Travels in Norfolk

Poppies in a wheat field

On the 5^th July I bade farewell to Suffolk and headed about fifty miles north to the small town of Wymondham (pronounced 'Windham') which lies about ten miles to the south west of Norwich. My hosts were an ex-merchant navy Chief Engineer and his partner, a herbalist. I was slightly thrown to discover that they do not eat wheat-based foods, dairy or much sugar so my poor, uncomplaining gastric system had to adjust from the dairy-heavy diet of Old Hall, to a very different regime! Luckily they did buy milk for me to have on my muesli and in my tea but, after a couple of days I found I was quite happily drinking herbal teas and found very little hardship in the rest of the diet as it was all fresh produce from their vegetable gardens and polytunnels.

Their land was about a ten-minute walk from the house and I think they were hugely surprised when I declined the offer of a bicycle and much preferred to walk! If they'd ever seen my attempts to ride a bike they would have been extremely relieved at my sensible decision! The weather was quite changeable while I was there so, on one day, I was soaked to the skin and had to have a hot shower and don winter-weight clothes to warm up, and the next day I got sunburned because I stupidly forgot to take my sunscreen to the field and the sun came out with a vengeance whilst I was weeding the sweetcorn and beetroot beds. When the sun was relentlessly out I was able to retreat to the relative shade of the orchard in the afternoon and thin the apples and plums out so that the branches wouldn't break as the fruit swelled. I also picked gooseberries and redcurrants in the same area and enjoyed the change from constant weeding.

My host is constructing his own rather posh barn and makes his own floorboards and cladding boards using a portable sawmill. Obviously there are quite a lot of offcuts from this activity and these were cut into lengths and then split prior to my stacking them on pallets in a new log pile – a job I found strangely satisfying (as long as they all stacked tidily!). We also baled some loose hay that had had to be put into the large polytunnel as an emergency option when the baler broke down (why do they always do that?) and rain was forecast. It was a very similar model to the one we used to have but, luckily, four years further down the line, it didn't have the catastrophic effect on my well-being that the one at Canon Frome had (see much earlier blog from June 2010).

On my days off I determined to see as much of Norfolk as I could manage so subsequently drove many miles around the county. Again, Norfolk surprised me by being not altogether flat – it undulates rather than rolls, and has many trees and a surprising number of hedges given that it is a mainly arable county. This may also account for the vast areas of ragwort that I saw on all ground that wasn't cultivated! One of the worst areas was the military ground opposite the Household Cavalry Training Camp at Bodney! Obviously, no-one cares that ragwort is poisonous to livestock in a county where livestock is a rarity. Apart from some large, outdoor pig rearing units on the lighter, sandier soils, I saw very little in the way of farm animals.

Seals at Blakeney Point

On one of my days off I headed to the North Norfolk coast, specifically to Wells-next-the-Sea, as I felt I should pay my respects to this other Wells. I was surprised to find that it is not next-the-Sea at all as this area has silted up whilst the eastern coast has eroded away, so the sea was about a mile down a long dyke. There is still a harbour at Wells as they keep a channel well-dredged and fishing boats still unload their catches on the quay-side, so I had probably the freshest haddock and chips I've ever tasted for lunch! The weather itself had decided to mimic the east coast of Scotland and presented me with a day of 'haar', so everywhere was shrouded in grey mist but there was a cold breeze blowing too, so not really very pleasant. However, I was determined to see the sea so I caught the little narrow-gauge train from the town down to the beach – the sea was nearly as far out as at Weston-super-Mare so I took a photo of the beach huts, which must look quite picturesque on a sunny day, and walked quickly back to the town and away. Determined to try and salvage something from this less-than-satisfactory day off I booked myself a boat trip to see the seals at Blakeney Point and that was well worth £10 – the seals were wonderful! I did wonder what they make of all these people coming to see them as there were at least five boats there at the same time all chugging up and down as close in to shore as they could get with people waving and pointing and taking lots of photos (me included). I swear some of them were playing with us as they would casually surface, wait for several people to notice them and then gently sink beneath the waves before most people could click their shutters! A great game!

Ely Cathedral

On another day, I drove to west to Ely to visit the cathedral, which is enormous. I was lucky enough to join a guided tour of the ground floor area (it cost quite a bit more to go up the tower) and our guide was both enthusiastic and knowledgeable. Apparently, the Normans built this huge cathedral and abbey on the site of a previous Anglo-Saxon abbey, to impress any would-be trouble makers with their might and power, so it was a threat as well as a glorification of God. This was because the fen country was one of the last strongholds of the rebels (Hereward the Wake and his men) and held out for a long time after the Battle of Hastings. It is a truly awe-inspiring piece of Norman architecture, with a few later additions. To my delight, it also houses the Museum of Stained Glass so I spent a ridiculously long time pondering over the beautiful examples of this art form, from the thirteenth century to the present day - there were over 100 pieces to look at, and I came out feeling slightly cultured-out. I then drove north, through the fen country which is very like the Somerset Levels, but more so, in that it is a huge area and there are no hills to be seen in any direction. Obviously, it is all drained now and there are many hectares of wheat, barley, potatoes, field beans, maize and sugar beet stretching off as far as the eye can see, dotted with huge storage barns and grain silos. Very, very flat.

Norfolk Lavender

Finally, on my last day in Norfolk, the good weather and I coincided on my day off, so I drove to just south of Hunstanton to visit Norfolk Lavender. My friend Karen and I had talked of taking off one day to visit it when we were still cooped up in the Purchasing Office at Thales in Wells, but we'd never done it and, in a way, I'm glad we didn't, because I found it a huge disappointment. I had imagined that the old mill building, where they are located, would be set amongst rolling lavender fields stretching out to the horizon but, in truth, it is located on the junction of two busy roads with a small lavender 'field' in front of it and the beginnings of a lavender heritage garden alongside. Other than that, there is a 'fragrant garden', which has hardy perennial beds and shrubberies with a nice bridge over the river, a retail plant area, an expensive farm shop, an indoor kiddies amusement park, a rare breeds farm park and a large retail outlet selling all manner of expensive luxury items as well as the Norfolk Lavender products and a restaurant – far too commercialised for my taste, these days. The only good thing was that the lavender was in full bloom and they didn't charge admission to the garden!

I was all done and dusted within thirty minutes so drove a bit further south towards Kings Lynn to visit another English Heritage site, Castle Rising. Castle Rising is one of the best preserved, large Norman castle keeps and sits within some truly massive earthworks. Apparently, it was never meant to be a defensive castle, but a statement of wealth and privilege, but I, for one, would not have liked to try and enter without an invitation! There are steps up into the keep with three massive defendable doorways spaced at regular intervals so woe betide if your visit was not honourable! Off the Great Hall was a good example of a medieval kitchen, but I was amazed at how small it was, tucked into one of the towers with an open hearth and smoke hole and the remains of some sort of sink in one corner – how did they cater for the vast amounts of food that were produced in those days? I found myself looking for another kitchen area somewhere else, but there wasn't one.

Having done the culture for the day, I headed north again to Brancaster Beach, where I finally got to paddle in the sea and watch people surfboarding and kite flying. One guy was kite boarding near me on the beach and that looked like a tricky sport. First of all he had to get the large kite wing up into the air and stable enough so that it didn't pull him over, whilst he located his wheeled board and somehow stepped on to it. At some point he was going to be seriously off-balance so it was amazing that he actually managed it at all. I did wonder if the fact that I was taking photos of his struggles added to the problem! Eventually, I gave up on the beach as the stiff breeze was whipping the sand along at ankle level and when I lay down on my towel I got covered in a fine layer that stuck to my sunscreen so that I resembled fine grade sandpaper when I stood up!

Norfolk definitely has a more utilitarian feel to it than Suffolk. It seems to have fewer small, picturesque villages and, because there is little in the way of building stone, many of the houses are red brick. Because I am not a brick expert I couldn't tell, in a lot of cases, which were old houses, so it all looked more modern than Suffolk. Near the north coast around Hunstanton there is an outcrop of a dark brown sandstone called Carrstone, which is used extensively in the houses and, further along the coast, to the east, most of the houses are constructed of what look like cobble stones but which, I think, are uncut flint nodules.

On Saturday morning, with thunder grumbling in the background, I headed south again, back into Suffolk for my next two-week placement.

Brancaster Beach

Communing in Constable Country

Scene of Constable's 'Hay Wain'

Well – I've finally made it to East Anglia! I've been saying for the last two years that I must really get to the east side of the country a) because I've never really been here (apart from day trips to Speedway venues! and one three-day coach tour with Mum) and b) because its flat!

I set off from Jeni's cottage in Wells on Wednesday, 4^th June and made my way to the A303, then on to the M3 and northbound onto the M25. I haven't driven on the M25 for many years – it doesn't improve! However, I had no major hold-ups but it seemed like an awfully long way to Junction 28 where I turned off onto the A12 and headed for Colchester. My destination was Old Hall Community, East Bergholt and it was only as I drove into the village that I had a real deja-vu moment – I had been here before! It was one of the few places that the coach tour had stopped on our whirlwind tour of 'Constable Country and Jimmy's Farm'. I was so busy checking that it definitely was the same place that I drove straight past the entrance to Old Hall and had to go some way before I could turn and retrace my steps.

It is only the second time that I have stayed in a community (the first time was in June 2010 at Canon Frome Court in Herefordshire) and, superficially it is very similar. There are about 40 residents, all owning their own units, and contributing to the running of the farm and vegetable gardens. The big difference between the two is that here all meals are taken communally in the Refectory/Kitchen – its amazing to see the ease with which people cater for upwards of 30 people at each meal! I think the food is a big draw for lots of the younger WWOOFers – I have not felt hungry at all since I've been here. If you get peckish between the (cooked) lunch and the large supper, you can always have toast with a variety of toppings and tea and coffee are always on tap, thanks to a water heater. The building is a huge old house opposite the church and parts of it date back to the 1700s. After being the 'Big House' it became a convent for a closed order of nuns and then a monastery for some monks who sold it to the founders of the community in 1974 when their numbers had declined so greatly that it was no longer viable as a monastery. There is even a bell tower and the bell is rung to let everyone know when meals are ready. I went to Dedham one Sunday walking along the river. It is a couple of miles away as the crow flies but you could hear the meal bell quite distinctly from there!

East Bergholt Bell Cage

East Bergholt is the birthplace of John Constable and many of his more famous paintings are of scenes in the locality. Its other claim to fame is its unique church bell cage. The bell cage was constructed in the 1500s as a temporary measure until the tower was completed. There is still no tower and the bells still reside in their original framework to one side of the churchyard. The bell ringers practice on a Wednesday evening, so I went to see the bells in action. Obviously, because the bells are at ground level, they cannot be rung in the conventional manner, so have to be swung from the top of the bell and pushed from side to side. Several of the community members are ringers and they say that once the bell starts to swing it is not heavy to move, but it is difficult to control the rate of swing and therefore the timing of the changes. They all wear ear defenders but I imagine most of the bellringers of yesteryear were as deaf as a post from being in such close proximity.

On my second morning here I woke early and, as it was a beautiful morning, I breakfasted and then walked down to Flatford Mill which is only about twenty minutes away. At that time of day it was very peaceful and, although the scene is not quite the same now, you could almost imagine Mr Constable sitting there with his easel painting 'The Hay Wain'. I imagine that, later in the day, it bears very little resemblance to that peaceful, pastoral scene as it must be a huge tourist draw.

The community owns 70 acres of land and there are several large vegetable plots and soft fruit areas that need constant attention at this time of year. There are usually two or three WWOOFers staying at any one time during the summer months and they are generally used for weeding and planting of vegetables and have little to do with the animal residents unless they express a burning desire to milk a cow or collect eggs. While I have been here there have been a young couple from Italy, and girls from France, Germany, Spain and Switzerland plus one older British guy who comes every year as an unofficial WWOOfer and is an easy-going hard worker. The Spanish WWOOFer was a successful business woman on holiday from Granada, so we were able to talk about that beautiful city and if I go back some day perhaps we could meet up. Who knows?

Although I have not had much to do with the animals here, I did manage to get to help on sheep shearing day, hustling sheep through the pen and occasionally rolling fleeces. They have a small flock (about 35) of Lincoln Longwools, which are a rare breed, and shearing them nearly broke the shearer's heart, and his back, as they are large animals and very overweight, for the most part, and their fleece is like very matted dreadlocks! It was a boiling hot day and at first he was working in full sun but, eventually, we reconstructed the shearing pen in the shade of the barn and I got very 'mumsie' and made him drink copious amounts of water each time he finished a sheep! I have accepted the offer of a fleece to add to my collection but, as yet, have no idea what I will use it for. Due, I suppose, to my obvious sheep knowledge, the man who generally looks after the sheep almost exclusively, decided it was OK to go on holiday with his wife for a week, leaving me to look after the flock which includes a poorly sheep and her equally poorly lamb! I am told that it is the first time that Jake has ever relinquished care of 'his' flock to a visitor (he rarely lets residents help) so I suppose I should feel honoured, rather than anxious! They are due back today and I have managed to keep both animals alive until their return! I think the lamb has turned the corner now and seems a lot more lively but the ewe, although she eats well, drinks well and has normal 'bodily functions', seems unable to get to her feet. I wonder if it could be to do with her weight problem (she is a tad obese) as it seems to be a mechanical issue rather than a physical illness. Her lamb has learned to suckle from her while she is lying down – clever little lad! I have christened him Claude, for some reason.

I WWOOFed here officially for two weeks but, as I had been unable to find another host until 5^th July, I am now staying on as a paying guest but expected to contribute 15 hours a week to the community (as do the residents). This means that I have been able to pick and choose what I do, so have made some butter and yesterday I made a large Cheddar cheese which, unfortunately, won't be ready to eat until September. In between jobs I have been travelling around the Suffolk countryside, and also indulging in a bit of outdoor wool spinning.

I had not realised that Suffolk was such a beautiful county – it is not completely flat, but rolls and swells gently. Admittedly, there are no major hills (at 40metres above sea level, the community is perched on a high point in the landscape) but there are lots of trees and rivers and incredibly pretty villages. Many of the old cottages are thatched and painted lovely pastel colours and, in Lavenham, there are many jettied Tudor half-timbered houses with remnants of pargeting on their façades. The reason that there are so many original Tudor houses in the towns in this area is that it was once a rich and thriving wool area (a bit like the Cotswolds) but the decline in the trade was so fast that, instead of being pulled down or modernised over the years by their owners, most of the merchants' houses were left to decay or split into smaller dwellings for the ordinary townsfolk. In the early part of the twentieth century this architectural heritage was recognised and steps taken to preserve and restore these beautiful buildings. The nearby town of Hadleigh also has some beautiful old merchants' houses plus a huge church, out of all proportion to the size of the town. Unfortunately, on the day that I was having a wander round there was a wedding in the church – I saw the groom and best man arriving on a large, well-polished John Deere tractor!

On another day I went to visit Sutton Hoo, the site of one of the biggest Anglo-Saxon boat burials ever discovered in Europe. There are many burial mounds set close together in one area of this estate and in 1939 Mrs Edith Pretty, the owner of the 'big house', decided to get a local man to excavate one of the largest mounds. Several of the graves had already been ransacked by treasure seekers but they had not dug down far enough in this mound to disturb what lay beneath – a large boat, ninety feet long, containing the remains of the most wonderful Anglo-Saxon artefacts. The original 'hoard' is housed in the British Museum but the National Trust has an exhibition here of facsimiles and it is really stunning. Because of the acid nature of the sandy soil in this part of Suffolk, all of the natural substances have been eaten away – in fact, the ship that was excavated was just a stain in the sand where the timbers used to be and some rusty nails! However, the gold, silver and iron work all remain and are exquisitely carved and ornamented with inlays and semi-precious stones – even the horse harness of a warrior's horse found buried near its master in a separate mound on the site.

The Ickworth Rotunda

Continuing the historical and cultural nature of my days off I have also visited Framlingham Castle, of which only the massive curtain walls remain to bear witness to its importance in the history of this country – it was here that Mary Tudor was declared Queen and set out, in pomp, for London, and Ickworth Park, home of the rather notorious Hervey family, which consists of a huge, Italianate rotunda flanked by curving wings. The family lived in one of the wings (now an hotel) and used the rotunda as guest accommodation and to display their collections. It now houses the huge collection of family silver and a comprehensive collection of beautiful fans dating from the 1700s. I found the building rather ugly but was captivated by the 5.5 acre walled garden that lies a good distance from the house. At the moment it is a huge, open space sown with wild flowers but, on the chance discovery of the Head Gardener's diary and notebook from the turn of the twentieth century, found in an old cupboard in 2009, there are plans afoot to return it to its productive heyday over the next few years – that will be fascinating to see.

I was lucky enough, during the second weekend of my stay, to be present for the 40^th birthday of the community. The whole weekend was given over to celebratory meals and the place was bulging at the seams as families and friends of the residents arrived for the celebrations. As has been the case for most of my stay here, the sun shone, and we ate two of the 'formal' meals outside in the lovely gardens at the front of the house – I even found a skirt amongst my possessions and donned earrings as well! On the Sunday afternoon we had a birthday cake and the oldest, original member made the ceremonial first cut. There are still several original or very early members here and some of their children have also returned to take up residence with their families.

I have stayed on as the guest of Ruth and Richard (who used to live at Old Chapel Farm, in Wales, where I WWOOFed several times) as all visitors have to be 'sponsored'. Its been good to catch up with them again and to see how well they have integrated into the life of the community. Several people have asked if I would consider living in a community but, tempting as many aspects are of life here, I still don't think I could 'live by committee' as I like to make my decisions and act on them, not discuss them endlessly until some sort of agreement is reached. I have loved my stay here, and would certainly come back again to WWOOF or stay as a paying guest, but live here? I don't think so.

Old Hall Community

Viva Espana!

View of Granada from the Alhambra

Well, I said, in my anniversary blog, that things would have to change if I was to continue WWOOFing for much longer, and change they have! TravellingJan has gone international!

This all happened almost by accident. The WWOOF organisation asked me if I would write a short article, about using the website over the last four years, for their newsletter. I duly wrote a short piece and then emailed the WWOOF News to Jeni to show off. As well as reading the article she read the rest of the News including the classified ads on the back page (which I always glance at to see what opportunities are about). The next thing I know is that Jeni has contacted one of the advertisers about helping to renovate a cave house in the south of Spain and suggested we go together. To cut a long story short, on 20h May I found myself boarding an Easyjet flight from Bristol Airport clutching one very small bag of clothes and wondering what on earth I was doing!

I expect most of you have flown many times, but I haven't been in a plane for 43 years – the last time was on my way back from Germany on my own, aged seventeen, and culminated in me experiencing a panic attack in Frankfurt airport that led me to believe that I would never fly again. I wasn't frightened of flying, but airports completely freaked me out. Bristol was a good choice as it is comparatively small and difficult to be overwhelmed in, but we flew to Madrid, which is vast! However, with Jeni by my side I remained calm and, for the most part, unruffled (slight panic when I couldn't remember which of the multitudinous pockets in my handbag contained my passport) and we even negotiated the Madrid Metro with ease. Because it is much younger than the London Underground the tunnels, and therefore the trains, are much wider and it feels a lot less claustrophobic, and even with the language barrier, the maps were easy to understand. It probably helped that we arrived at about 9.30pm and everywhere was very quiet so we could take our time buying tickets and working out where we had to change lines.

We eventually found the hostel we were staying in overnight, having walked up and down the street several times without noticing the very discreet nameplate. Having signed in and dropped off our bags, we headed out to find food. The hostel manager had recommended the Museo de Jamon (literally: the Museum of Ham) about five minutes walk away, and what a good choice it was. It was 10.30 at night but the shop part of the establishment was still buzzing and we were seated on a balcony overlooking all the activity – people taking their time trying lots of samples before buying some of the huge range of ham, chorizo and salami-style sausages on offer (plus a good selection of cheeses) while we sat above them enjoying a plate of cheese and ham and bread and a carafe of Tinto de Verrano, which is a sort of red wine spritzer and absolutely delicious. We finally wandered back to our hostel at about midnight (the shop and restaurant were just closing).

In the morning I woke to a familiar, but totally unexpected, sound – rain! We were completely taken by surprise and were unprepared as, trying to keep the costs down, we had only travelled with hand luggage, which did not allow for the packing of a jacket – waterproof or otherwise! We strolled (fairly rapidly) around the corner to the nearest cafe serving breakfast and watched the Madrid populace scuttling past clutching umbrellas and battling with the stiff breeze – there was even some enterprising chap selling umbrellas to those who had left home unprepared.

Eventually the rain eased off enough for us to venture forth and do a quick sightseeing wander around the wet, windy and cool centre of Madrid before retrieving our bags from the hostel and heading out to the bus station and our five hour bus ride to Granada. The land to the south of Madrid is, at first, very flat and scrubby and for ages all we saw were industrial estates and the odd restaurant and a few farms, many of which appeared to be derelict. The other, slightly spooky, thing was that we saw no people or livestock – it looked as if some kind of apocalypse had removed all living beings from the landscape. Another thing that slightly shocked me was the huge amount of graffiti everywhere – any wall, embankment, derelict house, all were covered in 'tags' and I soon noticed that 'Ron' or 'Ron's Team' occurred on almost every site for miles and miles! What a busy chap he must have been! About halfway between Madrid and Granada we went through a series of tunnels in some hills and emerged into a totally different landscape – hills, and in the distance mountains, rolled away from us in every direction and every one was covered in olive trees, spaced equidistant to one another in straight rows. It was completely mind-boggling to imagine the Spanish farmers planting these trees, by hand, up and down the mountain sides and keeping to a strict grid system and then, later, having to harvest the olives and somehow get them down from those dizzying, vertiginous heights! The olive groves are kept scrupulously weed-free as olives, apparently, don't like to compete with other vegetation and there were obvious signs of rotavation, but still no people to be seen, anywhere.

We eventually rolled into Granada bus station at 7pm and caught a local bus into the centre where we found our hostel quite easily. Again the hostel manager's recommendation was a good one and we ate paella and fried whitebait in a restaurant down a charming narrow alleyway paved with pebbles and swirling designs in grey slate. It was a very vibrant area filled with restaurants and bars but we were there 'too early' to experience it to the full – we were just heading back to the hostel as the Spanish population were coming out to eat.

I love Granada! We only had one, fairly short, day there before we had to catch another bus to another town where we were being met by our hosts, but we wandered the little streets of the old Moslem quarter turning up hidden steps and emerging through archways into small squares with decorative fountains and, once, a vibrant fruit and vegetable market. Above us the sky arched blue and cloudless and the very pale terracotta tiles of the house roofs stepped down the hill below us towards the cathedral in the busy city centre. Eventually, we meandered back to a large square in the centre and ate ice cream sitting on a bench in the sunshine and unashamedly people-watching. Jeni had managed to buy some tickets online for the Alhambra, but only in the afternoon – they have timed tickets as it is so popular, but even so, we could not get a full ticket to see the main Moorish part of the palace. In fact, it didn't really matter as we spent a lot of time walking round the stunning gardens with their formal water features, roses and beautiful flowers and then climbed the tallest tower to see the city spread below us. I would love to have stayed longer and taken more time to explore Granada but our journey wasn't over yet and we had another hour and a half bus journey to endure before reaching Baza. Our hosts met us at about 8.30pm and then it was another half hour in the hire car before we finally reached our destination – Cortes de Baza.

We were not staying in the cave house as it is still very much a work-in-progress, but in the house of a Spanish lady ceramicist who had studied in England. Her house was very beautiful, with tiled floors throughout and many artistic touches and examples of her ceramics in each room. She and her new partner (she's 63 and met him on a dating site!) stayed for a couple of days and then headed off to Alicante leaving the four of us as sole occupants. Elé and her mum, Elsabé, are South African but have lived in Britain for a number of years now. Elé and her husband bought the cave house about six years ago but have only been able to visit a couple of times a year to progress the work that needs doing, so it is a long, slow process.

The next morning we all went off to a DIY superstore to look for floor tiles for the cave house as that is one of the jobs that Elé wants to get under way during this short visit and to continue when they come back in July for six weeks. Between them, she and Jeni managed to converse with the very helpful assistant – I was pleasantly surprised (and very relieved) by how much Spanish Jeni still remembers from her time in South America. It was very odd being in a country where I didn't know a word of the language and even odder when Elé and Elsabé conversed in Afrikaans as well!

After making a note of the tiles Elé liked and taking a photo to send to her husband for approval, we all trooped over the road to a ham wholesaler that was open to the public, where Elé bought a whole shoulder ham, complete with leg and trotter, (4.5Kg) for 20 euro! These hams are popular all over Spain and range in price from about 8€/Kg to 89€/Kg depending on maturity (I think) and whether they are the shoulder or hind quarter. We didn't see any sign of pigs being farmed but they are more common in the north of Spain where it doesn't get so hot. Having said that, Elé's farmer neighbour at the cave house had two pigs that lived in a cave with an outdoor run which, I suppose, gives them the best of both worlds.

We eventually got to see the cave house for ourselves late in the afternoon, after our siesta ( a very civilised idea, I think). I don't really know what I was expecting but it certainly has the potential to be a very beautiful holiday home, and surprisingly large. There was a front yard behind locked gates and then a very British-looking front door behind a security grille which, when opened allowed us to step into the room that will eventually be the kitchen and main living room. This had dual aspect double glazed windows (again behind security grilles) and was very light. Leading off from this room was a short corridor that went to the bathroom, again with a window, and continued on to the main bedroom which was a true cave room being hewn out of the rock and with no external light. Back in the main room there were other archways leading to two interior bedrooms and an interior TV room/sitting room. The two back bedrooms were the only ones that didn't yet have concreted floors and one of the jobs that Elé was hoping to start was to get a builder with a hydraulic drill to dig them down another eighteen inches or so to enable the concrete to be laid.

On Saturday morning Jeni and I started work One of the bedrooms had a locked room beyond it (referred to as 'the jail') where a lot of stuff was stored, including the generator, and our first job was to empty this and the two bedrooms of everything in preparation for the digging, and to transfer it in an orderly way to the TV room. Once we'd done this we went off to the village market to buy some fruit and vegetables while Elé met with a plumber and a builder at the cave. The fruit looked amazing and we ended up buying cherries, grapes and some flat, doughnut-shaped peaches which were just fantastic, and a water melon, amongst other things.

In the afternoon we all went for a drive and found a lake that they hadn't noticed before. We bumped down a long unmetalled road bouncing over potholes, past ruined houses and then one or two that were lived in and guarded by ferocious-looking dogs, until we got almost down to the lake's edge where we got out and took some photos. On the way back Jeni spotted a bee-eater in a tree – they are very colourful birds that look a little like a kingfisher, but bigger, and everywhere there were olive groves and almond trees and small rectangular plots of tomatoes and peppers. The almonds were already clustered thick on the branches looking like small, flat peaches – it must have been so beautiful in this area when the almond blossom was out earlier in the year.

Sunday was a day of rest so, after a leisurely shower and breakfast, we all headed off to Baza and the Car Boot Sale! I couldn't believe they had car boot sales in Spain but, apparently, it was started by some ex-pats and was just like a British one, but with Spanish tat! We only stayed a short time as it was blisteringly hot but, even then, the locals were wearing jumpers and winter boots – it was very easy to spot who was a tourist! From there we went to Lake Negratin, to a favourite swimming spot, changed into our costumes and went for a swim. We were the only ones in the water as it was far too cold for the locals – in fact the village swimming pool which I'd hoped we'd be able to use doesn't open in May at all! I was a bit disappointed about that as I'd bought a new swimsuit especially for the trip as I haven't been swimming for about twenty five years and didn't possess one! Well, at least it was christened and the lake was very 'refreshing'! The lake was an amazing turquoise blue that looks Photoshopped in my photos, but it really was that colour and reflected the surrounding mountains beautifully. The light makes everything very sharp and you can see for miles and miles in all directions.

Monday was our first proper day of work and we started by emptying everything out of the main bedroom while Elé went to buy the tiles and adhesive. She brought some back with her – the rest would be delivered by lorry that afternoon – and we set to work using the straight edge of the corridor to line up the first, very important, run of tiles. Jeni and I work well as a team and by lunchtime we had laid the first row and started on a second, checking every few tiles with a spirit level. Elé was very impressed with our first day's work. Then it was back to the house for lunch, a much-needed shower and a short siesta before heading out to one of the many bars in the village for beer and tapas. I'd discovered the hard way that if you only order coffee you don't get free tapas so I had to steel myself to try the local beer in order to 'qualify' for the tapas! Actually, drinking cold lager-type beer on a hot day was not too much of a trial after all (I don't like beer at all, normally) and it was worth it to sample the tapas. Each time you order a beer you get a different tapas and they improve in quality as you progress as an encouragement to stay 'loyal' to one bar. The first one consisted of some strips of ham and some crisps, the second was chorizo and cheese with bread and olive oil and I have to say that I can't remember the third one – perhaps the beer was stronger than I thought?

Starting on the Tuesday morning (at 7.00am) Elé employed a new Spanish builder to dig out the floor levels in the cave. It was no hardship working alongside him as he was mid-thirties, tall, tanned, good-looking with twinkly eyes and worked like a navvie! He was completely blown away by our ability to lay floor tiles as (roughly translated) 'in Spain women look after children and cook'! I think his mind was completely blown when Elé carried on with the tiling after we'd finished for the day and then told him that 'all British women can tile'! Poor guy – he must think we're some sort of super-race! That first day we had to stop tiling to shovel rubble out of the cave and deposit it in the yard but, thankfully, on day 2 he brought along a 'youf' to be his mate and we went back to tiling.

By the time we finished work on Thursday we had laid and grouted all the whole tiles in the main bedroom and part way down the corridor, the plumber had been and sorted out the pipework in the bathroom and Raoul (the builder) and his mate had dug out and shovelled several tonnes of rubble – quite an achievement for just one week.

On Friday we sorrowfully packed the hire car and shut the door on our lovely Spanish house before driving for five hours back to Madrid Airport where we said 'Goodbye' to Elé and Elsabé who were flying back to Heathrow with British Airways. We then had a five hour wait for our Easyjet flight back to Bristol! We finally boarded at 9.30pm (Spanish time) and took off just as the sun was setting, colouring the few clouds a delicate pink and giving us a wonderful view of Madrid and its surroundings as we climbed into the skies.

We were sitting on the port-side of the plane and, heading northwest, we seemed to be surfing the sunset as, all the way home, the horizon was a bright, burning orange with a tiny sliver of moon and a single star above it, that only faded as we dropped below the cloud cover somewhere north of Exeter. At that point we were flying between two layers of cloud, in a dark corridor, unable to be seen from above or below – it made me feel very small and insignificant and as if I didn't really exist anymore outside of this plane. All the rest of the passengers were reading or chatting but I was fascinated by the lights below me and kept saying to Jeni ' Do you think that's Exeter down there, or perhaps Taunton?' 'Can you see a motorway?' She thought it was very funny (and slightly embarrassing) that I was so excited but it's an awfully long time since I was airborne, so I think she forgave me!

Will I go 'international' again? I don't know yet, but I might be persuaded if Jeni comes with me again. After all, she did all the organising and I just turned up with my passport! Thanks, Jeni – it was a wonderful experience!

Jeni tiling in the cave

A Second Spring

May Day celebrations

Yesterday evening I took Jasper for a walk in the woods and reflected on my two-week stay in Moelfre, near Oswestry. I came up here at the beginning of May in time for the traditional May Day celebrations held at a nature reserve nearby. There was dancing around the Maypole, a Green Man, a Fool and a feat of strength to choose the King of the May. He then chose his Queen of the May by picking out the prettiest garland from amongst the many arranged on the ground around the Maypole. After that there was more dancing and feasting (we all took food to share) and a play about how Winter wanted to stop the Spring from happening but was defeated by his brother with a little help from the Green Man. And so we welcomed in the Spring.

The bluebell wood

In fact, I got to experience two springs as Oswestry was a few weeks behind the more southerly places that I had been so, when I arrived, there were still primroses in full bloom in the hedgerows and the bluebells were only just beginning to emerge. I have been here at the same time of year for the last four years and each time the season is at a different stage – until this year I had never seen the bluebells out in the wood, and they are stunning. Their scent is so strong, particularly in the evening, that it pervades the whole wood, even though the majority of them are located at the furthest end of the wood from the cottage.

The garden, all three acres of it, was just bursting with life and startling vistas at every turn. I 'discovered' two shrubs that I had never noticed before – one was a beautiful pink camelia, in full bloom, that has been completely submerged beneath a large shrub growing behind it, and the other was a magnolia – again it had been hidden by two shrubs that were so vigorous as to hide it almost completely. I made it my mission to clear the two shrubs away from the magnolia so that it would have a chance to thrive and show itself off to the world.

I was alone at the cottage, apart from Jasper (the Miniature Schnauzer) and Pippin and Missy (the two cats), for ten days and apart from one brief sortie into Oswestry to get provisions on one of the days that it rained, I had no human contact except for a friend of Dawn's, with whom I'd also become friendly, who came for lunch. To be honest, on the fine days that we have had for most of the last week, I didn't really miss company and had no desire to leave this peaceful and tranquil valley. How many places do you know where the only sounds for almost the entire day are bees buzzing, birds singing and lambs bleating for their mums in the fields opposite? Occasionally a car burbles past on the little lane and, one day, two cars met near the driveway and had to manoeuvre around each other! Even tractors are a rarity and the post van always gets Jasper barking.

In situations like this I find that the minutiae of Nature become quite fascinating and I spent quite a long time watching the newts in the pond lazily swimming about, grazing on the algae on the pond walls. At one point I counted at least eleven of these amphibians, and it is only a smallish pond. Dawn and Tony have also set up two bird boxes with cameras in that are wired into the TV set. One of the boxes is unoccupied all day but, at night, a nuthatch sleeps in there. This in itself is quite interesting as there was a different box at the same site last year and a pair of nuthatches raised about four chicks in there. Could this be one of last years chicks returning 'home'? However, in the other box is a bluetit nest and I watched, in wonder, as nine little eggs were revealed and soon there were eight little chicks, so tiny and unformed that they looked transparent. For two days the ninth egg lay unhatched in the seething mass of chicks but, on day three, it had disappeared and this brought me to another question – how do the bluetits remove the unhatched egg from the nestbox. I'm sure they wouldn't break it in the nest and risk contaminating the nest with addled egg (they are scrupulous about the cleanliness of the nest) but how do they physically remove it? Any ideas? The chicks were hatched on the 13^th May and by the 18^th May they had at least doubled in size and begun to show signs of plumage, although their eyes were still closed and they seemed barely able to hold up their (relatively) large heads on their slender necks.

A fox cub in the wood

My bedroom in the cottage is dual aspect, one window looking east towards the mountain down the valley and the other looks north across the valley to the correspondingly steep slope on the other side. This area is grazed extensively at this time of year by ewes and lambs but there is little human presence and so it was no great surprise, on looking out of my window one day, to see a fox hunting in broad daylight. Having caught a vole or a mouse in the dead bracken, it made its way back down hill and then followed the course of the stream and disappeared into the bottom corner of the wood. I saw her several times afterwards and wondered if she had cubs in a den on the woodland boundary, amongst the bluebells. On one of my last evenings there I decided that I would try and get a photo of the cottage and garden from across the valley so I climbed over the stock fence and walked over to the stream. I was just about to turn round to take my photo when I saw movement at the edge of the wood and there were two young foxes playing, not fifty yards from me. Hardly daring to breathe, I slowly got my camera out of my pocket, took it out of the case, zoomed in and just pointed in their general direction and clicked – I didn't dare raise it as high as my face to aim it properly. A couple of the shots were complete duds, but I did get two photos in which, with looking carefully, you can see the two fox cubs amongst the undergrowth. Magical!

And that word sums up this place for me – magical! I never sleep as well anywhere else and the garden is a joy to work in (apart from the fact that you are almost continually working on a slope). The greenhouses and vegetable garden were just exploding into productivity and the terraced beds held different delights wherever you looked: yellow tree peonies, huge pink and red rhododendrons, the exquisitely scented, bright sunshine-yellow Azalea luteum, a laburnum tree in full flower but with a canopy of pink Clematis montana climbing over it, bluebells, white bells and even pink bells in nearly every border and the perennial geraniums are just getting into gear to explode into bloom for the rest of the summer.

I know my anniversary blog sounded a bit downbeat because I felt that I had almost got into a rut with my WWOOFing but when you have such special places to return to, its very hard to tear yourself away and deny yourself the pleasure of revisiting more than once a year. So, I expect, I shall be coming back here later in the year, 'cos I just can't stay away!

The cottage and garden, Moelfre

4th Anniversary Blog

Bluebell wood at Moelfre, Powys

Well, here we are again – another year of WWOOFing under my belt! I can't quite believe that I have now completed four years of this nomadic lifestyle as I only originally intended doing it for a year!

I was going to do a resume of everywhere I'd been but its very similar to last year, so I thought I'd give you some 'stats' instead!

Number of new WWOOF hosts I've visited this year = 0

Number of previous WWOOF hosts I've visited this year = 4

Number of weeks farm/house-sitting (therefore on my own) = 15

Number of weeks over-wintering in Cheltenham = 20

Number of weeks actually WWOOFing = 52 – (20 + 15) = 17

Number of weddings attended = 0

Number of funerals attended = 1

Number of book launches attended = 1

Number of festivals attended = 1

Well, I think that's enough of that – it doesn't make very edifying reading! Far too much time spent on my own, far too long spent being (relatively) idle in Cheltenham and a very narrow range of WWOOF hosts visited – things will have to improve/change if I'm to continue doing this for another year!

I think I'll leave it at that for now and write another blog shortly about my latest stay near Oswestry.

Rhododendron bloom, Moelfre, Powys

Minding the menagerie

The Geese at Willow Cottage

On 10^th April I left Cornwall behind me and headed back up the A30. It was a beautifully sunny, spring day and on impulse I decided not to go up the M5 to Bristol so at the junction above Exeter I turned right and headed off to Honiton, as I'd never been there before. For some reason Honiton was originally famous for lacemaking and, in fact, Queen Victoria's wedding dress was made of Honiton lace. The town itself is very pretty but I didn't stop at all, just drove through the middle and took a northbound road out. It wasn't long before I realised that I was still too far west and would meet up with the motorway again at Cullompton so I 'hung a right' at the next junction and went completely 'off piste'. In fact I was so completely 'off piste' that some of the hamlets I went through did not feature in my Road Atlas at all! During that morning I became intimately acquainted with the highways and byways of the Blackdown Hills, eventually hitting the A303 purely by accident just south of Ilminster. I drove on towards Yeovil knowing that I really needed to go north quite soon if I was ever going to get to Bristol before nightfall! By now I really needed to stop for a drink, etc so, seeing a sign for East Lambrook Manor Gardens near Martock, I turned off and made my stop. I realised as I was driving towards it that I'd been there before about nine years ago when I was on holiday with my brother and his family in South Somerset. It was the home of the garden designer Marjorie Fish and is very well known as a spring garden so I'd picked the right time of year to come back. They have the most amazing collection of hellebores and it seems to have been an exceptionally good year for them, for some reason. I spent about half an hour walking round the gardens and then, feeling refreshed, continued on my slightly odd route to Dundry.

When I arrived I was greeted effusively by the two labradors – Merlin and Sampson. Sampson is now a very tall, gangly 'teenager' being eleven months old and, as I heard the tales of all his many minor and several major misdemeanours, I wondered how he had lived to be that old! I began to worry about how I was going to cope with this new addition to the menagerie as it seemed he couldn't be trusted with anything – if it was edible, he would eat it; if it was inedible, he would chew it into tiny fragments and strew them everywhere. There were lots of other 'new additions' as Sally had not taken out the ram lambs quickly enough in the autumn and all thirteen ewes had been impregnated! Typically, in a year when Sally had not intended having any lambs, she ended up with twenty three – the most she has ever had! There was an addition to the goose pen, too, as the little fluffy gosling that I had helped nurture last year had joined the flock. Unfortunately, it turned out to be another gander and he wasn't as 'courteous' as his father – in fact he was best approached with a yard broom in your hand! I also had the care of nineteen newly-hatched chicks and, my goodness, don't they grow fast! At the beginning of the week they were small, fluffy balls and at the end of the week they had most of their wing and tail feathers and were ready to move from the brooder box to an inside run.

The family left for their week's holiday in the early hours of Saturday morning and I was left 'home alone'. Sally had asked if I could plant out the sweet pea plants that her daughter had given her, but when I went to get them they had disappeared. There were, however, two newly chewed-up plastic flower pots on the lawn. I searched around and found the contents of one pot more or less unscathed so I put them in a container of water to revive. I had been told that Sampson dug up plants almost as soon as they had been planted and, in fact, he'd dug up the heather plants that Geoff had tried to plant so many times that they gave up trying! I cast my eye around the garden for suitable places to plant sweet peas and then, that evening, once it was dark, I shut the dogs in the house and planted them out by torchlight, basing my theory on the premise that if he didn't see me plant them, he might be less inclined to dig them up again! (When I left two weeks later, they were still where I'd planted them, so the theory may be correct – or he may just prefer sweet peas to heathers!) I eventually found the contents of the second pot two days later and, as it had been a very hot few days, they were somewhat desiccated. I soaked them for several days and then planted them but I don't hold out much hope for their survival. I think Sampson fancies himself as a bit of a gardener as he didn't like to see dead things in pots – these he would upend on the lawn, chew up the flower pot and then any dried up twigs; he also dead-headed daffodils and bluebells – well, the heads were dead when he'd finished with them! He did, however, have a lovely nature so you couldn't remain cross with him for long, but he was exhausting to look after as you had to keep one, or preferably two, steps ahead of him at all times.

The week that the family were away was the most glorious weather, just like summer except for a cool breeze, and it was a pleasure to go out in the mornings and open up the chicken runs. It's a good job that they don't have any very near neighbours, though, as the cockerels make quite a din and started at about 4.30am! My busiest times were for a couple of hours first thing in the morning and again as the sun was setting so, in between, I did a little light gardening and then read or did some spinning. I have started a new peg loom rug but, this time, I am making it from spun yarn rather than raw, twisted fleece. It is a good way of practising my spinning and being able to use the 'textured' (ie badly-spun) thread that results!

I had one fatality (other than the sweet peas) whilst they were away and that happened on the last evening that I was in charge. I went out to feed the ewes and lambs at about 6.30pm and they all came streaming down the hill bleating and jostling for position while I distributed the ewe nuts evenly along a clean bit of grass. However, once I'd finished spreading out the food and the ewes were all eating, one of the ewes was still running distractedly up and down bleating loudly. She seemed to be checking all the lambs and getting more and more agitated. I had been just about to do the daily head count of lambs and check that they were all OK – I could only count 22. Now, this is not unusual for me as I am notoriously bad at counting sheep so, I was about to start again when I realised that this ewe was still making quite a fuss, so I looked up across the field and there, right in the middle, I could see a little body. When I reached the lamb it was still warm, but very dead, so the only thing I could do was drag the body down the field, out of the gate and into a dis-used stable. Unfortunately, it had been the ewe's only lamb – many of the others had had twins, so she was very distressed and I could still hear her calling for it when I went to bed, which was upsetting. However, by the morning she had become resigned to her loss and had stopped calling and by the evening she rejoined the flock for the feeding frenzy. There was no sign of anything wrong with the lamb, but there are many infections that they can fall prey to where the first symptom (according to a sheep veterinary book) is 'sudden death'. Quite often it is the larger lambs that keel over for no apparent reason and usually between one and two months old.I knew that there had been nothing I could have done to prevent it, but I still didn't relish having to tell Geoff and Sally upon their return. Luckily, they also knew that this happens sometimes but it was a tremendous shame as it had been a ewe lamb that Sally had earmarked to join the flock as a replacement. I was quite relieved to hand back responsibility for the 'menagerie' and slept like a log on Saturday night!

It was Easter Sunday the next day so Jeni came over and we drove up to Cheltenham for a couple of days to spend time with Mum, Dave and my brother and his family – a nice family interlude. I then returned to Dundry as I had promised to help Sally ear tag the lambs and also help with preparations for her upcoming Open Day when she raises money for an African aid project. However, I did manage to visit a couple of good friends on Thursday afternoon and another couple on Friday afternoon, so it wasn't all work, by any means.

On the Saturday morning I drove up to Cheltenham where I have just spent nearly a week with Mum, doing a few bits and pieces in her garden and generally being spoilt.

Wildlife notes:

Sally has a nesting box with camera wired up to a monitor in the kitchen and, during my second week there Mrs Blue-tit started to incubate about 8 or 9 eggs.

I saw my first swallows on 24^th April, which is a bit later than I usually notice them, although Jeni had seen some on our way back from Cheltenham on Easter Monday.

My mother's neighbour saw three hedgehogs in her garden two nights ago, which is really encouraging as I haven't seen a hedgehog (dead or alive) for some years.

There seem to be a good number of bumble bees around at the moment and honey bees seem to have survived the winter well, according to two friends who each have several colonies.

Yellow double Hellebore

Purple double Hellebore

The WWOOFing year begins!

No 74 (Lady) and her ewe lamb

On the 17^th March I finally set off from Cheltenham to start my WWOOFing year by going down to Cornwall. The weather was dry and overcast but, as I reached Launceston, the sun came out and shone brilliantly on the primrose-speckled hedgebanks as I drove along. In places there were clumps of 'feral' daffodils, originally planted by those long ago Tamar Valley nurserymen who refused to lose all their hard work and heritage when the War Office said they had to grow food instead, and transferred their bulbs to the hedgebanks where they have flourished, bred and spread ever since.

I arrived to find that the old milking parlour in the yard was now just a shell, and all the accumulated detritus of years had been cleared away. Two men were busy knocking out the back wall which had been in imminent danger of collapse and, over the next three weeks I was to witness this phoenix rising from the ashes as Nick, Pat and Harry carefully rebuilt two of the walls, knocked out the concrete block infills between the original granite pillars, and restored the building to a semblance of its original self. Next time I go the new slate roof will be in place, resting on massive green oak beams that will span the four granite pillars at the front, there will be an oak-framed window in the back wall, looking down across the fields to the wood, and a 'squint' looking up the track past the house. Nick used to be a dairy farmer but he says he's better now – he just has beef cattle instead! Restoration of farm buildings started as a necessity on his own farm but, as his skill grew, he became sought-after by other people in the area to renovate their barns, etc.

Jo was away quite a lot of the first week, staying at her daughter's house about three miles away, as Mary had had a complicated operation and was unable to do much for herself and certainly couldn't get the children to school over near Tavistock, so it was easier for Jo to base herself there and for James and I to go over in the evenings for a meal. James was also due to be away for a few days so I, unexpectedly, did a farm sit for them. Luckily, most of the sheep were in paddocks near the farm and it was relatively easy to take out silage and sheep nuts to them once a day. The good weather that greeted my arrival did not last and I was soon reduced to wearing my waterproofs whenever I went outside, plus it turned much colder for a few days. Some of the sheep were right at the bottom of the farm, down a track through the woods and across a small stream, and I had to check them once a day, although they had plenty of hay in their hayrack so I didn't need to replenish that at all. However, my Achilles tendon started to play up after a couple of days so I commandeered the quad bike (I did have permission) and rode that down to the woods. It made life a great deal easier and was good fun – I even got into second gear at one point! I realised that it is probably the nearest I shall ever get to riding a motorbike, so made the most of it.

A week after I arrived at the farm, Jeni came down from Somerset to spend nearly a week helping, too. It was fantastic having her company and finally being able to show her the lovely oak woods and the Shepherd's Hut and the holiday barn conversion and all the other things that I have been talking about for so long. She has now been to nearly all of my 'regular' WWOOF hosts so can visualise more clearly what I am up to. We went and stayed in the holiday bungalow a little way along the lane from the farm so that we could have our own space, although we ate most meals with Jo and James.

One of the 'jobs' that I'd been saving until Jeni's arrival was the bonfire. I had tried (and failed) to have this bonfire back in the autumn and again in January, but the wet weather had made it impossible, so now was our moment (between rain showers!). There were three heaps of twigs and small branches that had been added to since the autumn and now there was some old cane furniture from the old milking parlour, plus one of the apple trees in the orchard had blown down in the storms, so we got to cut all the brashy bits off that, too. In true family tradition we kept that bonfire burning for three days, despite the rainy weather, and had a wonderful time – my hair still smelled of smoke after shampooing it twice!

The other main job was to get the barn ready for lambing and to bring the pregnant ewes inside. To this end, Jeni and I power-hosed all the sheep hurdles, feed troughs and hayracks, plus we scoured the farm for all the serviceable buckets and scrubbed them out, too. Once all the sheep hurdles were in place, James manoeuvred the large round bales of hay and straw, with the tractor, to form shelter barriers outside of these, and then we bedded up the whole area with fresh straw. The next day, Friday, we brought the pregnant ewes in from the field and split them into two groups in the barn – those that were going to have singles, and those that were going to have twins (or, in two cases, triplets) so that James could feed them different quantities of sheep pellets.

On Saturday we decided to revisit the Lost Gardens of Heligan that we had last been to in 2001, but this was not to be, as my little car, always so reliable, got about ten minutes away from the farm and then boiled over. The Peugeot has a slightly alarming beeper that goes off if there is something amiss and a red flashing sign saying 'STOP!', so I pulled over, rang my rescue service and waited for a knight in shining armour to turn up! Whilst we waited at the side of the road, instead of playing 'I Spy......something beginning with 'C'.....car!', I found a crochet hook and some wool in the depths of my boot and proceeded to give Jeni a lesson in the art (craft?) of crochet square making! The time went by quite quickly and, after about an hour, a cheerful chap in a white transit van turned up, found the leak (the hose at the bottom of the radiator), re-filled the system with water and escorted us back to the garage just down the road from the farm – not exactly a knight, but he'd do! You should always be careful what you wish for, as Jeni and I had wanted to go to the pub, called The Springer Spaniel, for Mother's Day lunch but they were fully booked but, as we had to walk right past it on the way back to the farm to get Jeni's little car, we decided to call in and see if we could have Saturday lunch instead! It was delicious and well- worth it – no wonder they'd been fully booked, but it did mean that we had to curtail our outing, so we went north to Boscastle instead, with me at the wheel and The Navigator back in charge of the route!

On Sunday, we went to Looe on the south coast by way of many places that even Cornishmen don't know about! At one point, as we bounced down a rutted lane with grass growing in the middle of it, I thought we were going to end up in a farmyard but, miraculously, the lane carried on through the farmyard and eventually met up with a slightly bigger lane and then we were on the road to Looe. We ate pasties, bought in Looe, on the pebbly beach at Talland Bay and then meandered back to the bungalow where Jeni packed her things and drove back to Somerset – suddenly the light seemed a little dimmer, and the day lost its glow.

However, I wasn't able to mope for long as things were revving up in the lambing shed. On Tuesday I helped James gather all the lambing equipment together on a table next to the pens – iodine for putting on the navels, bottles and stomach tubes for any weak lambs, syringes, needles, gloves and all the paraphernalia required in a busy maternity unit! On Thursday evening the first lamb put in an appearance (a few days earlier than dates would have indicated) and we were away! By the time I left, on the following Thursday, eleven ewes had already lambed of an expected twenty seven – Henry, the new stock ram, had obviously taken his new job very seriously! I'm sure you are all wondering about No 74 (aka 'Lady', the miracle sheep) and I am pleased to report that on the day before I was leaving she produced a pretty little ewe lamb – mother and baby are doing well!

Another of the jobs that I did was to trim and tidy the willow 'folly' down by the pond. It is gradually getting quite well established, despite being savaged by the hedge trimmer on one side last year, and all the new growth needed to be woven into the structure, or cut off, to keep the dome shape. Finding myself with quite a lot of long, supple willow wands, I decided to construct something in my spare time, rather than throw them on the bonfire heap – so I made a willow sheep (what else!) for Jo and James to place outside their Shepherd Hut, in the field above the pond. It was lovely working down by the pond, especially on the Tuesday afternoon when it was warm and sunny, the only sounds being the gentle trickle of water from the pond overflow and the birdsong from the woods below me. I'm not much good at willow weaving and felt a bit frustrated that the vision in my head would not translate into reality in my hands but, it felt fantastic to be out in the open air, creating something and feeling, if not fully happy, at least content.

On Thursday, 10^th April, I repacked my (repaired) little car and drove towards Bristol and a farm sitting job.

The Willow Sheep