa, and indeed which I have seen there, most recently in Morocco.

On the way, we saw, among other things, a small heath butterfly,

germander speedwell,

common rock roses, and

and birch polypore fungus.

Once installed in the hide, we were delighted to see very close a family of curlews. A parent,

a chick,

two parents,

and a parent and a chick.

In fact there were two very attentive parents and three growing chicks, but it was not possible to capture all five together. Sue was very pleased to see that there were indeed still three chicks, the same as the last time she had been there a couple of weeks back, and they were very adventurous now.

Over in the distance was a buck roe deer.

As I drove back to the hotel I was taken aback to see this. Only on my return did I learn that it was a significant historical monument, the Ruthven Barracks, built by George II after the 1715 Jacobite Rising. Had I known, I would have parked up and looked around.

After another delicious dinner at the hotel (here is the menu for that evening, which also included a choice of four tempting sweets),

visiting speaker David Parkin gave a very interesting talk, more so than might be suggested by the title, called ‘Birds and Climate Change’.

This was the end of the official ‘celebrity week’, but I had a further full day to explore the area.