A Natural Break

Part of the new office suite

I have finally come to a natural break in my decorating marathon! Since the beginning of January I have been, more or less, fully employed painting and decorating at the new suite of offices in Wells. I've actually really enjoyed the challenge, although I have found it quite exhausting on some days where I seemed to be bending, stretching and climbing step ladders for six hours! I have managed to find solutions to most of the problems that cropped up, including some creative filler work to repair some architrave around a door frame and also to mimic some textured wallpaper that had been torn but couldn't be removed due to the nature of the substrate (in the stairwell). I can't have done too bad a job as I have been offered the contract to paint and decorate the new flat that will eventually be created at the rear of the offices, so that will keep me busy later in the year. As the weather has generally been so wet, it has meant that I have been gainfully employed when I couldn't do any gardening, paid or otherwise, and did not have to sit at home wondering what to do! As they say: a win-win situation.

The scaffold planks formed a false floor for me to paint off

The stairwell - from mustard coloured darkness to bright white! 

At the weekend I drove one of my favourite routes, at any time of the year – from The Mendips to The Cotswolds. It was a beautiful, crisp morning with high clouds and a hazy sun when I set out along the A37 up onto the Mendips and across the plateau through Farrington Gurney, Hallatrow and Marksbury before dropping down through Corston to Bath. The fields for the most part were bare and winter-stripped but at Ston Easton there was a flock of sheep with a few early lambs gambolling about in the sunshine, and clumps of snowdrops in some of the hedgerows.

At Bath, I climbed back up onto the Cotswolds by way of Lansdown Hill and then looped my way across to the A46 near Dyrham Park. I was saddened to see that the old Toll House Tearooms, a marker on my journey for so many years, has closed and the little hanging teapot sign has been removed. Many's the time I promised myself that I would stop and have a cuppa and I never did, perhaps that was the problem – too few people actually did succumb to the temptation of that gently swinging sign promising all sorts of delicious goodies within.

Passing over the motorway I continued on my way, halting briefly at the traffic lights at the junction in Old Sodbury next to the Cross Hands Hotel. It was here that, one dreadful winter's evening, the Queen and Prince Philip, returning from some official engagement were advised that it was too dangerous to continue and spent the night in this hostelry – imagine the flurry that caused in this lovely old inn! Not far from there I drove through a small hamlet called Petty France and thence on to Dunkirk! I have searched for the origins of these French-sounding names but cannot find any definitive answer, although there is the possibility that some French Huguenot weavers settled here and that is where the names derive from. By now I was up on top of the Cotswold Plateau, so different in aspect to the Mendip Plateau that I had left behind. Here there are large, mainly arable fields enclosed by Cotswold stone walls, and clumps of trees, usually denoting a settlement of some kind as they were probably planted as windbreaks against the south-westerly winds which must scour across this upland region. The winter wheat is growing well, due to the mild, wet winter and even the grasslands look greener than normal at this time of the year.

Having passed through Westonbirt, with the wonderful Arboretum on my left, I dropped down into the small hamlet of Doughton where there is an unremarkable wall, gates and lodge house which forms the understated entrance to Prince Charles' Highgrove House, from where it is just a short hop to the beautiful Cotswold town of Tetbury with its soaring church spire dominating the landscape. At this point, I normally head off towards Cirencester on the main road but, as it was such a beautiful day I decided to go 'off piste' and set off along a series of narrow lanes which really immersed me in rural Cotswold scenery. My decision paid off as it wasn't long before I saw more snowdrops and a beautiful clump of early yellow primroses sheltering in the lee of a wall. Along the banks in the tiny village of Winstone were bright daffodils nodding their heads in the breeze and, at one crossroads, there were two men rebuilding an ancient drystone wall. They had taken down the old wall and were busy reusing the stone but, because they were turning the stones in a different orientation, the original butter-yellow of the Cotswold stone was showing, like the newly-revealed skin when a snake sloughs off its old one. It won't take long before the elements weather these newly-exposed faces back to a more mellow yellow-grey that will fit in with the rest of the wall. I gave the workers a cheery wave as I continued on my way, finally passing through Elkstone (and narrowly avoiding two pretty red-legged partridges that were fussing about in the road), down into Cowley, past the Green Dragon pub and back onto the main Cheltenham to Cirencester road near my beloved grain silos (referred to in a previous blog) and down the long hill into Cheltenham.

I just love that drive – there is always something new or interesting to see, whatever the time of year – I even saw a kestrel hovering over the verge at one point. This bird, that used to be such a common sight, has become much less so over the last ten to twenty years, but I fancy that I am seeing more of them again now, so perhaps they are staging a comeback?

Talking of birds of prey, Jeni and I went on an Owl Prowl on Monday evening, with the local wildlife group. We met in a car park on top of the Mendips next to a heavily wooded area and were guided on our Prowl by Chris Sperring MBE, who is an expert on our native hawks and owls. We had hoped to attract the very rare Long-eared Owl which was known to be in the area last year but, sadly there was no sign of them. The pair that were on Mendip last year did not breed so it is possible that one or both of the pair have died. Unfortunately, due to a number of factors, most of our native owls are in serious decline, even the Tawny who has been rock-steady for decades. Chris attributes the decline mainly to lack of food and this is caused by lack of suitable habitat for their chief food – mice and voles. Apparently, we, as a nation, are just too keen to manage and 'tidy' our woodlands and field edges (and our gardens, too) so that there is not enough long, tussocky grass in which the voles and mice can live.

Having failed to attract an answer from a Long-eared Owl, Chris swapped species and tried calling for Tawny Owls. This was more successful, with at least five different birds responding, but all at some distance away. To try and get them to come closer, Chris did an Oscar-winning performance of a dying woodmouse – it took several minutes to 'die', by which time Jeni and I had got the giggles! I'm pretty certain that the owls had sussed out that it was 'that nice Mr Sperring' calling to them and they refused to come any closer, but it was a lovely walk in the dark wood, especially when the cloud cover suddenly disappeared revealing a full moon and a myriad of stars!

As a postscript to that little story – I woke at about 5.30 the other morning to hear our resident Tawny Owl, calling in the trees just outside my house, but at least I now know that it was a male calling and will be able to identify the female if she ever calls back!

The full moon through fir trees on Mendip

Happy (belated) New Year!

Well, here we are into the second month of 2016 and I am only just getting around to writing a blog! The festive season came and went and I had a lovely time with my family, spent at my sister's home in Sheffield. She and her husband love cooking and so we had a lot of gastronomic delights, although I could have done without the horrendous cold that floored me on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day – I haven't had such a humdinger for years! It was unseasonably mild, even in Sheffield, and we managed to get out for a short stroll around the Botanical Gardens, where some plants were already coming into flower, including a ceanothus – a very confused plant, I think. On either side of the entrance gate were two small shrubbery beds with a yellow witchhazel on one side and a red one on the other, both filling the air with their lovely perfume. The Botanical Gardens also boast a series of Victorian glasshouses, like a miniature version of Kew Gardens, and they contained some very interesting plants from around the world.

Between Christmas and the New Year I started a decorating job, at Jeni's place of work (is that classed as nepotism?). They had had the shop next door converted into a new office suite, complete with conference room, photocopier room and a disabled toilet and shower. All of the plasterwork was new and all of the wooden door surrounds and skirting boards, so it has been a long job (and I haven't finished yet!) but it has had the advantage of keeping me warm, dry and, above all, gainfully occupied, during some horribly wet and windy weather! On a couple of drier days I have managed to keep up with my gardening job, but it's no fun weeding in sub-zero temperatures or on heavy clay soil that sticks to my wellies, but it's all grist to the mill.

In an effort to integrate a bit more into village life, I inveigled Jeni into coming with me to the local Burns' Night held in the village hall. It was great fun with the haggis being piped in, in traditional manner, and a wee bit of Rabbie Burns quoted, as well. However, at sometime during the evening, we were persuaded to join the Pylle Pageant in May and have now been cast as a couple of agricultural labourers' wives! The Pageant is to celebrate the coming of the railway to Pylle in 1862 and we have to dress (as far as practicable) in costume of the period that we can either make ourselves or hire. Most of the 'upper classes' will be having proper costume fittings but I think I will be dusting off the old sewing machine and trying to produce a couple of lowly dresses for Jeni and me. It actually sounds as if it will be a fascinating day with displays in the Church and at the Old Rectory, plus my singing group will also be performing.

Part way through January I received an email from my friends and WWOOF hosts down in Cornwall, asking if I could do an unscheduled farm sit to enable them to go to Jo's mother's funeral which would necessitate them being away for a few days. Happy to help out and have a change of scene I duly went down to Launceston on 28^th January. I arrived at lunchtime and then spent the afternoon helping James with the sheep as 'Scanner Man' arrived to see who was expecting what and when. Of the twenty ewes that we selected back at the end of October, nineteen were safely in lamb: most of these are expecting twins with four due to produce singles and two to produce triplets! As I reported, back in November, both the rams used were very keen and covered a lot of the ewes in the first few days and, of course, most of them held to that first service and will be lambing like billy-oh in the first week! Unfortunately, I won't be able to get there until the second week, by which time it will be all over, bar the shouting, and Jo and James will be exhausted! I was very pleased (and relieved) to discover that No 74 is expecting twins, but will definitely have had them by the time I get back in April. While I was standing by the pen, chatting to James and awaiting the arrival of 'Scanner Man', I felt something nuzzling my fingers and looking down was amazed and very touched to find it was No 74, acknowledging my presence in the rather low-key way that she does – it's now nearly four years since my intensive nursing of her, and she still remembers!

The next morning I took James into Launceston to catch a bus to Exeter so that he could catch a train to London and then south to meet up with Jo for the funeral, and I returned to the farm and took up my duties: in the mornings I had to feed the ewes with some pellets – luckily, the amount that they are having at the moment fits into a bucket, which is much easier to dispense from than the sack, and means that I wasn't 'felled' by hungry ewes before I could tip them into the trough. After that I loaded the trailer up with huge armfuls of haylage and drove the quad bike out to feed last year's lambs. It has been so wet that all the fields are at saturation point so that I had to use four-wheel drive to get through the deep mud in the gateway and up the hill to the hay rack. Once they were fed I had the fun job of trying to count them – they are quite nervous so that every time I moved to count a batch on the far side of the hayrack, they would scatter and I would have to start again! When I had established that there really were 51 in the field I headed back to the yard, parked up the quad and trailer and headed off on foot, with the dogs in tow, to check on the rest of the sheep further down the track. The four rams had a hay rack just inside the gate and James had taken down three small bales of hay and put them under a tarpaulin, for me to feed as necessary. Continuing on down the track, we then entered the wood where a side track led down to the small but turbulent stream, which I had to wade across to get to the fields behind the old mill, where the rest of the sheep are overwintering. Again, James had positioned hay by the lower gate, but this time it was a large bale, which I could unpeel and use to top up the hay rack in this field. There were 54 sheep in this group but they were much easier to count as they are all older and have seen it all before, so just carried on eating as I counted. From there it was a long, gradual hill back up to the farm and a welcome cup of coffee.

The weather was not too bad while I was there, despite the weather forecast, but most days were damp and windy and not conducive to remaining outside longer than was strictly necessary, but I did manage to do a bit of work in the vegetable garden, weeding and mulching one of the raised beds and starting on another so, hopefully, when I go back in April I will be able to plant some vegetables.

I would have stayed longer but I had to go to a funeral myself on Thursday 4^th so, with a heavy heart I turned homewards and went to the funeral of Frank, my son's godfather, a farmer and definite 'character'! The church at Backwell, just outside Bristol, was packed with his many friends and family, including his newest great-grandchild and the service was as good as these things can be, with a wonderful tribute read by his son and a touching poem, that I had not heard before, read out by his youngest daughter. It seemed, in some ways, such a short time since he was caught feeding Christening cake to a 9-month old David! I was sad that I hadn't been in touch much in the last few years, but hope to renew my friendship with his widow and grown-up children, in the near future.

Well, tomorrow is Monday and, if I am to keep on doing the occasional travelling to justify the continuation of this blog, I must go and paint doors in the morning!

Nostalgia - it ain't what it used to be!

TC Dixie

I think I have finally reached that age where looking back is almost preferable to looking forward. Perhaps it isn't really an age thing at all, but a feeling of uncertainty about what my future holds and what I am actually 'doing with my life'. I feel busy quite a lot of the time and 'useful', particularly when I am on my travels helping other people on their farms and in their gardens, but I'm not really sure what I am actually doing or who I really am. I keep dipping my toe in different patches of water to see if things fit, for example, as I like cooking, I now bake for the local Country Market and have recently joined a local singing group as, many years ago, I used to enjoy belonging to a Choral Society. But I just feel sometimes that I no longer quite fit in to any niche: I've been a wife, twice; I've been a mother, twice, but the marriages ended and the children don't need my every day input any more and I feel like I'm marking time. So it's been quite interesting to have a bit of a nostalgia-fest recently.

As I wrote, back in October, I attended a School Reunion where, not only did I meet up with 'girls' that I was at school with in my teens, but also some 'boys' that I knew from Junior School. It knocked me off kilter for a day or two afterwards as, having your distant past suddenly colliding with your present is a bit unnerving but, on balance, I would say that it was a very positive experience and put me back in touch with people who had been very important during my formative years.

So it was with a degree of trepidation that I agreed to go with Jeni and Dave to their Dad's college reunion, a couple of weekends ago. Ed attended Twickenham College of Technology where he joined the very vibrant music scene and became part of a jazz band called TC Dixie. In fact, he and I met when, one summer when I was at College and working for the holidays in the Lake District, a large group of ex-Twickenham College students, staff and their families arrived for a week's holiday.

Roll forward a couple of years and we were living in Twickenham and TC Dixie had become semi-professional, with gigs in pubs and clubs around London, at weekends. Sometimes I would tag along and act as unofficial roadie, helping to carry in amps, mics and metres of leads from the back of the car (Ed had an estate car so got to carry a lot of the gear!) You get to see venues before the razzamatazz of the event; stale beer and smoke smells, harsh lighting highlighting the stained table tops and scuffed carpets, the peeling paint and general world-weariness of it all and then – transformation! Low lights, milling people, laughter, chat and above it all the vibrant live music filling the place with magic. There was a core of players in TC Dixie that never changed but often there would be a different person who stayed for a while – they had an actor who used to play the drums and Acker Bilk's former trumpet player was a regular for a long time – his rendition of 'Georgia on my Mind' used to make the back of my neck prickle. When we left Twickenham for the West Country in about 1977 this all came to an end and I hadn't seen anyone from that era much since then.

Roll forward 38 years and you find Jeni and me driving down the A303, up the M3 and into Twickenham where I managed to find the Premier Inn that we'd booked into, without too much difficulty. It shouldn't have been difficult at all as it was located next to our 'local' pub that I perhaps went in half a dozen times when we lived there! It was odd to realise that, although I had lived and worked a stone's throw from here for four or five years, I couldn't remember the area at all! Luckily, Ed and his partner came to pick us up and take us to the venue as it was on the other side of Twickenham and I would never have found my way there. Dave had just arrived from Stevenage when we got there so we all went in together and there they were – the people from my past, older obviously, but still recognisable once the initial strangeness had worn off. The 'gig' kicked off at 2.30 and we were treated to several different performances during the afternoon from the wide-ranging talent that had flourished back in the late Sixties and early Seventies at Twickenham College. Some of those present had gone on to become professional musicians and were still performing today, others had got back together especially for the concert – there was jazz, rock, electric folk and blues and, at the end of the day, TC Dixie, playing their vibrant Dixieland jazz. I tried to take a couple of videos (which my camera subsequently deleted ,unseen) but I was tapping my foot and singing along with a huge grin on my face so they probably would have been useless anyway! In fact, for their entire performance, I was aware that I was grinning from ear to ear, so much so that my jaw muscles ached afterwards! When you think that these guys (apart from the drummer) were well into their sixties, hadn't performed together for decades (apart from these reunions, which only started about four years ago) and hadn't had the opportunity to rehearse beforehand, the sound they made was incredible and uplifting. What a blast!

But nostalgia hadn't finished with me yet. A couple of days ago, one of the people that I met up with again at the School Reunion, posted a very interesting article on Facebook about the various historical spas that had been located in Cheltenham (my home town, for anyone who doesn't know that and, no, before you ask, I did not go to the Ladies' College!). At the end I went to click the 'Like' button but someone else had beaten me to it – a name I hadn't seen for so many years that I did a double-take. Could it be? It wasn't a particularly unusual name, but it seemed like too much of a coincidence, so I clicked onto his Facebook page and, looking at his photo, I realised that it was definitely him! My biggest childhood buddy, from Junior School.

I'm afraid I shall have to explain a bit about my early life so that you can fully understand why this seemed to be such a momentous occurrence. From the time I was born until I was 6, I lived with my family on one side of Cheltenham and attended the local school. When I was nearly 7, we moved to a larger house to accommodate our growing family (my brother had just been born), but this house was on the other side of Cheltenham. Mum and Dad didn't want to move us from our school as we were doing so well, so we continued to attend. However, this meant that we were separated from most of our friends but, surprisingly, there was a small enclave of other pupils living quite close to us in our new home, who also 'commuted' to school – Nigel being one of them. As being at a different school more or less ostracised us from the local youngsters, we tended to hang around in a group together, and spent hours playing in the old derelict house and grounds across the road from our house, climbing trees, making bows and arrows, that sort of thing, and Nigel, being my age and in my class at school, was my special mate. Once we went our separate ways – he to the Boys' Grammar School and me to the Girls', we seemed to lose contact almost overnight. Why does that happen? When I look back, I lost touch with virtually all of my Junior School friends at the same time, even those who went on to the same school as me(although the policy then was to split up friendship groups and put them in different classes – how cruel was that?).

On a whim, I sent Nigel a 'friend request', failing to fully identify myself and the next day was just about to send a message to explain, when he granted my request – he'd managed to work out who I was, despite the name change. For an hour or so yesterday afternoon, we messaged each other back and forth, exchanging memories mainly but with the firm intention of meeting up in the New Year as he only lives at Taunton with his wife of 41 years (it was their anniversary yesterday) and I think some of his five children live nearby, too! Again, for the whole of the time that we 'chatted' I wore a stupid grin on my face, which continued for most of the day.

I'm sure that most of you are now shaking your heads in dismay that I seem to be a lot happier wallowing about in my past than I am living in my present, and I must admit, that it bothers me too, but I'm hoping that somehow it will help me in the long run to remember who I used to be, so that I can work out who I am now. Well, that's enough of the deep thinking for now – the next blog will probably be after the festive season is over so I shall take this opportunity to wish my loyal reader(s) a very happy time over the coming few weeks and I'll be back (hopefully on top form) in 2016!

Tupping Time!

Late afternoon sunlight on oak trees

On October 26^th I packed up the car and headed off down the A37 and onto the A303 towards Exeter and then on into Cornwall to Launceston. I started off in bright sunshine with high cloud making it a little hazy but, by the time I got to Honiton the grey clouds had gained the day and I had to swap my sunglasses for my ordinary driving glasses. It started to rain a little just past Exeter but, as I rounded the bulking shoulder of Dartmoor, the skies cleared again and I was back into sunshine. It wasn't to last, however, and by the time I got to Launceston the rain looked as if it was set in for the day.

I had gone back to help at East Penrest because it was tupping time – the time of year when the rams are put in with the ewes. If you put the rams in on November 5^th, your first lambs should be due on April 1^st. Of course, ewes' gestation periods vary, just like humans, but it is a useful rule of thumb. At this time of year, James gathers all the ewes into a pen and inspects them visually to make his first selection. He then marks the ewes that are not in good enough condition and turns them back out into the field, leaving behind a reduced number from which to choose.

When I arrived, our first job was to take a closer look at these ewes and make a decision about the ones that would ultimately go to the ram. This year, for various reasons, James only wanted to put 20 ewes in lamb, so the selection process was quite involved. He had made a note of all the ear tag numbers and then noted what they had produced last spring, whether they were good mothers, whether they came from a particularly good blood line, etc. Having done this we then stood back and looked to see what caught our eye; we were looking for good height and a long length body, plus all of the previous criteria. It took us most of the morning to choose our 'dream team' of about thirty ewes, and these we then ran into the barn for the next stage of the process.

Once penned in the barn, each ewe was inspected individually by putting her into the turnover crate. (I know that I have explained what this is before but it does no harm to explain again!) The ewe walks into the crate and the gate is closed behind her; shaped metal poles on a frame are then clamped around her to hold her firmly behind her front legs, around her belly and in front of her back legs, and this frame, by means of springs and counterweights lifts her off her feet and turns her upside down. Once in this position, most sheep will then lie still particularly, as James discovered, if you pillow their heads on a bag stuffed with something soft (in this case, baler twine!). When they were restrained in this way, James was able to carry out the final examinations to check the condition of their teeth and their udders. Sheep gain adult incisor teeth, two at a time, from about one year old and you will hear farmers refer to sheep as being 'two tooth' (1-2 years old), 'four tooth'(2-3 years old, 'six tooth'(3-4 years old) or 'full-mouthed' i.e. 8 teeth (4+ years). After the age of four, the teeth gradually fall out and the sheep is described as 'broken-mouthed' and, at this point it can become difficult for sheep to bite off short grass efficiently and they may lose condition – hence the check at tupping time, because you want the ewes to be in the best condition possible for carrying and raising healthy lambs. Udders are checked to make sure that there are no suspicious lumps that may indicate that the ewe has had mastitis and may therefore only have one (or in some cases, neither) teat working. Finally, we gave them a pedicure, trimming back the overgrown horn with shears, to minimise the risk of lameness during their pregnancy. After all this rigorous checking, we finally had our twenty ewes (Number 74 passed with flying colours!).

The next day, using the sheep shears, James dagged the twenty ewes. Dagging is removing the long and dirty wool from an area around the tail and down the back of the back legs, and is useful for two reasons: one is hygiene, when the ram is mating with the ewe and at lambing time, so that infections are minimised, and the other is that long wool around the udder can sometimes confuse a newborn lamb and it finds difficulty in locating the teat.

It was then time to decide which ewe was going to which ram as James was using two this year – Henry, who has been used for the past couple of years and Ian, who was the previous stock ram and has to be used this year because some of Henry's daughters are now old enough to breed. Once the decision was made the ewes were colour-coded – an orange spot on the neck for Ian's gang and a purple spot for Henry's harem. After the equivalent of a sheep trip to the doctor and then the beauty parlour, we turned the twenty ewes out into a fresh field.

Needle-felted No 74!

Jo and James usually try to go away for a few days when I am staying with them and this gives me a welcome boost to my income, as well as allowing them to visit their families in Portsmouth and Kent. This time, they were also going to have a short holiday, so I was left in charge for nearly two weeks. They left on Friday 30^th October, and those of you who have read this far, and paid attention, will realise that that is quite a few days before 5^th November when, traditionally, the rams are put in with the ewes! Not only that but, because there wasn't a lot of grass in the second field, the two lots of ewes were still together in one field.

Knowing that Jess, the sheepdog, won't work for me, I had to devise a cunning plan to capture the ewes and split them into their two groups. When we had put the twenty in the field, we also took out some sheep hurdles and a hay rack, made a pen by the gate into the second field, left the pen open, and placed the hay rack inside so that the sheep would get used to coming into the pen to have hay. Two days before I intended to split the group, I took a few sheep feed pellets out with me, when I checked them and re-filled the hayrack, and put these in the trough at the base of the rack. The second day I did the same so that the ewes were then all quite keen to come to the hayrack at the same time. On the third day, I took out an even bigger bucket of feed and, while they were all jostling for position and fighting over the pellets, I carefully and quietly pulled the hurdles round and joined them together. I now had twenty sheep in a large pen with a hayrack in the middle. In order to split them up I needed to divide the pen in two and also get the hayrack out of the way so, hurdle by hurdle, I had to remove about four or five hurdles from the outer ring, without leaving a gap for the sheep to escape through and also, bypass the hayrack so that it was outside the finished pens. This could have been the trickiest part of the manoeuvre because, if they had got away at that stage, I would never have caught them with the same trick again! (Who says sheep are stupid?) Once both pens were complete it was just a case of manhandling all ten with orange spots into one pen leaving all the purple spots in the other, and then opening the gate into the new field to let them through. Phase one of Operation Tup-in had been successfully completed!

Needle-felted rabbit

For Phase 2 I had to have some assistance. Luckily, a local beef farmer, who also does traditional building work, had been working on the farmhouse roof and had agreed to come on the Friday morning to drive the tractor and help with the rams. To make the rams easier to capture, James has been feeding them a few sheep pellets in a trough in an open pen for some time, so that when I went out at 7.30am it was relatively easy to pen them up and then push out the two boys that I didn't want. Once Nick arrived at 8.00am we just had to load the rams into the transport box on the back of the tractor, put on the two ram harnesses, that hold the coloured crayons for marking the mated ewes, and drive them out to the fields, making sure that the correct ram went in with the correct ewes. Phase 2 was complete! By the next day there were several yellow bottoms in both fields, so lambing should commence on about April 2^nd or 3^rd and, if they all hold to the first service, will be over approximately one week later!!

Jess & Pickle

Apart from this major bit of excitement, my days normally consisted of feeding the chickens and cats, counting all of the sheep and making sure they were OK in the morning and then later on, checking the ewes and lambs again and feeding the dogs, cats and chickens and putting the chickens to bed. A lot of the time the weather was not good so I spent quite a bit of the day indoors doing knitting or needle-felting to pass the time. There was one day when, after I'd done the morning checks, I was already so wet that I decided to stay outdoors and clear debris from the trackside stream as the hedges had just been flailed and there were leaves, sticks and small branches clogging it up. Jess and Pickle, the two dogs, had great fun 'helping' me and at one time, all three of us were paddling about in the stream. It was only when I stopped to go in for lunch that I realised how wet I was! Luckily, my waterproofs are pretty good and the Aga was alight, so it didn't take long to dry out and get warm again.

The Bonfire Party at the church

I had two bonfire experiences while I was there – the first one was my own that I lit on Hallowe'en, when the weather had been dry for a couple of days, there was no wind, and the stars were shining brightly in a clear night sky. It was beautiful and spiritually uplifting and I didn't mind that I was the only one there enjoying it. The second one was the local bonfire and fireworks display on November 5^th on ground adjacent to the church in Lezant. I made an apple and cinnamon tray bake as my contribution to the festivities and there were also other cakes, hot dogs and tea and coffee on offer. It had rained heavily and been very blustery all day but at about 3.30 the wind dropped, the rain stopped and by 5.00pm it was almost perfect weather for a bonfire party. For such a small community, the firework display was really impressive and the bonfire burned well, despite its previous soakings.

Jo and James also organised for me to go to a concert in the church – a Night at the Musicals – which was great fun and covered musical theatre from Gilbert and Sullivan's Mikado right through to Les Miserables. I'd been to a concert there five years ago and this was the same husband and wife team, plus another soprano and a pianist. The man, particularly, had a gorgeous voice and normally sings opera but his rendition of 'Summertime' from Porgy and Bess sent shivers up my spine – beautiful. I went with a lady called Sue, who I've met several times before and, when I said that I didn't know the story of Les Miserables, she kindly looked out her DVD for me to watch. I'd forgotten, temporarily, that the elephant in the grounds of the house where I'd worked back in June, was one of two from the film set of Les Miserables, so I got quite a surprise to suddenly see it on the television!

My other social outing, whilst I was there, was a visit to the local WI, again with Sue. I realised that I have attended three of their meetings this year and they are thinking of making me an honorary member!

Jo and James eventually came back and I was relieved to hand back responsibility for all of the animals and resume my normal WWOOFing persona. Another WWOOFer, from Canada, joined me for my last two days there and we spent the time picking apples in the orchard ahead of Storm Barney, and processing them for the freezer. Many of the apples had already been sent off to be made into apple juice, but there were still many more on the trees and lying in the grass. As I passed by the orchard every day, on my way to check the animals, I realised what an important part of the local bird population's diet they formed – I heard and saw flocks of starlings, several jays and what I think were mistle thrushes as well as many blackbirds. The windfalls should keep them going for quite a bit of the winter, I should think.

I'm now home again and trying to adjust to a different rhythm to my days - if it ever stops raining I must go and check my vegetable bed, complete the soft fruit bed and say 'Hello' to my chickens.

Reflections in the pond

October - season of foraging, preserving and a reunion

Glastonbury Tor with The Quantocks in the distance

 Well, 'the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness' is upon us once again, and the field maples are vying with their Canadian cousins in the incredible colours that they are bringing to the hedgerows. There was one Saturday morning, about three weeks ago, when I had to travel through patchy mist all the way down to the Country Market at Somerton – if I looked up I could see blue sky but all around me was thick mist, which didn't burn off until nearly midday. That was also the week, I think, when the previous jam/preserve maker had decided to give up providing her wares to the Market. Always up for a challenge (and I like making preserves) I volunteered to give it a go and, on the following day went off on a foraging expedition. Now, the biggest buzz I get is from creating something from 'free' materials and I already had some sloes in my sights for the obligatory sloe gin that I make every year. I added an additional 'foraging bag' to my coat pocket and decided to see what else was on offer. In the end I didn't pick the sloes at that point because I ended up picking blackberries and rosehips, instead. Mary has several elderly apple trees in the garden that have been quite productive this year but only have small fruit on them, so I combined them with what I had foraged and made apple and rosehip jelly, blackberry and apple jelly and spiced blackberry and apple jelly. The following week at the market someone brought me in a box of quinces and so I made quince jelly, too. I've also made tomato relish (from my own tomatoes!), apple chutney and I am about to make some red onion marmalade, too. At least it's been keeping me busy! I went back to the hedgerow where the sloes were, the following weekend only to find that the farmer had cut the hedge right back and there were no sloes or blackberries left! However, I had a short farm sit booked for my friends at Dundry and I'd noticed sloes in abundance there the last time I'd been. Having checked with Sally that she didn't want any more, I picked a large bag full and also some more blackberries, so the sloe gin is now quietly doing its thing in a corner of the kitchen.

I also went and did a dog/house sit for a lady about 5 minutes away from home. She and her husband live in a bungalow next to their farm with amazing views towards Glastonbury Tor and the Quantocks although, for the first few days, I couldn't see the view because of the lowering skies and heavy rain! Once the weather settled down a bit I took myself off for a walk across the fields to the little hamlet of Cannards Grave. I've driven past it frequently over the years, and more so recently, as it is on my way to Shepton Mallet, and has almost become a suburb, since they've built the huge new estate on the edge of town. There is a pub/restaurant there called The Highwayman and, being intrigued by its age (1675 above the archway leading to the rear) and the fact that it was obviously a substantial coaching inn in the past, I Googled for its history when I got back. Allegedly, the publican was one Tom Kennard who either passed on information to the local 'bad boys' about wealthy visitors to the inn, or was actually a highwayman himself. Eventually, after many years, the law caught up with him and he was strung up on the gibbet which happened to be just across the road from the inn (where the Cannards Well Inn now stands). Over time Kennard's Grave became corrupted to Cannard's Grave and that, my friends, is the story! It was a very pleasant walk and I managed to find some more rosehips so that I could make another batch of jelly, when I got home.

The couple returned from their few days away at about 2pm on Friday and I then dashed home, unpacked, repacked and, with a brief stop in Wells to donate a pint of blood (or whatever the metric equivalent is), I drove off to Cheltenham. The reason for this Friday evening drive was that, on the following morning, I was to attend my school reunion! I went to one about thirteen years ago and met up with several people from my old class, but this time, in addition to the girl's who started at the Girls' Grammar School in 1965, there were also going to be the boys who started at the Boys' Grammar School at the same time, as the two schools have now merged. This meant that, potentially, I would meet up with boys that I hadn't seen since leaving Junior School 50 years ago! I was a bit nervous about going on my own as it was a in a building I didn't know at all, in an area of Cheltenham that I also didn't know very well. However, my friend Madeleine, who I last saw at the previous reunion, but with whom I have become friends on Facebook, offered to call for me as she and her husband were driving past my mum's house on their way to pick up another former classmate from the train station. I still felt as nervous as on Day 1 at 'big school' (and so did several others, I found out later) but the nerves soon disappeared as we laughed and chatted in the car.

Class of '65

It turned out to be such a fun event and I met up with a couple of my friends that I'd lost touch with once we left school and went our separate ways. There were five 'boys' there from my class at junior school and, once I'd read their name badges, it wasn't too difficult to recognise the boy in the man, from face shape, mannerisms, etc. We had a nice buffet lunch in the refectory, although I was chatting so much that I didn't really notice what I was eating! I almost missed out on the fantastic desserts because I was trying to talk to everyone – I reckon it was probably a bit like speed-dating (although I hasten to say, that I have never actually tried it!) and I came away feeling as though I wanted it to go on for a lot longer. My English teacher was one of the two members of staff who came along and it was good to see her again, too, as she was definitely an inspirational part of my education and gave me my love of words and books. One day, Miss Smith, I may actually turn all of these ramblings into a book!

My inspirational English teacher - Miss Smith

The next day I decided to dash back to Somerset to catch up with my son, who was in Somerset for the weekend, and also attend the Wells Food Festival. By doing this I missed an opportunity to pick up some Lovett Pies from my mum's friend but I knew they were going to be at the Festival so I made a bee-line for their stall only to find an empty table – they'd sold out! I shall have to wait for my next trip to Cheltenham to pick up some pies now and that may not happen until December as I am shortly travelling down to Cornwall to help on the farm. It's nearly 'tupping time', when the ram is put in with the ewes, and they have to have a pedicure and a bit of a tidy up before that happens!I've missed my WWOOFing this year and wonder if there is some way of re-balancing and re-jigging my life so that I can do a bit more next year – I'll have to work on a plan during the winter.

Sunset over Somerset

Nightmare on Swans Lane!

The newly-finished bathroom - 6 years ago

 After the abortive attempt to sell 'Millstone Cottage' earlier in the year, my letting agent became quite concerned about the 'damp problem in the bathroom' highlighted (along with the roof) by the guy's surveyor. I didn't want it to become such a problem that my tenant would decide to leave so thought I'd better send the boys round to see what was going on. In the event, only one member of the building team of 'Bodgit and Scarper' was able to attend site and what he had to report was not encouraging! The tiles at the tap end of the bath appeared to be held on by gaffer tape and moved at the slightest touch, and the floor area next to the bath was so rotten that you could push a finger into it! My ex (I have never worked out if he is 'Bodgit' or 'Scarper') offered to help me get the bath out but could not help much more as he was busy on other jobs so, on a Monday morning three weeks ago, I loaded up my little car with my toolbox and several other boxes and bags of equipment and drove over to the cottage.

The sight that met me was daunting to say the least and became more so once we had removed the bath. Left alone in what had once been a nice bathroom, I set to work to find out the extent of the damage. As I removed tiles from the walls I was confronted by plasterboard walls that had turned to soggy porridge and which collapsed at the slightest touch – in the end I took all of the plasterboard off to a height of about 4 feet, and 5 feet at the tap end of the bath. Behind the plasterboard and between the stud walling was expanded polystyrene insulation which had soaked up the moisture like a sponge, so that all had to come out too. Although very damp the timber of the stud walling had not got any rot in it and, after three days and nights of running the dehumidifier, had dried out quite well, so that was one good thing!

Devastation!

Once I had removed all of the problem walling and deposited it outside, I could turn my attention to the floor. Using a jigsaw, I cut across the chipboard flooring boards and removed the soggy, rotten pieces. As this was trial and error I ended up having to make a second cut to get rid of all the rot. Under the chipboard flooring was more insulation – luckily, this time it was the type with dense foam sandwiched between two foil skins, and did not appear to have been affected by the water, which was just as well as beneath that and on top of the DPM (Damp Proof Membrane) was a sizeable puddle! I was still none the wiser, at this point, as to where all this water had come from as there had been no leaks from the pipework under the bath. At first I thought that my first ever attempt at tiling had been so rubbish that water from the shower had been seeping through cracks in the grouting over the last five years and soaking down the walls but, as the days went by and I exposed and treated more areas of damp, I became convinced that the water had actually been soaking up the wall not down and this would suggest that a large amount of water had been spilled over the bath and found its way through the flooring to the DPM and then soaked up the plasterboard, which acted as a wick. Whether one of my previous tenants had allowed the bath to overflow or had a shower without using the shower screen, I will never know, but that is what I suspect.

Re-instatement begins

Armed with some basic measurements, I went off to see the wonderful lads at the local builders' merchants. They are total stars and never fail to come up with workable solutions to my many and varied problems. I ordered new flooring board, a cement board instead of plasterboard (unaffected by damp conditions) and new insulation for the walls and it was all delivered and off-loaded into the cottage that same afternoon! There then began the arduous task of re-instating the bathroom. I must admit I would rather work on a completely new project than try and do remedial work!

One of the biggest headaches was the tiling – six years ago I bought standard 6” x 6” white tiles from B & Q and some border tiles with a blue 'bubble' pattern on. I had put one border about three tiles down from the ceiling and the other one about three tiles up from the bath and this border had had to be removed. There was no way to successfully remove the tile adhesive from the back of the tiles without breaking some and I had no spares so Jeni and I headed off to B & Q at Yeovil (first time I've been to Yeovil in decades!). Firstly, the border tiles that I'd seen online and thought would look OK with the upper border, looked all wrong and were thicker too, so would have stood proud from the surrounding tiles and secondly, the standard white tiles were a different white! I had already tried three other outlets and all three had different shades of white so, at this point I gave up and resigned myself to having white tiles that DID NOT MATCH! Aaagh – my OCD-side was considering ripping the whole lot off the wall and starting again from scratch but, in the end, I managed to quell my revulsion, bought the white tiles and some blue mosaic tiles to cut up for the border and we headed back.

My friend (and landlady) Mary came to help me do the tiling and we were getting on brilliantly – she was putting adhesive on the tiles, handing them to me and I was slapping them on the wall – until we came to inserting the border tiles. It was at this point that we realised that, although we had carefully fixed a batten in a horizontal position from which to get our datum line, the original tiles ran slightly downhill towards the tap end! (I had obviously tiled to the line of the bath originally and not to a measured horizontal) With a resigned and defeated air I prised all of the tiles back off the wall and we cleaned them and the wall – an entire afternoon's work wasted – we could have cried. The next day I went back and had another go and eventually got the spacings correct so that it didn't look too awful (I'll definitely never be able to live there again, now!)

My ex kindly came back and helped plumb the bath back in so that I could finish the tiling, seal the edges, put back the shower screen and seal that and then repaint two walls that had become stained/damaged by the damp, re-box in the pipework and lay carpet tiles! Phew!

It took two weeks of almost daily visits to complete the project and although I could appreciate the glorious view from the cottage once more, I was heartily sick of the place by the end. I hate working in a confined space, especially with someone else's belongings around and no space to manoeuvre materials and tools. I was just relieved that, on the days when I had to cut flooring board and wall board, the weather was dry enough for me to work outside. During this time my poor tenant became a displaced person and was camping on friends' floors, I think. Needless to say I've let him off the rent for those two weeks.

On the last evening that I was there, desperately trying to lay carpet tiles before I had to go off for a farm sit the next morning, my good friend, Grainne, who lives just around the corner, asked me up for a cuppa before I set off home. I gratefully accepted but said I would be a little while yet and about half an hour later I received another text 'I've made spaghetti bolognese, would you like some?' What a lifesaver! I was so tired that I wasn't sure I could safely drive home and a meal and a glass of wine and some catch up time was just what I needed to recharge the batteries. Brilliant!

I just hope that, whatever caused the damp problem in the first place, does not re-occur as I do not want to have to tackle that job again, but at least I have extended my DIY skills a bit more – now, should I tackle roofing next??

The newly-refurbished bathroom - last week!

Wild Flowers

Rosebay Willowherb in July (Scotland)

 

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight

We did a scene from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' when I was at Junior School (First School to all the youngsters out there!) and, even then, these few lines brought up goosebumps on my arms – they are so magical! The names of our native wild flowers are often so evocative and roll off the tongue in a very pleasing way, I find. My particular favourites are Rosebay Willowherb and Hemp Agrimony, both of which are evident in the hedgerows at the moment.

Lady's Smock in May (Wales)

I realised the other day, as I drove from my home to Somerton with a batch of baking for the Country Market, that I have been unconsciously measuring the progress of the seasons by the hedgerows for some time. In spring I notice the obvious Primroses, Cowslips and Bluebells followed by Red Campion and Lady's Smock and the ubiquitous Cow Parsley – in fact I call, erroneously, any white umbelliforous plant 'Cow Parsley', as I can't distinguish between them with any certainty! When I see the magenta spikes of Rosebay Willowherb pushing their way skywards I know that summer is in full swing and, when these same spikes are fading shadows of their erstwhile glory, I know that summer is drawing to a close. Then the wild clematis, Old Man's Beard, comes into its own smothering the hedgerows, briefly, with creamy flowers before becoming even more noticeable by its fluffy seed heads that grace the hedges and roadside trees all winter.

Wood Sorrel growing on a fallen branch (Wales)

On my travels over the last five years I have seen an incredible variety of wild flowers – many that I did not know the names of – and have tried to take photos of many of them. Unfortunately, my photos never seem to do justice to their extraordinary beauty and I have yet to take a photograph of a bluebell that looks the 'right' blue!

Just across the fields from where I live now there is a 'fishing lake'. It is actually a flooded railway cutting from the long-closed Highbridge branch of the Somerset and Dorset Railway (known locally as the 'Slow and Dirty'!). In places its is about twenty feet deep and is a strange, slightly spooky place, overhung by goatwillow and fringed with bullrushes and brambles. Very few anglers ever use it and the fishing stations are fast becoming reclaimed by nature. I'm told that there are kingfishers there but, when I walked over to it the other day, the only wildlife I disturbed was a lone female mallard duck. I could hear moorhens in the bullrushes at one end, but they kept themselves hidden from view. There are quite a few different wild flowers growing here – mainly the type that like rough wastelands, such as Yarrow and Vetch. One, a very pretty yellow daisy-type, I had to look up in a book and discovered that it had the very prosaic name of Fleabane, and was used to ward off fleas in houses in days gone by. Quite often the name of the flower refers to it's use in the 'olden days' and gives us a clue as to how our ancestors used it, such as: Lungwort, used to treat diseases of the lungs; Hedge Woundwort, used as an aid to healing wounds as it has antiseptic qualities; Comfrey (or Knit-bone), used in a poultice to aid healing of wounds and broken bones; Scabious, used to alleviate itching and in the treatment of ulcers; Fat Hen, pretty self explanatory really – it was used as a feed to fatten hens. These are just a few examples, there are many,many more and I find it quite fascinating.

My 'fat hens' have settled into their own little routine now – they spend the morning in their yard while the dogs, that Mary boards, have the run of the big yard and then, in the afternoon, they are allowed out to free range which means that they immediately make a bee-line for the newly mucked out stables where they scratch around in the straw, spreading it about liberally, and undoing all Mary's careful bedding up! Once they have trashed those to their satisfaction they head off to the muck heap to scratch out the tastiest worms, before finally going to scratch about on the grass. If wet, they go into the big barn where the hay and straw bales are kept and have great fun scratching about in there too and having dust baths. I think they're happy! I am still awaiting my first egg from the youngsters but it can't be long now as their combs are getting larger and redder day by day. Meanwhile I still have to buy eggs to use in my baking for the market on Saturdays!

Having been left, on several occasions, with baked goods that haven't sold and that I do not want to eat myself, I have been looking around for a second outlet, and think I may have found a possible candidate. On Fridays it is Market Day in Shepton Mallet and, I may have mentioned in a previous blog, that when I went a few months ago I was shocked to find only three or four stalls. Since then an enterprising lady has approached the market people and done a deal whereby for a reduced pitch fee (£5 instead of £20) people can set up small stalls and sell their wares, be it handmade cards, jams, plants, craft items or whatever. These have become known as the Suitcase Traders and, when I visited on Friday, had attracted quite a number of customers. The whole area had a definite 'buzz' about it and, if Helen can get enough signatures on her petition for free parking in the town on market day, could really help to regenerate the town. I would quite like to be a part of this movement and it would work in well with the Somerton Country Market, as I could bake the majority of items on a Thursday, present them at Shepton on a Friday and take any unsold items, plus a few newly-baked ones, to Somerton on a Saturday. I'll let you know how I get on.

Dog rose (Wales)