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.

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.

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.