Volunteering!

 

I've been back in the Cheltenham area for a few weeks now, having arrived back on 8^th November. I was determined not to let my fitness levels drop off so drastically during this 'resting' period, so looked around for something to do. There are local Pilates and Yoga classes run in the village hall but, although labelled 'For Beginners' they have all been running since September, so they won't be beginners any more and I definitely am. Then I thought of swimming – there are several disadvantages to this: the nearest swimming baths are in Cheltenham about four miles away, so I would have to drive there; I don't own a swimming costume, so would have to buy one; I haven't swum for over twenty years, so who knows whether I still can or not! The posh hotel just up the road has a fitness club, so perhaps I could get a temporary membership? They don't even list the membership fees on their website let alone a cut-price temporary one! As you can see, my dedication to keeping fit is not as strong as I thought it was!

However, I struck up a conversation with a couple on the bus to Moreton-in-Marsh (more on that later) and the wife took my phone number as she knew some people who might welcome some voluntary help. That evening I received a phone call from the chairman of the Cheltenham Tree Group, who needed some help lifting and transplanting trees. This admirable group have a small tree nursery not far from my Mum's house where they grow native tree species that they then provide, for a small fee or donation, to schools, community groups, the Parks Department and individuals. As November/December is the best time to transplant trees, they had a busy few sessions digging up about sixty saplings and transplanting them in a park in Cheltenham where there is to be a new mountain bike track. Along I went one damp Wednesday afternoon, armed with a spade and fork, and spent a couple of hours helping to dig up the allocated trees. I hadn't really given much thought to what size the saplings would be and was quite surprised to find that they were all over five feet tall and some were about fifteen feet tall! We worked in pairs trying to dig out as big a root ball as possible, although the long tap roots are not as important as the network of fine roots, as they only provide anchoring strength, rather than nutrient gathering. We then put them in large polythene sacks and lay them in a trench of mulch to protect them until the Saturday, when they would be replanted.

Saturday dawned damp, foggy and chilly but I donned my winter weight outdoor wear and drove to the designated site where a group of individuals, carrying spades and forks, were readily identifiable as the planters. The council had marked out the areas where the trees were to be planted and then individual spots had been marked with canes. We all chose a cane and started digging – each hole needed to be about two foot square and about one foot to eighteen inches deep, depending on the size of tree allocated to each spot. The first hole went really quite well and I soon had the rowan tree planted, but the next hole was a different matter altogether, as the area used to be a waste tip and the soil 'cap' was very thin in some places. At about one foot deep I hit what appeared to be a tarmac road surface that we couldn't break up but, as I had a silver birch to plant there, which is quite shallow rooted, so I'm told, I could use the hole. I hit tarmac at 6 inches in the next hole, so had to abandon it and plant my alder buckthorn in a different spot. By then most of the trees had been planted in the first area so I moved to a different area and started my final hole – I hit stone and rubble at about one foot deep and had to call in the men with a pickaxe to complete it! By then I was beginning to feel that I'd done enough digging for one day so was quite pleased, on straightening up, to discover that all the trees were now in place and our work for that day was done, plus it had turned into a really bright, sunny day. I picked up two useful tips about planting bare-rooted trees that morning – one is to keep the root ball covered until you are ready to plant as the fine roots can dry out and die off in minutes of being exposed to the air, and the second one is to lay your spade across the planting hole so that you can see the correct soil level so the tree can be planted at the same level that it was in the ground originally.

I couldn't help dig up the next batch of saplings on the following Wednesday, as I had to make a flying visit to Somerset but, on Saturday I was back in the park planting again. This time I managed to plant two rowans and a wild cherry, but the holes were even more difficult to dig with all sorts of debris only just below the surface. By the end of the morning there were another thirty saplings in place and what had been a flat, grassed area was beginning to take on a bit of character – I shall have to take photos over the next few years of 'my' trees to map their progress – if, of course, they survive!

The other voluntary work that came out of my casual conversation is with the local Luncheon Club for the elderly of the parish – on every other Thursday I turn up to help serve up the lunches and clear away afterwards. Between forty and fifty people are catered for each week, some being fetched from their homes by minibus, and a volunteer cook almost single-handedly cooks a main course and dessert which we then serve up. In return for this, we get fed too, which is an added bonus that I wasn't expecting. After the meal there is usually some entertainment or an outing laid on before they are taken home again, but my duties end once all the dishes have been washed up and put away.

So, back to the bus trip to Moreton-in-Marsh. On the first Tuesday that I was back in the area Mum was busy all day with various activities, so I was going to be left to my own devices. It was a beautiful autumn day so I decided to catch the bus to the market as the journey alone would be worth it. I have caught this bus once before and its like a little club – it is a 52-seater coach and there are usually about twelve people aboard who are all regulars. They all sit near the front and chat to George, the driver, who obviously knows them all well. Its wonderful to hear proper Gloucestershire accents again! I was stunned by the price of the trip – it is twenty one miles to Moreton and the return fare was £2.20 (it costs £3.60 or so to get a return trip into Cheltenham town centre, approximately two miles away!). 

The sun shone all the way and I had a wonderful view over the hedgerows and dry stone walls into fields already green with winter wheat. The fields that still had stubble were playing host to hordes of recently-released pheasants and some partridges – the colours of the cock pheasants shimmering in the low autumn sunshine. Many of the trees still retained their leaves and when the wind blew showers of beech leaves like burnished copper pennies rained down on the road. Every hedgerow was decked with garlands of Old Man's Beard, like early Christmas decorations, and beautiful, glowing Cotswold stone villages were glimpsed between folds in the hills as we rocketed along. There were lots of sheep in evidence, even some of the relatively rare Cotswold 'lions' (so called because their ruffs of neck wool resemble a lion's mane) and several fields of horses, as I think there are a couple of racehorse trainers in the area judging by the practice hurdles adorning the slopes in one village. There is something very special about the Cotswold landscape on a sunny autumn day that lifts the spirits and brings a smile to the face (well, it does for me).

The market itself was a bit of a disappointment as it was the same as many other street markets selling cheap tools, pet foods, slippers and knitwear, but I did find a fish van (from Grimsby) and bought some Arbroath Smokies to try, as Mum enthuses about them and I've never seen them before. I then trawled the charity shops, of which there were five in a relatively short distance, because my family has set itself the challenge this year of either homemade Christmas presents or something bought from a charity shop for £5 or less! I did see several things that I wouldn't mind having but nothing for anyone else, so went home more or less empty-handed. The coach left Moreton at 1.00pm having arrived at about 11.00am so there was plenty of time to have a good look round and have a delicious coffee and toasted teacake in a cafe.

In between my volunteering I've done a few small jobs for Mum in the garden and this coming weekend I am off, back to the Oxford Canal for a few days to help Phoebe move the raised beds that I created last year, so that she can put up a polytunnel – I'm taking my winter gear as the forecast is not good!