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

Communing in Constable Country

Scene of Constable's 'Hay Wain'

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

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

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

East Bergholt Bell Cage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ickworth Rotunda

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

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

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

Old Hall Community

Viva Espana!

View of Granada from the Alhambra

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeni tiling in the cave

A Second Spring

May Day celebrations

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

The bluebell wood

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

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

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

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

A fox cub in the wood

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

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

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

The cottage and garden, Moelfre

4th Anniversary Blog

Bluebell wood at Moelfre, Powys

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

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

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

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

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

Number of weeks over-wintering in Cheltenham = 20

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

Number of weddings attended = 0

Number of funerals attended = 1

Number of book launches attended = 1

Number of festivals attended = 1

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

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

Rhododendron bloom, Moelfre, Powys