For the last ten days of my stay at East Penrest Farm I was a lone WWOOFer as YaYa left on the morning of Mothering Sunday, but not before she had constructed Mother’s Day cards for Jo and I using scraps of coloured paper beautifully fashioned into 3D-effect pictures – mine was of a landscape with hills and a lake and a tree in the foreground, and Jo’s was of flowers – so clever!
Jo and James went away for a couple of days, leaving me in charge of the farm, as they wanted to go and stay in another Shepherd’s Hut to pick up a few ideas for theirs. I was a bit concerned that the ladies-in-waiting might pick this moment to start dropping their lambs even though it would be nearly two weeks early, but everything was OK and there were no incidents to report. I spent my time constructing raised beds in the greenhouse and barrowing in well-rotted manure from the heap outside the animal barn. I also decided to tidy the shed as I thought it would be a useful storage area for seed trays, etc and it had got to be rather a jumble – these WWOOFers never put anything away properly! I found a long length of batten and decided to screw it to the wall of the shed to hang tools from. I thought I’d do a proper job so took up the spirit level – luckily I stood back from my work before I’d fixed the second screw completely, as the wood was running downhill at a steep angle. For a moment I couldn’t quite understand why it wasn’t level when I’d carefully used the spirit level, and then it dawned on me – the shed wasn’t level! I adjusted the slope of the batten to follow the sides of the shed and soon had all the spades, forks, etc hanging neatly from nails – see, that controlling nature of mine is still only just below the surface!
When Jo and James returned they took me, and their daughter’s family, for a special tea at Endsleigh House Hotel. This had originally been the Duke of Bedford’s ‘country cottage’ and is set down a very long driveway lined with rhododendron and camellia bushes. The front door was opened to us by the French Maitre d’ who escorted us to a cosy sitting room complete with log fire and fine views down across the grounds to the River Tamar, and then took our orders for the type of tea we would like to drink. As I don’t have a clue about different tea types, I settled for Earl Grey and then we went into an adjoining room where a circular table was groaning under its load of delectable tea-time treats: there were sandwiches (no crusts) with smoked salmon, egg mayonnaise, ham, etc; scones (both plain and fruit) with bowls of jam and clotted cream; a jam-and-fresh-cream-filled sponge cake; a cake stand with small chocolate brownies and flapjacks. The amazing thing was that we could eat as much as we wanted for an all-inclusive price and a waiter just kept replenishing the plates! I was very sad that, despite the fact that I’d only had a very light lunch, I was full after a couple of sandwiches and two scones, jam and cream – I couldn’t even manage a piece of the sponge cake!
Next day it was back to work, at the bungalow this time getting it ready for some weekend visitors. I also started to cut down the beech hedge which had got seriously out of hand over the last few years and needed loppers and a pruning g saw to get it back down from about twenty feet high to about four! Over a period of a couple of days Jo and I managed to virtually finish it leaving us with a seriously large pile of brash that needed burning. There was also a large heap of brashy timber halfway down the paddock that had been there since last April, so I promised myself a bonfire once the visitors had gone home. The following week, while Jo and James were busy sorting out the garage at the bungalow, I dragged all the beech cuttings down to the heap and cut off all the bits that couldn’t usefully be used as firewood. When I was part way through this exercise the urge to light the bonfire got too much for me, so I got some cardboard and matches from Jo and lit it. Well.........it wasn’t quite as spectacular as The Great Pallet Fire of 2002*, but the whole lot went ‘Whoooosh!’, and by the time I’d walked nonchalantly back to the garage to return the matches, the whole enormous heap had virtually disappeared! Well, ‘if you’re going to have one, have a big’un’ is my motto!
On my last Saturday in Cornwall, I decided to venture off the farm and explore the Tamar Valley a bit. I thought of going to Morwellham Quay (where Edwardian Farm’ was filmed) but ended up going to Cothele House and estate instead. The weather was spectacularly warm and sunny and it was their Daffodil Weekend. They have over 180 different varieties planted around the gardens and orchard and most of these were grown commercially in the Tamar Valley at some point. The Tamar Valley was a bit like the Cheddar Valley used to be, in that they grew strawberries and cut flowers for the markets around the country, but a few weeks earlier than the Cheddar area. A small mystery was solved for me while I was reading the display boards that they had in the daffodil marquee: I had noticed that there were lots of ‘wild’ daffodils in the hedges all around this part of Cornwall, but they didn’t look like the really wild daffodils that you find around Newent in Gloucestershire. Apparently, during the Second World War the market gardeners of the Tamar Valley were forced by the Ministry of Food, to reduce their daffodil beds by 50% year on year. Because, they still had a market for early flowers and because they didn’t want to lose their carefully cultivated varieties, a lot of the market gardeners dug up the bulbs and carefully replanted them in the hedgerows! I had great fun using my new camera (thanks, Dave!) to take close up photos of several flowers and some butterflies (have a look on my Facebook album, if you haven’t already) and had a marvellous day out.
Because I love this part of the country so much, I have been keeping my eye on the property market in case anything appealed to me, and I was intrigued to see a property actually in Launceston with a huge back garden for a ridiculous price, so made an appointment to view it. The cottage (Grade II listed) dated from the 1700’s and was set on quite a steep, but quiet road in the town. However, although I was up for a project, this was a project-too-far, I think! Jo came with me and we met the estate agent outside, but inside there was a tremendous amount of work that needed doing, including what looked like the replacement of a very large structural beam that was holding up the dining room ceiling. The roof also needed re-doing, but I think the biggest challenge would have been the garden. The chap who was selling it had lived there with his parents who had basically, run a market garden from there with every inch of space utilised for crops (as borne out by the aerial photos on the wall) but as they became elderly the ground had been gradually covered with paving slabs and gravel, all of which had been brought through the house as there was no rear entrance to the garden! This meant that, if the garden was to be returned to anything like its former glory, all that hard landscaping would have to be taken back out through the house! I’m sure someone will snap it up at that price and make a real gem of a property out of it, but I don’t think that person is going to be me.
*For all those that don’t already know the story: Back in 2002, Barry and I were renting a field that we subsequently bought. It had an old Dutch barn in one corner and leaning up against it was a huge mouldering pile of pallets that spread out and back from it and covered many square yards. Most of the pallets were sodden and rotten and overgrown with brambles and we asked the owner if we could gradually burn them up. Permission having been given we chose a still evening and I cautiously started a small fire on the furthest edge from the barn. The fire smoked and smouldered and did very little as this was where the most rotten pallets were, but a little breeze blew up and a few little flames licked up. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a red glow over by the barn and before Barry could get back to me (in the truck from the stableyard just a couple of hundred yards away) the whole stack of pallets by the barn was well alight. Luckily, there was nothing else around that could catch fire, but of course the flames were about thirty feet high, at dusk, on the slope of the Mendips and could be seen for miles! It wasn’t long before we heard sirens approaching from the direction of Cheddar! At this point, I legged it into the darkness leaving Barry, leaning nonchalantly on his pitchfork, to explain to the firemen that he was ‘just burning up a bit of rubbish’! I was not allowed to forget for a long time that a) I’d started the fire and b) I’d run away from the scene of the crime! The fire chief seemed quite happy with Barry’s story and assessed that the fire would be out in about an hour – in fact it was still burning the next morning and we never had any trouble with brambles on that patch of ground again.
Jo and James went away for a couple of days, leaving me in charge of the farm, as they wanted to go and stay in another Shepherd’s Hut to pick up a few ideas for theirs. I was a bit concerned that the ladies-in-waiting might pick this moment to start dropping their lambs even though it would be nearly two weeks early, but everything was OK and there were no incidents to report. I spent my time constructing raised beds in the greenhouse and barrowing in well-rotted manure from the heap outside the animal barn. I also decided to tidy the shed as I thought it would be a useful storage area for seed trays, etc and it had got to be rather a jumble – these WWOOFers never put anything away properly! I found a long length of batten and decided to screw it to the wall of the shed to hang tools from. I thought I’d do a proper job so took up the spirit level – luckily I stood back from my work before I’d fixed the second screw completely, as the wood was running downhill at a steep angle. For a moment I couldn’t quite understand why it wasn’t level when I’d carefully used the spirit level, and then it dawned on me – the shed wasn’t level! I adjusted the slope of the batten to follow the sides of the shed and soon had all the spades, forks, etc hanging neatly from nails – see, that controlling nature of mine is still only just below the surface!
When Jo and James returned they took me, and their daughter’s family, for a special tea at Endsleigh House Hotel. This had originally been the Duke of Bedford’s ‘country cottage’ and is set down a very long driveway lined with rhododendron and camellia bushes. The front door was opened to us by the French Maitre d’ who escorted us to a cosy sitting room complete with log fire and fine views down across the grounds to the River Tamar, and then took our orders for the type of tea we would like to drink. As I don’t have a clue about different tea types, I settled for Earl Grey and then we went into an adjoining room where a circular table was groaning under its load of delectable tea-time treats: there were sandwiches (no crusts) with smoked salmon, egg mayonnaise, ham, etc; scones (both plain and fruit) with bowls of jam and clotted cream; a jam-and-fresh-cream-filled sponge cake; a cake stand with small chocolate brownies and flapjacks. The amazing thing was that we could eat as much as we wanted for an all-inclusive price and a waiter just kept replenishing the plates! I was very sad that, despite the fact that I’d only had a very light lunch, I was full after a couple of sandwiches and two scones, jam and cream – I couldn’t even manage a piece of the sponge cake!
Next day it was back to work, at the bungalow this time getting it ready for some weekend visitors. I also started to cut down the beech hedge which had got seriously out of hand over the last few years and needed loppers and a pruning g saw to get it back down from about twenty feet high to about four! Over a period of a couple of days Jo and I managed to virtually finish it leaving us with a seriously large pile of brash that needed burning. There was also a large heap of brashy timber halfway down the paddock that had been there since last April, so I promised myself a bonfire once the visitors had gone home. The following week, while Jo and James were busy sorting out the garage at the bungalow, I dragged all the beech cuttings down to the heap and cut off all the bits that couldn’t usefully be used as firewood. When I was part way through this exercise the urge to light the bonfire got too much for me, so I got some cardboard and matches from Jo and lit it. Well.........it wasn’t quite as spectacular as The Great Pallet Fire of 2002*, but the whole lot went ‘Whoooosh!’, and by the time I’d walked nonchalantly back to the garage to return the matches, the whole enormous heap had virtually disappeared! Well, ‘if you’re going to have one, have a big’un’ is my motto!
On my last Saturday in Cornwall, I decided to venture off the farm and explore the Tamar Valley a bit. I thought of going to Morwellham Quay (where Edwardian Farm’ was filmed) but ended up going to Cothele House and estate instead. The weather was spectacularly warm and sunny and it was their Daffodil Weekend. They have over 180 different varieties planted around the gardens and orchard and most of these were grown commercially in the Tamar Valley at some point. The Tamar Valley was a bit like the Cheddar Valley used to be, in that they grew strawberries and cut flowers for the markets around the country, but a few weeks earlier than the Cheddar area. A small mystery was solved for me while I was reading the display boards that they had in the daffodil marquee: I had noticed that there were lots of ‘wild’ daffodils in the hedges all around this part of Cornwall, but they didn’t look like the really wild daffodils that you find around Newent in Gloucestershire. Apparently, during the Second World War the market gardeners of the Tamar Valley were forced by the Ministry of Food, to reduce their daffodil beds by 50% year on year. Because, they still had a market for early flowers and because they didn’t want to lose their carefully cultivated varieties, a lot of the market gardeners dug up the bulbs and carefully replanted them in the hedgerows! I had great fun using my new camera (thanks, Dave!) to take close up photos of several flowers and some butterflies (have a look on my Facebook album, if you haven’t already) and had a marvellous day out.
Because I love this part of the country so much, I have been keeping my eye on the property market in case anything appealed to me, and I was intrigued to see a property actually in Launceston with a huge back garden for a ridiculous price, so made an appointment to view it. The cottage (Grade II listed) dated from the 1700’s and was set on quite a steep, but quiet road in the town. However, although I was up for a project, this was a project-too-far, I think! Jo came with me and we met the estate agent outside, but inside there was a tremendous amount of work that needed doing, including what looked like the replacement of a very large structural beam that was holding up the dining room ceiling. The roof also needed re-doing, but I think the biggest challenge would have been the garden. The chap who was selling it had lived there with his parents who had basically, run a market garden from there with every inch of space utilised for crops (as borne out by the aerial photos on the wall) but as they became elderly the ground had been gradually covered with paving slabs and gravel, all of which had been brought through the house as there was no rear entrance to the garden! This meant that, if the garden was to be returned to anything like its former glory, all that hard landscaping would have to be taken back out through the house! I’m sure someone will snap it up at that price and make a real gem of a property out of it, but I don’t think that person is going to be me.
*For all those that don’t already know the story: Back in 2002, Barry and I were renting a field that we subsequently bought. It had an old Dutch barn in one corner and leaning up against it was a huge mouldering pile of pallets that spread out and back from it and covered many square yards. Most of the pallets were sodden and rotten and overgrown with brambles and we asked the owner if we could gradually burn them up. Permission having been given we chose a still evening and I cautiously started a small fire on the furthest edge from the barn. The fire smoked and smouldered and did very little as this was where the most rotten pallets were, but a little breeze blew up and a few little flames licked up. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a red glow over by the barn and before Barry could get back to me (in the truck from the stableyard just a couple of hundred yards away) the whole stack of pallets by the barn was well alight. Luckily, there was nothing else around that could catch fire, but of course the flames were about thirty feet high, at dusk, on the slope of the Mendips and could be seen for miles! It wasn’t long before we heard sirens approaching from the direction of Cheddar! At this point, I legged it into the darkness leaving Barry, leaning nonchalantly on his pitchfork, to explain to the firemen that he was ‘just burning up a bit of rubbish’! I was not allowed to forget for a long time that a) I’d started the fire and b) I’d run away from the scene of the crime! The fire chief seemed quite happy with Barry’s story and assessed that the fire would be out in about an hour – in fact it was still burning the next morning and we never had any trouble with brambles on that patch of ground again.
You kept the "Pallets" quiet, I didn't know you were such a "Pyro"!
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