Autumn Walk

Early morning, Autumn dawning.

The rain-bleached sky an ethereal blue, combed with wisps of high cirrus cloud.

Sheep in the field rising and stretching,

shaking like dogs, from tail to head,

the droplets flying from their ears like crystals from a dowager's necklace, spilling on the ground.

Water tinkling from drain pipes; dripping from ferns; chattering over the pebbles in the trackside rill; onwards, always onwards and downwards towards the mill.

A pause at the pond,

all seems silent and still, where, in summer, dragons hunted the margins on gossamer wings.

A sudden flash, bright colours glinting, like gems on the hilt of an ancient sword held aloft by a naiads hand, as a kingfisher darts, iridescent in the rip of sunlight.

Stillness returns, but the water moves on, gathering momentum, gurgling over stones, twigs and leaves while overhead the mosses on the ancient oak boughs drip their melancholy syncopation to add to the torrent now throwing itself downhill, in joyous abandon, crashing over the weir to join the over-burdened river on its rush to the sea.

In the woods, the air stills, the oaks seem to exhale a long relaxing breath at the end of their busy summer, and huddle more closely into the lee of the hill.

A leaf falls.

Of heroes, tiles and tyres

The rotten floor boarding

 Have you noticed that heroes and super-heroes often have a trusty sidekick? Sherlock Holmes had Watson; the Range Rider had Dick West (the All American Boy); the Lone Ranger had Tonto; Roy Rogers had Trigger; Batman had Robin; Dangermouse had Penfold; and Superted had Spotty! Quite often the reason for these sidekicks was to act as a sounding board for ideas and theories and also to step in on the odd occasion when the hero was in too much trouble to get out by himself.

Unfortunately for me, Super-WWOOFer (so designated by my daughter), has not had the benefit of her sidekick, 'The Navigator', as her day job (as Jeni Oborn, mild-mannered secretary and PA), has kept her from my side. Even the local ex- hero, Super-Pooman (ex-hubby, Barry – so-called because he used to be a herdsman on a local farm) has turned into a grumpy old man with two replacement knees, and his faithful sidekick, Shitty-Mutt (liked to roll in badger poo!) has long since gone to doggy heaven. So, basically, I was on my own.

The task at hand? To go to my cottage and sort out the kitchen floor! When I went to look round it a few weeks ago to assess its condition, the first thing that I noticed (and so will anyone else) was that the floor in the kitchen was very uneven and the vinyl was torn. It was obvious that water had got under the vinyl and that the flooring board we had laid on top of the concrete had acted like a sponge and then swelled up.

I decided that the best way forward was to remove the rotten boarding and replace the vinyl with ceramic tiles. However, when Barry and I replaced the original ceramic tiles (they were a hideous mottled pink colour) we had laid the flooring boards wall-to-wall and then built in the kitchen units on top, which seemed like a good idea......at the time. Obviously, I couldn't take out the units so I would have to cut out as much of the damaged board as possible – but how?

At this point I went to my local builders' merchants, CRS (where I know the boss), and asked for advice. They suggested using a circular saw so off I went to the local hire shop and hired one for the next day as they didn't have one in stock.

That night I found I had a flat tyre so, bright and early, I went to the local tyre place to get it fixed. However, it wasn't the tyre that was the problem – the wheel rim had rusted through and the air was bubbling out through the metal work! They put on my space-saver spare wheel (what is the point of those?) and I spent an hour or so of precious floor-cutting time, trawling round the local scrap yards looking for a spare Peugeot wheel rim. Luckily I found one at my second scrapyard about ten miles away, bought it and took it back to have my tyre refitted. Towards lunchtime I finally got back on track and started removing the floor. It was a horrible job as the circular saw was quite a chunky one, vibrated a lot and spat out flakes of chipboard and sawdust everywhere. It also left a margin of about 1.5 inches (38mm) all round the units, so my initial idea of putting down a floor screed and laying the tiles on the top level with the original floor wouldn't work, as a margin of chipboard would be visible. I also discovered that Barry had screwed the boards down in certain places and the screws had rusted solid so, after prising the boards over the screws, I then had to hit them at the base with a hammer and chisel to break them off. Finally, I had as much of the old, damp mildewy boards removed as possible and carried them outside and then it was time to go back to the builders' merchants!

They suggested sealing the concrete with a bitumen coating and then relaying new chipboard flooring board on top, so that it was level with the old floor, and then tiling over the whole lot, as long as it didn't stop any doors opening. In that respect, my luck was in as, raising the floor by the depth of the tile, would not affect anything too much. I ordered the flooring boards but couldn't take them with me as they come in 8 foot (2400mm) by 2 foot (600mm) lengths, so later that afternoon they were delivered. The guy unloaded them for me and put them outside the cottage and then I encountered the next problem – getting them into my cottage as I thought it might rain. It's difficult to describe how awkward it was to manoeuvre the boards into the cottage as they had to be lifted vertically into the small entrance lobby, rotated 90 degrees and then lifted up a small step and slid into the utility room before being propped horizontally against the wall. The sheets themselves are solid, bulky and smooth on both surfaces, so they are not easy to get a grip on and I had six to get indoors. After three I was virtually exhausted and almost in tears – I so needed my trusty sidekick at that point, if only to shout words of encouragement - but I managed to get them all in and then drove back to Jeni's where she stepped into super-hero mode with a reviving cuppa and then cooked supper. I was so glad that I'd persevered with moving them as it poured with rain that night!

I didn't do any work at the cottage over the weekend as the bitumen coating had to dry out. Luckily I hadn't had to do the whole floor as, on most of it, we'd laid a damp proof membrane (why didn't we do the entire floor?). So I was able to attend the Wells Festival of Literature on Sunday to hear four speakers talking about different aspects of nature and the countryside under the banner of the Somerset Wildlife Trust. Jeni had also managed to get a ticket so we spent a couple of hours sitting in a large marquee in the grounds of the Bishop's Palace, before emerging and going to investigate the Wells Food Festival which was being held in the Market Square, along the Palace moat and in a nearby park. It is amazing the range of foods that are available from the local-ish area – all sorts of cheeses made from goat, sheep and cows milk, biltong, rare-breed bacon, ciders, artisan breads, cakes, chocolate, etc. My favourite Lovett pies were also there so we bought four to help Phil sell out so that he could look around the rest of the festival – we saw him wandering around later, so he must have sold out. We bumped into several people that we knew and altogether had a lovely day off.

All too soon Monday rolled round and with it the need to visit Wells Tyres again – this time because I thought my exhaust was blowing. It was, and I needed two or possibly three bits of the four-part system replaced – the catalytic converter end had only been replaced just over a year ago, so that was OK. Phew! It was booked in for Tuesday morning so I was able to use it to drive to Glastonbury to buy the tiles, before driving back to Draycott and fighting with the flooring boards again. Because the weather was decidedly damp I set up workshop in the utility room which is quite a restricted workspace – once I'd got a flooring board on to the Workmate there was barely room for me to squeeze past.

The first board I had to lay was virtually full length with a notch cut out of one end to fit into a doorway. I measured twice (measure twice, cut once!) and felt quite proud of myself when it only needed minor adjustment in situ. Before I laid board number 2 (again, full length with a notch cut out) I checked to see whether it was a tongue or a groove that I needed to match up with board number 1, and that was when I read the 1.5 inch high stencilled lettering on the boards that said 'This side up'. Of course, I'd laid board number 1 with the other side up – idiot! So I had to cut a new board and utilise the wrongly-cut board as board number 2 which was narrower. After that first mistake things went a bit more easily and most of the other boards were a lot shorter and easier to manipulate into place. By the end of the day I had all the flooring down and sealed with PVA and the good bit was that I had only used four of the six boards so could return the others for a refund. Bonus!

First tiles laid on top of new flooring board

On Tuesday morning I took my car in to have the exhaust done, only to find when I got there (a distance of 0.25 mile at most) that I had another flat tyre! I really couldn't believe this run of bad luck – my car rarely gives me any problems. The worst part was that I had to kick my heels in a rain-soaked Wells for an hour when I could have been doing the kitchen floor. From Wells I drove to Glastonbury and bought an electric tile cutter from Screwfix as I couldn't bear the thought of doing fiddly little cuts and angles with a manual one. Back to Draycott and my work day finally started at about 11.30! Assembling the tile cutter was a bit tricky as the photos in the handbook were a bit dark and I couldn't work out where one bit went at all, at first, but once it was up and running things went pretty smoothly. By the end of the day I had all the whole tiles laid and was ready to start cutting the edge ones, but my hands were aching pretty badly from mixing the tile adhesive manually in a bucket so I gave up and went 'home'.

It was with great trepidation that I approached my car in the morning and checked it all round, but it was fine so I got to the cottage in good time, only to decide to go and get some more tile adhesive from CRS. I also bought a mechanical mixer (like a giant whisk attachment) for my drill to save the wear and tear on my poor hands, and asked for someone to collect the spare flooring boards tomorrow, as it would be my last day on-site. The guys in there have been really patient and helpful and I've learned quite a bit!

Armed with all the kit I could possibly need I managed to cut and lay all the rest of the floor tiles by mid-afternoon and then painted one of the bedroom walls and fixed the curtain rail which had fallen down. Things were beginning to look better!

Thursday dawned (very early – Jeni and I were drinking cups of tea at 5.30am!) and my designated 'final day'. I should have been in Cornwall on Monday, but kept having to defer my arrival as the job became larger and larger. Luckily, Jo and James were very understanding and just said 'Come when you've finished, we're flexible'. I finished cleaning the cottage and doing last minute bits and pieces before I started on the grouting as I wouldn't be able to walk through the kitchen into the rest of the cottage once I'd done it.

The grouting took longer than I'd expected, particularly cleaning up the tiles carefully afterwards, as it said it's almost impossible to get off once it's dried, so I spent ages on my hands and knees with a damp sponge and a bucket of water – brought back 'happy' memories of my house-cleaning days! I was really pleased with the effect once I'd finished and the kitchen does look a lot better now. Was it all worth it? I really hope so, especially as I may well go back in a few weeks time (after Cornwall) to tile the small entrance lobby and the steps down into the kitchen using the two boxes of tiles I have left over!

Jeni reckons that I'm some sort of a super-hero but I think I'm just bloody pig-headed – I refuse to be defeated by jobs once I've started them, often to my own physical detriment!

The finished floor!

One of our ducks is missing................

Roe deer in the orchard at Dundry

 I left Moelfre on a hazy, overcast Thursday morning and drove across Shropshire via Shrewsbury and Bridgnorth to Kidderminster and on to the M5 at Worcester. As I drove further south, the weather began to clear and it was soon a sunny, autumnal day and very warm in the car. I hadn't been in a happy mood for a couple of days and was finding the drive a bit difficult (I often find driving is when I feel at my loneliest) so I randomly chose a CD from the box in the passenger footwell – it turned out to be a copy of a Canned Heat album that my friend JP recorded for me years ago and, after playing it through twice at full volume I felt much better!

It took me about three hours to get to Bristol and my next 'assignment', a farm sit at Dundry. This was my second visit of the year, but a few things had changed – the rabbit had 'shuffled off this mortal coil' on the Sunday before I arrived, which was very sad, because he was quite cute and not very old, but there was a new tortoise added to the collection, who was also quite cute and tiny compared to the 'girls'. I think he may well get hen-pecked (or is it tortoise-pecked?). There were slightly fewer chickens, I was led to believe(!), two extra ducks, making 10 in total, and 7 geese. There were still 42 sheep, after this Spring's little accidental population explosion and, of course, there were the two Labradors and the six cats, so quite a handful to be looking after. Obviously, you need to be very precise about numbers of animals (apart from the chickens that I have never actually counted) as, at the end of the farm sit, you hope to hand back the same number – preferably all still breathing!

I did a hand over with Sally on Thursday afternoon and Friday morning, as they were leaving on Friday afternoon. There were two ram lambs in one of the stables because they had had a late case of fly strike (a euphemism for 'maggot attack') and had some nasty bald patches on their rear ends. We decided that it was better to keep them in for the week where I could easily monitor their progress and, as we had had a huge electrical storm on Thursday evening and it was warm and humid, we thought we'd better get the rest of the sheep into a pen and give them a quick once-over as well, as that was ideal 'fly strike' weather.

We managed to get them all into a pen relatively easily and that's when the fun really began! We wanted to catch one ram lamb who had had a minor fly strike problem, not because we were worried about his health, but because Sally had noticed that he still appeared to have some parts of his anatomy that he should have been without, and therefore needed to be removed to a safe distance from the females of the flock to avoid a repetition of the Spring flock increase! We caught him quite easily and put him in the stable with the other boys and then we thought we'd better check the rest of the ram lambs for 'accoutrements' – there were twelve rams in total and three were already out of the flock, so we were rather dismayed to discover that the majority of the other nine still seemed to be sporting their 'bits'. I hasten to add, that Sally had had a friend in to castrate the lambs, and was composing a rude text message to him as we worked!

Having separated the rams from the ewes, we then thought we'd better check everyone for fly strike and found a couple more with maggots in their fleeces. I won't go into graphic details but, suffice it to say that, left untreated, a sheep with fly strike can be dead in a couple of days – and I certainly didn't want that, so we ploughed on until all 42 sheep had been checked, trimmed and treated where necessary. This led to a late and slightly strained departure for the holiday, but at least we had treated everything and separated the (potential)boys from the girls!

I kept a careful eye on the flock for the next couple of days and by Sunday realised that another of the rams looked as if he had a problem and I would have to take action. Knowing that I had to try and get them into a smaller space so that I could catch him, I lured them into one of the larger chicken runs that opened off the paddock they were in. Once I had them safely inside I constructed a further pen-within-a-pen, using sheep hurdles, and managed to catch all nine of them. I then caught the boy in question and had just started sorting out his rear end when my mobile rang. It was Jeni to say that she was just leaving Wells and would be with me soon, so I told her I couldn't talk for long as I was removing maggots from a sheep's bottom and had got to a rather crucial point! There was a slightly stunned silence from the other end of the phone but, knowing the strange things her mother gets up to, she soon recovered her equilibrium and rang off. Luckily, that was the last of the sheep problems for the week and, as the nights grew colder, the possibility of further attacks grew less and less.

The rest of the animals behaved in a more or less exemplary manner – Samson, the younger Labrador, only escaped twice, and that was only into another paddock that he couldn't get out of (a bit like tunnelling into the cell next door) and Mike, the handyman, soon put paid to that little excursion by blocking up the hole – for a large dog he can get through remarkably small spaces.

However, Fate had one more little joke to play on me before the end of the week: Julie, who lives in a flat at the farm, kindly came out to help me shut up the poultry on the Saturday evening that Geoff and Sally were due back. We'd spent the afternoon creosoting a chicken ark and were looking forward to sharing a bottle of wine and cooking a quiche for Sunday lunch and having some supper. We'd shut up just about all the arks and runs when I went in to feed the ducks and shut them into their house – there were only 9! Julie came in too and we counted them again – 9, and again - 9. I even knew which duck was missing – inevitably, it was one of the new ones, with dark greeny-black plumage and a tufted head. I ran and got a torch and put on my wellies before going back to join Julie who was bashing down the undergrowth in the pen. I waded into the pond and poked about in the undergrowth on the far side but there was no sign of her. By now it was almost dark and we were looking for a virtually black duck in deep and impenetrable undergrowth! In the end we gave up and went inside – I was so upset to have got so near to the end of the farm-sit and then for this to happen, because I knew, that even if she was still alive out there, she wouldn't be by the morning, as the fox makes his/her rounds of the pens every night and anything outside the house would be dinner. After a rather subdued supper, Julie went outside again for a last look around, and came rushing back in to say she'd heard the duck splashing in the pond so, we shot back out armed (footed?) with wellies and a torch and, amazingly, there was the duck waiting to be let back into the duck house! We had no idea where she could have been hiding as the pen is not that big, but we were so relieved that we went inside and cracked open another bottle of wine and then Geoff and Sally came back and we opened another bottle of wine! I finally made it to bed at gone 1.00am!

I stayed on for a couple of days after they got home (mainly to sober up!) and spent one day cutting down a load of brambles, so that I could have a bonfire, and creosoted another two chicken arks, before I left to return to Cheltenham for a few days.

A 'significant' birthday and another visit to Moelfre

My 60th birthday cake

The reason that I was heading back to Cheltenham in mid-August was to celebrate a 'significant birthday' – my 60^th! My birthday was actually on the 18^th, which was a Monday, so we held the celebration on Saturday, 16^th. All my family managed to get there and most of them were able to stay for the weekend, which was lovely. In addition, my best friends, Karen and Ade also made it up from Somerset to join us all at a local restaurant for lunch. The food was good, the company better, and the icing on the cake, so to speak, was a beautifully decorated cake made by Jeni that was brought in by the front-of-house staff singing 'Happy Birthday'! I had an amazing time and a fantastic weekend altogether.

Back at the beginning of August my tenant of two years gave a month's notice. For some time prior to that I had said that I would put the cottage on the market if he gave notice, so I have come to, what feels like, an important decision and have put it on the market. If it sells it will mean that my WWOOFing lifestyle will have to change a bit as I will have to have at least a part-time job as, without the rent from a tenant, I have no income. I feel that the time has come to look around for somewhere to settle while I still have the strength and enthusiasm to do my own garden. Having reached my 60^th birthday it feels like a good time to take stock and consider what I really want to do with the next phase of my life. I have several ideas that I would like to explore and may share them with you all later, so 'watch this space'!

Having spent a couple of weeks back in Cheltenham resting and doing some gardening for my mum, I headed down to Somerset for a couple of days and stayed with Jeni in Wells. Whilst there I caught up with my step-daughter and her mum and also went over to Draycott to take a good look around the cottage as my agent said it was damp. It did show signs of damp, but I was pretty convinced that it was mainly a condensation problem rather than penetrating damp. However, Jeni's boss, who is the surveyor who originally did the survey for me eleven years ago, offered to come out with a damp meter and give it the once over. Yes, there is some penetrating damp, but not much, and it could be relatively easily fixed but, as I thought, most of the problem is condensation from inadequate ventilation. I've got to be back in Somerset at the beginning of October, so may get the chance to do some remedial stuff then.

On Friday, 5^th September Jeni and I packed up the Peugeot and headed north to Oswestry where I was WWOOFing for two weeks and Jeni was WWOOFing for one week – there's nothing like taking a holiday from work and then working in someone else's garden! We stopped at the new Gloucester Services on the M5 as it has a 'Farmers' Market' of local produce (including the delicious Lovett Pies, plug, plug!). The whole service area is impressive as it is hidden from view under a grass roof, the toilets are clearly indicated (unlike many of the older ones) and everything is light and airy with a lovely-looking restaurant, too. Back on the road again and I decided to come off at the Gloucester turn and head up through Ledbury towards Ludlow and Craven Arms. We stopped at the wonderfully-named village of Redmarley D'Abitot to eat our picnic lunch and then continued north. However, the traffic was quite heavy on this road so we headed off towards Welshpool and then Jeni navigated us across country to Moelfre.

Jeni and the remains of the bonfire!

There followed the most wonderful week, working together in Dawn and Tony's fantastic garden. We started off by tidying and weeding the two beds that we had created a couple of years ago and then I took the loppers to several overgrown shrubs, while Jeni widened and levelled one of the main paths to the central lodge. Of course, all this pruning created large amounts of bonfire material, so we just had to have a fire! We kept it going for three days until we had our day off and the ashes went too cold to start it again.

Inside the church of St Melangell

On our day off I took Jeni to Pennant Melangell where I had visited last year. She was as entranced by the little church, nestled in its hidden valley in the Berwyn Mountains, as I had been and we'd picked a perfect day – wide blue skies with a hazy, golden late-summer light making everything glow as if lit from within

Our Ploughman's Lunches!

From there we drove back to the recently re-opened Green Inn at Llangedwyn and had the most fantastic Ploughman's Lunch which I followed up with their version of Eton Mess! I didn't eat again until the next morning! Jeni then took us 'off piste' again and we made a circular journey through the mountains near Moelfre where we encountered huge numbers of recently-released pheasants wandering in a confused way along the lanes and then two cows and their calves who, luckily, were in a laid-back mood and just allowed us to drive slowly past them without panicking. I usually meet milk tankers, large tractors and trailers and escaped sheep when I am in this area, so this was just par for the course!

Two other WWOOFers were supposed to materialise while Jeni and I were there – the first one couldn't come (from America) because she'd just discovered that she was pregnant and I was supposed to pick up George (from Liverpool) when I dropped Jeni back at the train station in Gobowen. I waited for over an hour and then gave up and drove back to Moelfre – we never heard from him again! It makes you wonder what happened to him between Liverpool and Oswestry – abducted by aliens? Fell asleep and ended up in Cornwall? Weird! So I spent my second week as sole WWOOFer, which was fine by me!

Jeni left on the Friday and on the Saturday evening there was a performance, in Llansilin church, of a one-man play about Dylan Thomas that Dawn, Tony and I went along to see. For one and a half hours the actor kept up the performance without a break, without hesitation and was so good that you could almost believe that it was Dylan Thomas, reading his poetry and recounting anecdotes from his life. The profit from the evening was being put towards maintaining the church building which is Grade 1 listed and was the local church of Owain Glyndwr, last Welsh prince, who had a stronghold nearby.

I spent the rest of my week pruning two overgrown hedges, having another bonfire and finishing constructing the three-bay compost bin that Jeni and I had started. I have said that I'll try and go back in November to help Tony finish the new greenhouse (if he's not done it by himself before then) and/or help re-fence the vegetable garden, which was absolutely ravaged by rabbits this year. There's always some project to do when you have three acres of garden!

Part of the garden at Moelfre

Canals, Cropredy and a change in the weather

A derelict Top Lock circa 1970

Having spent a wonderful summer in newly-discovered East Anglia, I set off on 2^nd August for north Oxfordshire which involved driving up the A12 towards Ipswich, turning off onto the A14 and following it all the way until it disappeared into the M1/M6, and then heading off towards Rugby before turning south to Southam and my ultimate destination of Claydon. Luckily the roads weren't too busy for a Saturday and I made the 150 mile journey in exactly 3 hours (which is what I'd predicted). However, I then had to sit in the car for twenty minutes until the rain eased off enough for me to get out of the car, put on my waterproofs and walk the quarter of a mile up the tow path!

Phoebe has put her lovely canal-side property back on the market again and wanted help tidying it up ready for an open house event that she was going to host in a bid to drum up interest. The property would really suit a young, enthusiastic couple of eco-warriors as it has very green credentials, being entirely off-grid. The main disadvantage is its lack of vehicular access, so that everything has to be taken up the towpath or consigned to a friendly narrowboat negotiating the locks. This has made it very hard for Phoebe, who is only a few years younger than me and lives by herself – it really needs a couple to make it work.

I set to almost straight away weeding the brick paths and dead-heading the plants in the flower beds in front of the house – it always amazes me how much better things look with just these simple measures taken. I only had limited time to help get things shipshape as I was due to go to Cropredy on 7^th August for the three-day music festival, and we were going to the Green Gathering at Chepstow on Sunday, 3^rd August.

To promote the sale of her house, Phoebe had had some T-shirts and postcards printed with a picture of the house on the front and the words 'You too can live the eco-dream...' and on the back a few details and the price. Her idea was for us to wear the T-shirts to the Gathering and distribute postcards as we were going to meet up with some people from the WWOOF organisation and, hopefully, some fellow hosts and WWOOFers.

We set off at about 9.00am on Sunday morning, leaving Malin, the lurcher, behind in case it got too hot, and made quite good time to Chepstow racecourse where the Gathering was being held. It cost us £25 each for a day ticket, and that was with a £5 reduction for being WWOOF members, so I was quite disappointed with what I found. I'd expected it to be very similar to the Big Green Gathering that used to be held on the Mendips and where Jeni and I had stewarded several years ago, but this was just a shadow of its former self. There was a campaigns area, a craft area and a permaculture area plus a healing field and all the usual wholefood outlets, but there were none of the large venues for music and debate and we found no sign of any eco-build ideas such as straw-bale houses, etc. However, the main disappointment was that we couldn't find the WWOOF stand – we walked round and round and eventually asked at the Information Tent. They had never even heard of WWOOF and professed not to know who had booked pitches or where they might be located! By now we were both getting a trifle grumpy so took ourselves off to the permaculture area to enquire at their information point. It was the same story there, too – they had not heard of WWOOF, nor did they know where they were until we spotted a 'talk' advertised on a chalkboard outside a tipi which just said 'WWOOF 4-5pm' – no explanation of what WWOOF stood for or anything. By now I was ranting loudly about 'piss-ups in breweries' and bemoaning the fact that I had allied myself to a bunch of incompetents – what a glorious, golden opportunity missed! There should have been a major WWOOF presence there as they could have targeted exactly the type of people they want to reach, but they didn't even have a promotional stall. We wandered round a bit more and had a very tasty curry sitting on the grass (the only high spot of the day) before deciding that we would have to leave if we were to get back in time to give Malin a walk and her food. We never got to the talk as the original time slot for the meeting was 2-4pm not 4-5pm; Phoebe had driven a round trip of 160 miles and wasted a whole day that could have been better spent in the garden and had given out just two postcards – we were furious!

Phoebe sent an email when we got home and eventually WWOOF got back to us with an apology and the offer of refunding our entrance fee. They had not been told of the time slot alteration until midday on Sunday and couldn't contact us to let us know, but it still rankles that they weren't even there for the rest of the three-day event.

Early morning canal

I worked out my frustrations on the garden over the next few days and then, at just gone 7.00am on Thursday I set off down the towpath with my rucksack on my back towards Cropredy. It was a glorious morning, despite the dire weather forecast, and on my way I met a couple of canal people that I got to know last year. One of them, Jason, invited me on board to have a cuppa to break my journey (it was only about three miles, but felt longer!) before I walked on and met up with my sister, brother-in-law and the rest of the gang – just in time for breakfast rolls!

Evening festival sky

Cropredy (or 'Fairport' as the locals call it) has become an annual event on my calendar and I really enjoy the company and the eclectic mix of music. This year we were treated to the likes of Waterboys, The Wonder Stuff, The Australian Pink Floyd Show (who were amazing despite the torrential rain we had to endure while they were on stage) and.....Chas 'n'Dave! Whoever thought they were a good choice was seriously mis-informed, although I did find my feet tapping along to all the old boogie-woogie favourites in spite of myself. Alongside these well-known names there were other more folk-based artists, and the whole festival was thoroughly enjoyable. However, on Sunday morning we had to strike camp in the pouring rain and decided to forego our usual farewell breakfast roll at one of the venues in the village. Unfortunately, Phoebe's open house event was scheduled for this Sunday and did not drum up the interest that she'd hoped for – only 4 people came to seriously look around and several friends turned up to give moral support.

The next day the weather was dry again but with a keen wind and Phoebe and I got back out in the garden removing ivy from one wall and a huge clematis from another. Unfortunately for me, it was far too windy to have a bonfire, so I had to leave the enormous mountain of debris that we'd created for someone else to play with!

It didn't feel as if I'd been there five minutes before I was repacking my bag and heading off down the towpath to my car and the short journey back to Cheltenham. I was very aware, as Phoebe and I left the house, that it may very well be the last time I stay at Top Lock and it made me feel very sad as I've enjoyed my stays there over the last few years.

Top Lock as it is today

Sunny days back in Suffolk

The vegetable garden

I can't believe that it's more than a month since I wrote a blog! Sorry, if anybody has been missing my musings (and if not, why not?).

On 19^th July I headed through Norfolk once more and back into Suffolk to my next hosts who were located about two miles, as the crow flies, from the community at East Bergholt and about six miles by road! Lyn and Colin live in a large house with extensive gardens and a couple of paddocks that, at this time of year, contain four orphan lambs and three pigs, all ultimately destined for the freezer. They also have quite a few chickens, two cockerels and two, rather elderly Muscovy ducks that live in an enclosure beyond the only remaining wall of an erstwhile walled garden. There are still the remains of one of the greenhouses against the inside wall and a large, sprawling grapevine that obviously was inside another greenhouse, at some point. Inside the poultry area is the original gardener's bothy complete with chimney and original cast iron grate.

The gardener's bothy

When I arrived there was already another WWOOFer there, Melodie, from France. At first I found her a bit quiet and aloof but after a couple of days we were laughing and chatting like a couple of schoolgirls despite our age difference (she was 26). I realised, yet again, just how much of the French I was taught at school still resides in the dark recesses of my brain, as I dredged up nouns and eventually whole phrases to help the communication process. Melodie also tried to teach me some new words that would stand me in good stead if (when?) I ever go to WWOOF in France, such as 'mauvaise herbes' (weeds), 'punaise' (bug) and 'limace' (slug).

The weather was still very hot so our day started at 9.00am when we fed the pigs and let out and fed the poultry. We had to let the two ducks out first because they spent their days in the vegetable garden outside the poultry run and always walked very slowly and sedately, as befitted their great age. Then we would let out the hens and top up their feeders and drinkers before getting on with the main task of the day, which was weeding in the vegetable garden. At about 10.30 we would be called in for a coffee break and then work on again until lunch at 1.00pm. Lunch was usually eaten on the decking area near the swimming pool and consisted of salad, cheese and cold meats followed by homemade cake and a cup of tea. We were then free until 5.30pm when we would feed the pigs again, pick up the eggs and wash them and then water the polytunnel and garden, if necessary. At about 9.00pm one of us would go out and shut in the hens and usher the two ducks back to their quarters before shutting the doors on the polytunnel.

I had great ideas about going for walks in the afternoon but it was so hot that I usually retired to my room at the top of the house and had a siesta! On one particularly hot day Melodie and I both ventured into the unheated swimming pool. She had been a keen competition swimmer in her teens and I sadly realised that, although I hadn't forgotten how to swim, I had never been very good to start with! After a few minutes of splashing about, I got out. I didn't bother going in again – it seemed too much like hard work!

A Thames barge at Pin Mill

On my days off I continued my exploration of this part of Suffolk, although I decided not to bother going into either Ipswich or Colchester as I don't really like large towns and retail therapy holds no interest for me. I headed off, via Manningtree (the smallest town in England), towards the coast and ended up on a peninsula between the rivers Orwell and Stour from which I had a marvelous view of the container port at Felixstowe! From there I went to Pin Mill which is a tiny riverside hamlet, with land owned by the National Trust, and had lunch at the Butt and Oyster, a very old pub right on the quayside, before going for a short walk along the river. However, it was far too hot to walk far and I headed back to Dedham quite early in the day and took refuge in my room.

On another day I walked from the house down into Dedham (about a mile away), had a cup of tea in the Essex Rose tea rooms, walked along the river to Flatford Mill where I stopped for lunch in the (overpriced) restaurant and then continued to walk in a loop back to Dedham before going to the Munnings Collection which lies about 0.75 miles from the village centre.

Alfred Munnings is probably most famous for his equine paintings, but he was also an excellent portrait painter and was a war artist attached to the Canadian Cavalry in World War 1. In this the centenary year there was a new exhibition of some of these paintings and sketches and they were incredibly moving. The whole house has been bequeathed to the nation and it makes a wonderfully informal art gallery where you can sit on comfortable sofas in the library, pretty much as Alfred and his guests did, and look at the paintings.

I spent a good couple of hours wandering around before setting off once more up the hill and then along Long Road West towards Grove Hill and 'home'. Unfortunately for me, Long Road West is very well named and is very straight so that I could see the road junction in the distance. After walking for some minutes I looked up and saw that the junction appeared no nearer! It was like a nightmare journey where the ultimate goal just keeps moving further away! It was made even more nightmarish as the sky was getting darker and darker with the odd rumble of thunder and I had no rainwear! I later found out that Long Road West is at least a mile long from where I met it to the junction so no wonder it felt like it went on forever. By the time I got back I had probably walked the best part of six miles and I was exhausted.

On the Tuesday of my second week another WWOOFer arrived, a lady of my own age from former East Germany. Her son had bought her WWOOF UK membership for a year as her Christmas present as he thought she should do some travelling. I thought she was extremely brave to WWOOF in a foreign country as her first experience. I had to chuckle on her first morning as she appeared brandishing a small fork that she'd brought with her – I wondered if it was an age-related thing as it is one of the tools that I wouldn't be without, either!

On my last day off I went back to Old Hall for coffee and got invited to stay for lunch too, which was lovely. They had a whole army of new WWOOFers in residence, about ten of them, I think, so I was quite glad that I was just passing through. I then drove to Hadleigh where I stocked up with new gardening gloves (at £1.45/pair) from Partridge's hardware shop, had a brief look inside the church and then wandered along the river watching the fish and the damsel flies before, more prosaically, filling up with petrol at the cheapest garage that I knew in the area ready for the 'off' on Saturday.

 

On my last day in Suffolk, Colin gave Dorothea, Melodie and I an exclusive tour of the bell tower at Dedham church where he rings the bells. The bells are no longer rung in the conventional way as the swinging of that amount of weight had caused serious structural damage to the tower, so now the bells are chimed instead. I must admit that the crack running down the inside of the tower was pretty impressive! The view from the top of the tower, however, was well worth the climb as it was quite a clear day and we could see all the way to Felixstowe, as well as having a birds eye view down over Dedham.

View from Dedham Church tower towards Felixstowe

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