A walk from and then into town

Tags

Bristol Water, Chalice Hill, Covid-19, Frome Bus, Glastonbury, Glastonbury Abbey, Glastonbury churches, Glastonbury Community Fridge, Glastonbury Information Centre, Glastonbury Mural Trail, Glastonbury Tor, MG, Morrison's, Poldens, Squirrel

Yes, that way round. Yesterday morning I had to take my car to the garage for its MoT. I was not looking forward to the walk back. Only 15 minutes, but at 8.15 it was cold and damp, with that chill that gets into your bones, as they say. So I took my camera with me, which made the walk pass more pleasantly, even though it also made it last 5 minutes longer.

They called me at lunchtime to say the car was ready, and I decided to take my camera with me again as I walked back to the garage, in case I regretted not doing so. I would have done.

The garage has a very small showroom for second-hand cars. This MG reminded me of the Midget I used to drive in the mid-1970s.

I looked up towards St Benedict’s.

But didn’t go that way, turning off right into a cul-de sac. ‘That reminds me – I must put my recycling out when I get home.’ The houses in the distance are on Wearyall Hill.

The panel says ‘Keep out. This area is liable to flood’. The squirrel was unconcerned.

Across Morrisons’ car park next.

Sign of the times 1

From the car park I could see the top of the RC St Mary’s church, and its hall, which I know now has a lift and, it appears, perhaps a new roof as well.

Faced with the first of many inclines where I live. That feature was something I considered hard when deciding whether or not to move here ten years ago.

Many businesses round here use the word ‘Avalon’ or ‘Tor’ in their trade names.

A pretty corner on a very busy and noisy road.

The next incline, and the Globe Inn next to the park on the right.

I haven’t walked alongside the park for a very long time. I’m sure this wasn’t here before. But perhaps the whole tree was.

When I drove to the garage at 8.15, I noticed how little traffic there was. 20 minutes later certainly not the case. A misty Chalice Hill in the background.

At the top of these steps is…

… a small green space.

But I’m walking downhill now.

Fortunately I don’t need to turn left.

Sign of the times 2

Instead I’m going to walk up a path between the houses.

Another reminder that it’s recycling day.

A once-in-two-hours chance to see the little bus which goes along the principal road through the estate.

As I walk through it, I have had various glimpses of the very misty moors, the Polden Hills beyond having totally disappeared.

Chalice Hill can be made out.

But much of Glastonbury Tor, including its tower at the top, cannot.

Because I have my camera in my hand, I take three photos in my garden.

The frog spawn is nicely turning from dots into commas.

And these ridiculous primroses have been flowering, though not this floriferously, since October.

As I set off to collect the car in the early afternoon, I was pleased to find that the chill damp had gone, (though it was still very cold), and that the tower had returned to the top of the Tor.

The Bristol Water people were still hard at work. I should try to join a gang like this to find out why it is that ‘work’ so often consists of just standing around.

What goes up must go down if you’re walking in the opposite direction.

The swings in the park were in use.

And the bird had not budged as I took a closer look. Ah, so it’s made of wood, not metal.

I took a more interesting route for the last part back to the garage, and had glimpses of the Abbey.

Seeing this mural on the side of the Globe Inn …

… and its signature, gave me an idea for a possible future blog or two. I found later that there are 26 murals on the trail.

I believe this water flows from Chalice Hill.

And that it used to be the source for the Pump Room on the other side of the road in its short life as such.

Now I could see the Abbey’s octagonal kitchen.

The citation on this plaque – the lost adult glove gives an idea of its size – says: “PRESENTED TO THE PUBLIC BY J HRY BURGESS ESQ RESIDENT SURGEON IN THIS TOWN 50 YEARS AND DURING HIS SIXTH MAYORALTY 1864…1865” And what is it decorating? Very appropriate for a surgeon – public conveniences, still, in ‘normal’ times, in use.

From a car park, an even better view of part of the Abbey. And another idea for a future blog.

I knew there was a Glastonbury community ‘fridge’ (not limited to chilled foodstuff) but not where it was, next to the Town Hall. (I am going out very, very little these days!)

A near deserted market square

This time I go past St Benedict’s church and the Mitre Inn.

And, very close by, The King Arthur.

Finally, a pretty row of houses opposite the entrance to the garage.

My car had passed its MoT with flying colours – but then it had only done 2000 miles in the last 12 months, and much of that was done in the two weeks before lockdown, as I drove to and from Gatwick Airport for my trip to Morocco, of blessed memory.

Permitted walk 3

Tags

Brue, Buzzard, Clyce Hole, Clyse Hole, Environment Agency, Glastonbury, Glastonbury Abbey, Glastonbury Tor, Hungerford, Joseph of Arimathea, Kennet and Avon Canal, peacock butterfly, Polden Hills, Pomparles Bridge, Prunella Scales, rhyne, Roger Norrington, Street, Street Church, Strode Theatre, Timothy West, Wearyall Hill

My Sunday was nice.

First thing, the Microsoft system reminded me of a photo I had taken 15 years previously, to the day. I posted it on Facebook, with the following text.

“The Kennet and Avon Canal about a mile from Hungerford, where I had left my car. Living in France at the time, I was there to visit a bench I had sponsored in memory of my parents who had loved the canal, and had, little by little, walked it end to end. What I didn’t know as I took this photo was that the couple in the left hand boat were Timothy West and Prunella Scales, and that the former had just jiggered his ankle slipping down a damp grassy bank. Five minutes later I was steering the right hand boat, the owners of which were helping the Wests run their own boat.

“Once we had all arrived at Hungerford, the couple, Prunella having secured the boat, transferred to my car, and I drove them to the Royal Berkshire Hospital in Reading. They were much more interested in talking about me than themselves, and it emerged that the night before they had dined with the Norringtons. Roger had been a major influence on me musically decades earlier.” And here’s the photo:

I went out for a much longer walk than previously in the afternoon. I had realised that a busy road near me, which could get me to the River Brue, should not be so busy in the present circumstances. I often forget to put a watch on, but didn’t this time – and found that it was still showing Greenwich Mean Time, three weeks on from the clocks going forward.

I live on a modern estate on the edge of the Somerset Levels. Looking right as I walked out of it, along a cul-de-sac Wearyall Hill is to be seen. Traditionally Joseph of Arimathea planted his staff here.

The River Brue used to run where the road serving the estate now runs. But over the centuries, the watercourse has been much modified, through drainage of marshy ground and pragmatic straightening. Near me, the river is almost entirely canalised, work done in the thirteenth century by the monks of Glastonbury Abbey. Here I have crossed the road, and into a field, and looking back I don’t think I had ever previously noticed just how splendid some of the trees now lining the road are.

I’m shortly at the ‘busy’ road which will take me down to the Brue, and yet again I’m envious of those living in houses up on Wearyall Hill for the lovely view they have across the Moors.

I turn left, and see what they can see, the Polden Hills in the distance.

The busy road dips to begin with, and sometimes in winter it is flooded, so closed. It is only at about 7 metres above sea level here, although some 20 miles or so inland, and if rainwater cannot drain towards the sea, because the land is so waterlogged and the many water courses too full, it just stays here. (By the way, while I had thought the road would be empty of traffic, and indeed it is empty in his photo, it was in fact quite busy, though not to the extent that I felt unsafe.)

These, to my left, on a field which is frequently flooded, reminded me of the 17th century (or earlier) song, ‘The Three Ravens’, though these are crows.

Ahead, the embankment which contains the canalised Brue,

and the road has to rise steeply at Cow Bridge.

I go over Cow Bridge and turn right, off the road. Others had had the same idea, but it was just about possible to keep the appropriate distances.

To my left a rhyne (pronounced ‘reen’), with the which the landscape is riddled for miles around. Landowners are obliged to keep them maintained so that water may flow freely.

Cows to my right,

and sheep to my left.

I arrive at Clyce Hole measuring station,

or is it Clyse Hole? The Environment Agency doesn’t seem to know, though the OS map and the EA flood warning website seem to favour the latter. The water level is low, so the weir is impressive.

It is a popular wild swimming spot, and there were several families there, swimming, paddling, sunbathing…

After this point, I met no-one else on this side of the river, though there were people – and dogs! – out for their walks on the other side, (though not in this picture).

Peacock butterfly

Ah. I hadn’t thought about stiles, and touching them. Hm. Should have brought my surgical spirit spray, (I have no hand gel) especially as I keep lifting my camera to my face. Oh well, next time. But it’s nice to have such easy stiles! There were several of them from now on. And from now on the river seems to be following its original contours.

A most unprepossessing bridge, apart for its name, Pomparles (pronounced PompArlez) Bridge. Until pretty recently it was called Pons Perilis, the dangerous bridge. It carries the main road, causeway, from Glastonbury to Street, and indeed the bridge and the river mark the boundary between the two.

And frankly, that road seemed to me to be almost as busy as ever. Fortunately, I was able to remain down in the field instead of walking along its wide pavement,

until I came to a rhyne.

There was escape to my right, and I had to walk along that pavement for 100 metres or so.

From there, on the outskirts of the urban part of Street, I saw its parish church across the field.

Having turned left,

it would have been very unsociable of me not to call a bridge friend on the phone and invite him to come to the window and wave. But I found I hadn’t got his number on me, so I did something I had never done before in my life – I rang a doorbell and ran away! But only ten yards. B. emerged from his back garden and we chatted for a few minutes. I left with his permission to publish his photo and a request to pass on to other bridge contacts to keep safe.

I diverted from the logical route for a couple of minutes to take photos of the 14th century church,

and the much missed Strode Theatre. It is a fully equipped theatre, (I went on a back-stage tour last year and was very impressed) which must be unique. With the Clark (shoes) family behind it, it was constructed in 1963 to serve not only as a theatre, but as as the local school hall and a not-for-profit cinema. It has been much developed since. (I say ‘much missed’ only because I had three ticket for films for 26th March to 30th April which have fallen the way of all gatherings in recent weeks. Like everyone, I look forward enormously to such places re-opening.)

The joint car park. I’ve never seen it not only empty but shut before.

Housing now, I’m hoping a later edit will state the purpose of this clearly once industrial building. Later: It was the Avalon Leatherboard Company in Street. The company, which was associated with Clarks, made board for use in insoles. Stephen Clark, having made his way up the company, became its manager in 1941 and turned it fortunes around to profitability. (Thanks for info to Liz Leyshon, longtime, now ‘retired’, manager of Strode Theatre.)

I wondered what that grey rock thing was.

It ruined out to be a bull. It moved!

I could have crossed another field and returned back along the Brue, but I chose to take a road which, in normal times I drive along, there and back, about three times a week, but which I had never walked. This for two reasons: to enjoy the avenue of trees, which remind me of similar in France, and on the outside chance I might see a pair of swans.

Later: According to the obituary his sister wrote in 2011, the previously mentioned Stephen Clark ‘said his proudest achievement was planting an avenue of poplars along the road leading from the mill to Glastonbury.’

Buzzard

Bluebells (Spanish of that ilk)

Not swans but better than nothing

The road had been nicely empty, with just the occasional cyclist or two, but I was beginning to think that I was not going to see any swans, when:

Two metres from the road, on what appeared to be a nest. I quickly moved to the other side of the road. She clearly is not fazed by traffic – and at times it can go very fast along here – but she showed just a slight alarm at me. Not for long though, as she settled down again.

Just how beautiful is that?

Looking back. Later: someone has recently seen the pair together at the nest. I had looked around for the mate, but could not see him.

Left again on to Cow Bridge Road, and the sight of Glastonbury Tor accompanies me home. My house is somewhere in there.

I found it striking that there there had been so much foliage on the trees compared with those in my first picture 15 years ago, taken at the same latitude, on the same day of the year.

When I got in, I baked a cake. What’s so strange about that? It’s just that I never bake, the flour was ‘best before’ June 2017, the bicarbonate of soda ‘best before’ 1998 (I bought in it the UK before I moved to France in 1995, and brought it back from there in 2011), and the vanilla essence didn’t even have a B B date on it, as it was older than that system! The cake was/is delicious.

Somerset Rural Life Museum

Tags

Glastonbury Abbey, Glastonbury Tor, Harriet Mead, Hitler, James Lynch, Mapstone, Mussolini, Somerset Rural Life Museum, South West Heritage Trust

I live just a five-minute walk from the Somerset Rural Life Museum, which has been closed for refurbishment for the last three years.  Its unofficial official reopening was yesterday, and a friend, Liz, and I went to it.  What a fantastic job they’ve done! The Museum comprises a farmhouse, the Abbey Barn (that’s Glastonbury Abbey) and a small amount of land.  Until Henry VIII’s 16th century Dissolution of all the abbeys, all the land round here belonged to the Abbey. Since then it has passed through many hands, and in 1917 George Mapstone took over the tenancy.  Mr and Mrs H R Mapstone bought the farm in 1940.  Mrs Mapstone sold most of the land for housing (including where I live) in 1974, but gave the farmhouse and the Abbey Barn to Somerset County Council which used it for the museum. (For the history of the landholding – and much more about Glastonbury – see here.)

The unofficial official opening took place on the north side of the Barn.  Because it was an unofficial official opening there was no ribbon to be cut (the official official opening will be by the Duke of Gloucester in a week or so’s time), so instead the last surviving Mapstone daughter and the Chairman of the Trustees of the museum together unveiled the flag of Somerset.Given the numbers present, we were invited not all to go in via the front door (of the farmhouse), so Liz and I made straight for the courtyard,

(Glastonbury Tor in the background)

where there was music,but most importantly the horse, Captain, made entirely of scrap metal. Liz’s partner, Ray, had been in charge of the machinery which had lifted him into place, and had apparently come home that day raving about the sculpture.  Liz and Ray know a thing or two professionally about horses, and Liz was exclaiming how completely anatomically correct this creation was.  Moreover, she had learned that the sculptor, Harriet Mead, had made no preliminary drawing, but had just started welding pieces of scrap metal together.  (Her work has been featured on the BBC’s ‘Countryfile’.)

 

There is no risk that the sculpture will be pushed over.  It is installed on a solid plinth buried in a large hole in the ground.

We moved into the Abbey Barn, the south side of which completes the courtyard.  It has a splendid new packed earth – I think it’s that – floor (the hardness of which, incidentally will make it much more satisfying for any concerts held there from now on).From there, we went into the farmyard galleries, which, although still housed in the courtyard buildings, have been utterly transformed. Here is just a small selection of the photos I took, (sadly on my phone – I hadn’t thought to take my camera).It was time for a coffee, bought from the café which was undoubtedly having its busiest ever day – entry to the museum was free today –  in a kitchen which was totally new to the staff!

I’d love to know what was being indicated!

 

We talked to the artist, James Lynch, of this amazing landscape, painted in egg tempera on plaster, for a while. Then it was time to go, as we had met and stopped to chat with many interesting people that Liz knew, and as we went we reflected on some of the many quotations appearing around the place.

(I used to sing this at my school in London. I had no idea it was a Somerset folksong!)

With a backward look at the farmhouse, and its porch, the proper entrance to the Museum, I decided to return today, Sunday, to finish looking around.

 

Which I did, with camera this time, around lunchtime.  The time of day, the threatening showers, (the dark and cloudy morning had not turned out to be sunshiny) and of course the fact that it was not longer the opening day, meant than attendance was much thinner on the ground, though I imagine that the staff and volunteers would be pleased enough to see this many people in due course.

I looked around the farmhouse this time, though there remain two more rooms to be fitted out, and was able to admire how well a modern extension to the museum has been blended with the old house.The rooms house many exhibits which have been in storage for so long.

 

The farmhouse kitchen

1940s fairground targets with the faces of Hitler and Mussolini on them

A variety of drinking mugs

 

 

And a very modern exhibit – a waste bin from a recent ‘Glastonbury’ Festival (held in fact at Pilton 7 miles to the east)

 

I went out into the yard again, where Captain was still being admired, and I even saw a woman stroking his nose.  I wonder will that part of his anatomy become shiny in due course?

The black shed is a grain store

The orchard, with its varieties of apples and its sheep, is once more accessible to the public, and has acquired a coconut shy – which I refrained from playing on.

Shepherd’s hut 

Unlike many museums, this one does not oblige you to leave via the shop, but I did so.  It is good to know that just five minutes away I may buy gifts of Somerset produce and manufacture.

 

Congratulations to the South West Heritage Trust for this magnificent restoration, come to fruition so soon after they reopened the beautiful Museum of Somerset at Taunton.