‘To be imprison’d in the viewless winds/ And blown with restless violence round about / The pendent world…’    (Measure for Measure)

It’s been a relief having entered a spell of milder weather where the sun occasionally makes an appearance and a hints of the coming Spring bring signs of cheer. This has been the most consistently wettest and windiest winter at the corner house since I first arrived, back in 2010. Venturing out a short while back, on a walk up the lane to its highest point, I was leaning heavily into a persistent wall of invisible pressure that had to be clocking up speeds of some 70 – 80 mph.

The storms were serious enough to cause power outages on separate days and all normal communications went down hereabouts. Out came the candles, tea lights and series of battery operated camping lights and the early evening darkness was warmed alight enough to be made workable in. Smokeless coal and a regular stock of logs along with the oil powered Aga for cooking and heating carried us through the mini-emergency.

The garage workshop, which forms the sheltering west side of the gravelled yard, flooded a fortnight ago for the first time ever. The water table below the permanent upland pasture that surrounds us must have reached saturation point. The excess water oozed out of the slightly higher neighbouring meadow, through the drystone garden wall and into our wood clad outbuilding, streaming over its concrete floor before draining away. No permanent harm done but a reminder of what to expect from now on in wintertime. Curious to know if further evidence of climate change will express itself in an opposite state of more severe heat and drought during summers to come.

Learning the lesson from Storm Arwen (See journal for Dec 7^th 2021: Arwen and After) we now have an emergency LPG powered generator installed, off the floor, in a corner of the garage/workshop, but didn’t go through the motions to activate it on this occasion. Keeping the water pump and freezers going would be priority. To be more confident, when better weather returns, we’ll have to go through the switching drill.

Rubbish weather outside means there’s no excuse not to get on with long delayed jobs inside. One such is repainting the attic bedroom the grandchildren use as their base when visiting. I love the challenge, once finally started, and catch up on a lot of radio programmes and podcasts in the process.

Clean out the scores of houseflies hibernating in the rebate of the two Velux windows set in the sloping roof. That job completed I go on this past week to repaint the walls in Kim’s studio. Moving some of her former models and palette of coloured pencils in the process.

On a cheerful note, Spring flowers are come again…most noticeably aconites, lungwort and snowdrops. (The latter still spreading happily of its own accord to new sites in garden banks and beds) The host of daffodils both on the roadside and in the more sheltered yard side copse are starting to bloom.

Unusual seasonal visitors joining the home crew of garden birds at the seed feeder have been a pair of Lesser Redpolls. At least I think that’s what they were but I couldn’t get a closer look at these gregarious finches for long enough to make sure they were not the very similar looking linnets, flocks of which were previously spotted a few years back on neighbouring farmland.

A new year’s resolution has been to nominate a day each week that in normal times for me to go out on cultural away days with friends. This gives Kim the time she needs to properly focus on  new projects at the drawing board, free of distraction! It’s a mutually satisfying project that’s going great guns so far. A recent outing was blessed with a rare day of rain and wind free weather. My friend Rob and I took the train to Carlisle from Hexham, a scenic journey along one of the world’s oldest intercity rail lines. We fell into enjoyable conversation with two other senior gents with similar interests to ourselves who were on a Newcastle /Workington away day jolly, changing trains at Carlisle’s solidly outsize Citadel station.

Despite half the border city’s attractions either being closed mid week or undergoing refurbishment we had no shortage of things to re-discover elsewhere around the centre. The magnificent cathedral provided a fantastic focus and the historic urban quarter that its great red sandstone mass dominates was also full of interest.

Formerly the church of the prestigious Augustinian priory, what Carlisle’s seat lacks in status and grandeur compared to say Lincoln or Salisbury, it makes up for in the way of curious treasures and warmth of welcome its staff extend the visitor. The volunteer guides here are friendly and obliging with time to chat and answer questions. The information panels in the aisles are hanging cloth banners, outlining the lives and achievements of interesting lesser known figures associated with the building down the ages. Pleased to see featured a character I’d once played – Reverend Hardwicke Rawnesley. (Diary of April 24^th 2022 Castle, Lake and Tarn has more about this influential Victorian cleric & pioneering conservationist).

Amongst those Cathedral’s treasures are the Tudor Salkeld panelled wooden doorway with its profiled faces of worthies, the magnificent star spangled barrel roof put in during the mid Victorian restoration and an imposing Jacobean wooden pulpit with its curious carved supports, as well as the magnificent medieval choir stalls and their reverse side C 15^th full length paintings of the saints. Interesting to note that figures at ground level have been defaced by protestant iconoclasts at some point post-Reformation whilst those tiered above and out of immediate reach have not, thus retaining their facial features.

The new fratery here, adjacent the cathedral entrance, is an inviting place to relax over food and drink. Rob & I gravitated to the spacious overflow setting of the cathedral library for our delicious lunch. Continuing our walkabout along the city walls, overlooking station and lines north we bumped into a Scottish master brewer involved in the comprehensive restoration of a former long closed pub here as a bar with its own microbrewery and visitor centre.

It’ll be the first brewery to open in Carlisle city centre since 1987 when the last traditional brewery closed. Lots of chat about heritage hops and brewing techniques with our genial interlocutor before we headed back down along some old lanes and cobbled byways.

We discovered a fascinating mix of private town houses and former grand institutions, in various states of transformation, which drew us on with growing interest and hopes for the further renewal of an historic city which I remember advertising itself once as ‘Worth a Closer Look’.

Now, in that respect we all love an old public notice still clinging on, despite vagaries of wear and neglect, like this one in a Carlisle alleyway… 

Another surprise was this old meter. What would it have powered in its public place of a run down arcade? When was it last used? Incidental street art now but obviously essential once.

The surprise takeaway though from our day out was discovering a random series of officially sanctioned street art brightening the environment of otherwise unloved and overlooked urban scruff points. Hurray for the association of freelance artists collectively known as Blank Wall Assassins for cheering the eye with their range of pop-up graphic contributions. Particularly loved this iconic Lake District view of Aira Force filling a focal point, framed by a covered ginnel populated with pigeon nests and commercial wheelie bins. Brilliantly effective work by artist Martin Evans (2020)

So yes, Carlisle was worth a closer look alright and once Tullie House gallery and museum with its delightful garden reopen, and on a day when English Heritage are open for visitors at the great border citadel that is the castle, we’ll no doubt be back for more…not to mention a pint at that new micro-brewery on the west walls, which is due to open this summer!  

A weekend walk in the wider locality drew us to a favourite spot on the fell that  defines our northern boundary of view. The only lay-by was full of cars. Shooters in the field. So we drove on down the other side, thinking where to now? Then I remembered a summer trek with a walking friend in a neighbouring valley, a place to which one day I swore to return…This must be the day.

Our part of Northumberland up to the time of Edward I’s imperial expansion over the border was relatively peaceful, which meant that most of the fortified houses and castles hereabouts were built by Scottish barons as their kings held sway here. Dally castle is a good example, overlooking a circling loop of the Chirdon burn.  It sits impressively on the end of a ridge, part severed from it by a deep defensive ditch. Only the lower portion of its thick walls remain today, plus a generous scattering of dressed stone, including remains of columns and fish tail arrow slits.

Dally was originally constructed not as a castle but as a two storey ‘hall-house’ by David de Lindsay in the 1230’s. It was gifted him by Margaret, sister of King Alexander II of Scotland. Two centuries later, as times turned more violent and insecure in the age of the Border Reivers, that defensive hall was remodelled as a much more formidable three story ‘tower house’. Come the gradual return to political stability after the union of the crowns in the 17^th Century Dally was eventually abandoned and dismantled. Its ready supply of dressed stone further depleted down the decades for re-builds of a water mill at its foot and additions to nearby estate buildings. Enough remains today to give a clear footprint and the site yields views over the alder lined course of the burn, in-bye fields and exposed fell sides flanking this now peaceful upland valley.

We followed our noses, having no map, driving on up the vale to find a parking place at the point it becomes a private access track. Continuing on foot we came to the forest edge where a surprising vista suddenly opened to view on our right. Roughside was a working farm until the 1950’s when the Forestry Commission took possession and evicted the last tenants. All its fields were then thickly planted with sitka spruce and the farmhouse and remaining outbuildings gradually disappeared from view as the trees grew up around them. Last year that whole stand of trees was clear felled and the isolated steading on its ridge came blinking back out of conifer confinement into the light.

Strange feeling it was to progress slowly uphill along the bridleway, crossed and crushed by the heavy plant used to clear the closely packed plantation. It was a mild day, clear sky, with no wind, so the air still bore the scent of resin from the stumps of pine and abundant brash. The farm’s former dry stone field walls breached in many places. Now, back in the sun, the accumulated seven decades of mosses that thickly line wall and ground will fall away under exposure to sun, wind and rain and the land take back some of its former wild character.

What saved the old farmstead becoming yet another forgotten ruin in the great post-war forestation was the action of the MBA in buying it from the Commission in 1989. The Mountain Bothy Association is a remarkable institution, formed and run by a dedicated band of volunteers. Founded 1965 in Galloway by local enthusiasts it’s a registered charity dedicated to maintaining otherwise abandoned buildings in the wildest, most remote parts of the UK as basic shelters for ramblers and backpackers.

The word bothy originally meant farm accommodation for itinerant labourers. Although the number of farm workers severely declined in the 20^th century the number of leisure walkers increased so the functionality and adaptability of such places gave many a new purpose. Today over 100 such shelters are in the MBA’s care. Northumberland has 7 of the 11 bothies to be found in England, 3 of which are here in the Kielder Forest Park.

The Bothy Code is a common sense respect agenda. i.e. respect for other users, the surroundings and the building itself. In recent times selfish people turning up to party en masse with drink and drugs have caused problems, with additional issues of litter dumping and vandalism. A warning sign on the access track reminded us of that abuse.

We set about exploring the various rooms in the old two storey building. All the basic necessities were in place, including saws to cut logs for the fire, carpet covered wood boxes to sleep on, a fresh spring water supply and an outside compostable toilet.

An MBA team visits to do structural maintenance and check all’s well. Our Goldilocks moment came in discovering one of the upstairs bedrooms to be occupied, although no one actually present, just all the walking and camping gear on two separate bed boxes and a roaring log fire in the grate!

We returned back down to the car by a slightly different route, skirting the forest edge where the rushing stream marked its boundary. Fascinated by the mature larch trees we passed, their bare branches swinging out over the wire fence, encrusted with lichen, cups of cones balanced elegantly on each bough.

The stream here, a headwater of the Chirdon burn, is narrow enough to stride over, and characteristically noisy, full of peaty brown water. Clearly it must carry  force in spate, as the undercutting of the land at turning points clearly indicated.

We had parked near a handsome traditional stone built Georgian farmhouse, part of whose land fronting the burn had been transformed into a wild meadow garden, defined by circular grass paths and a large pond. The former farm’s single storey L shaped outbuildings had been converted into a pair of high spec fully equipped holiday lets, rebadged as cottages. Looking them up online back home we saw they were being let for an average £800 per week each. Made us smile to think we’d now seen, in one visit, both ends of the spectrum of accommodation on offer to visitors in our remote corner of England.

Here we come a-wassailing/Among the leaves so green/Here we come a-wandering/So fair to be seen.

With family staying at the Corner House over the New Year break I persuaded them into celebrating the seasonal horticultural spirit, seeing out the old to usher in the new. After supper on NYE we got noisy with saucepans and wooden spoons around the Arthur Turner, the oldest and largest of our apple trees, carousing it with a wassailing song in ragged harmony.

Emily (10) poured a libation of cider round the roots before brother Harry (13) discharged a few pellets from the air rifle through the bare branches to see off any lurking evil spirits. Yours truly, in a mask I’d once worn in a production of The Tempest many moons ago, brandished the airgun for good measure while chanting a scatter rhyme to close proceedings. We all loved the impromptu fun in reconnecting, however haphazardly, with that most ancient of traditions – placating the gods to ensure good harvests in the year to come.

The mild spell of weather allowed us to enjoy successive evenings socialising on the deck round the fire pit, with a variety of rugs and cushions for warmth and comfort. Dried logs and briquettes fuelled the mesmerising flames, captured and reflected in the steel drum. In following days I tipped the residual wood ash around some of the cordoned apples out front, raking the grey matter into the damp soil. A good source of potassium, it may yet prove a more scientific boost to productivity than our turn of the year ritualistic carryings on!

Elsewhere in the garden the wildlife ponds are full to the brim from weeks of rain. During a recent cold snap, in lifting one of the larger edge stones, a frog dived for cover under the film of ice. As noted here before, this year’s newtlets are in there too, hiding out from frogs and other predators like diving beetles or dragon fly larvae in the mass of oxygenating weed.In the new and much deeper pond the watercress has become well established, and is still putting out fresh green leaves, above tangles of floating white roots. It really is the most useful cover and shelter for so many aquatic animals and insects. 

Nearby, underneath the blackthorn and oak in the copse, I lifted the lid of one of the old compost bin tops, placed there for animal shelter years back, to delightedly discover it has a resident this winter. A great round mass of leaves, grass stalks and other plant matter with a clear trail in and out. Not sure if that indicates a hedgehog in residence or a rodent of some kind…Must keep an eye on it over the weeks to come.

Enjoyed a family outing along a favourite section of Hadrian’s Wall. We chose not to take the more rugged and scenic right turn from Steel Rigg. That leads walkers eastwards to the gap which no longer features the sycamore that bears its name, notoriously felled in a devastating act of vandalism earlier in 2023. Simply cannot yet bring ourselves to see the sorry sight of a boxed off tree stump.

Instead we took the path less travelled by, gradually ascending westwards to the highest point along the wall at Winshields, which also happens to be the midway point on the original 73 mile long northern frontier of the Roman Empire, from sea to sea. Particularly struck by the section just below the trig point where the ridge’s field boundary wall, running along the exposed foundations of the Roman structure, meets the original wall and once again resumes its wide onward stride.

The atmospheric panorama presented us was a winter best, with distant rolling mists alongside clear sun lit patches, harmonic shades splayed across the fells subtly changing under a diffuse wash of pale light – a water colourist’s dream!

Back where we had parked at The Sill, the National Park’s visitor centre, a good post walk lunch was enjoyed in the upstairs café. The gift shop here stocks a good selection of items produced or sourced from within the park’s boundaries (including Kim’s books!) The amount of merchandise – from post cards and posters to book covers and beer bottle labels – that feature the iconic lone sycamore only adds greater poignancy to the collective sense of loss.

The visitor centre has a display of people’s handwritten posts and pictures that mark its tragic demise, which we viewed as we left. A reminder of how much that singularly graceful tree has been missed and mourned by so many hereabouts and indeed everywhere else.

Bidding the family farewell on New Year’s Day we noted a splash of colour by the yard gate. A hellebore, emerged from the humus rich soil of the copse. With no flowering rival in sight this beautiful ‘Winter Rose’ really is the most cheering of company and a symbol of hope and renewal for the year to come.

December taken up with the tying of loose ends, like putting the most recent tour to bed whilst laying foundations for the next. The small captain’s chair we use for the reader (compact enough to pack into the back of my trusty Fiesta) snapped at a former fracture during the last performance of the run. Dave, our friend and rural neighbour, took it away for repair soon after and returned it last week. He’s done a brilliant job inserting a pair of dowels to fix the join as well as resetting the support spokes…All ready now for more touring next autumn.

After a long spell entertaining it’s always good to go see others at work. December with its many seasonal offerings is always good for that. Witnessing grandson Harry (13) pull off a strong lead performance in his school play (‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’) was a proud moment for his family.

Later we got immersed in another of our local community theatre company’s technically accomplished productions in the old Town Hall. This time around it was a freewheeling adaptation of Oscar Wilde’s ‘The Canterville Ghost’. Our £10 individual tickets included a light interval supper of home made soup, bread & cheese while locally based First & Last Brewery ran the bar. The final draw of the obligatory raffle netted me some exotic bath salts, so clearly my luck is in!

Kim & I delighted to see our dear friend Vicky Brazier in a great ensemble piece at Theatre by the Lake, Keswick – a fine adaptation of Frances Hodgson Burnet’s ‘The Little Princess’. Apart from assuming a happy ending, it was great not to know the plot, as you do with many other familiar pieces. The post show bonus was being introduced to ‘The Wainwright’ pub in town. We got happily settled in its bustling back bar, socialising with Vicky and other cast members, whose characterful watering hole this is. Crept carefully into our B&B just before midnight struck. Oh, the joys of an old fashioned theatrical night out!

Next day we drove Vicky up into the neighbouring Newlands valley for a short walk along the tracks before she had to get back for the matinee. Such a beautiful setting, made even more so in the snow, despite tricky conditions encountered driving along ice compacted narrow and twisty lanes. Among the secluded vale’s scattered farms and cottages stands an isolated parish church and former schoolhouse by a stream of crystal clear waters. Luckily for us we had left area for home before a major snowstorm struck later that evening, cutting off huge swathes of the Lake District and blocking many major roads, including the M6.

Weather permitting at home, we got back to doing more maintenance, prep and structural things around the garden. My main tasks were raking and bagging up the remaining leaf fall in the wake of storms for mulching and composting; cutting willow in the garden for chipping, retaining as bean poles or making into decorative stars or wreaths; re-potting shrubs and decorative trees. One is a pear, on the sheltered south facing front garden, the other an eleagnus quicksilver, which manages to survive on the exposed northern side of the house.

I describe the pear as decorative because, although it’s perfectly healthy and produces splendid blossom every spring, its restricted existence inevitably results in a poor fruit yield (2, if we’re lucky). I live in hope a bigger pot can help toward doubling the crop in time. It’s a tough and elegant little tree that is now more stable and no longer needs propping, which is the main thing. Luckily, younger son Patrick was visiting recently and helped us transfer the dense root ball from old home to new. I’d earlier managed to tip and ease the tree out then realised it was too heavy and awkward to manoeuvre unaided into the new pot.

There seems no end to the rain and wind we’ve been having recently. When an interlude of snow and ice occurred, even though its residency was just days, the transformation across our hill country vista was spectacular and welcome. It prompted a saunter along the dry stonewall boundary of our four acres of rough grazing (The Crags) to admire the scenic views at field’s end. 

The neighbour’s woodland trees stood minutely defined, bare twigs and fissured trunks of oak, alongside birch, ash, rowan and willow further down in the sodden bottoms. Sounds all stilled in the cold air, perfectly magical. I thought of Robert Frost’s lines: ‘Whose woods these are I think I know./ His house is in the village though/ He will not see me stopping here/ To watch his woods fill up with snow’

Another day, walking down the lane, we passed a neighbour’s tups, each ram fitted with a harness so mating progress can be monitored. A couple of Texels and a Suffolk, co-existing amicably in the large pasture, were overseeing a shared harem. Many of the ewes, having been covered by all three, present like multi coloured rugs. Further afield one glimpses hardy outdoor breeds of upland cattle, like belted Galloways, Blacks or Blue-greys. Nearer home, Southridge’s herd of stabilisers are mainly housed in their new shed, working through the summer’s crop of silage and hay.

Hares, whose prints we always see in the snow, live somewhere in or around our field and for a week or so, when the wet and grey days returned, one of them cheered us with its presence, grazing the garden grass, quite unconcerned by human presence. Fishing out fallen oak leaves accumulating in the garden ponds I’ve been surprised to net a by-catch of wiggly baby newts, most barely an inch long. Think they must stay in the pond throughout winter, surviving under the ice that formed when the temperatures plummeted.

On trips to the valley’s big village I’m pleased to see individual tokens of seasonal cheer, not just in the little independent shops and businesses, lovely and cheering in itself, but also on the streets.

Most noticeably, the post box topper handcrafted by a local lady or the parish council’s sprigs of conifer on road signs.

Back home the tree is up and lit, cards start arriving and Kim retrieves from the attic her box of Canadian family heirloom advent calendar and traditional decorations for the tree. This is my last country diary of the year. In conversation with friends recently, or in receiving notes on Christmas cards, it’s been heartening to learn how many enjoy reading these occasional jottings. To each and every reader, known to me or not, thank you for your interest and encouragement. Despite the time it sometimes takes to do I enjoy keeping this online journal as record of a country life. As long as there’s a readership I’ll continue to write them. Here’s wishing you a merry Christmas, with every best wish for the year ahead!

My irregular countryside diaries have taken a back seat during October and November. Most creative time has been taken up with producing and reading for Murder They Write, which has turned out to be the Border Readers most successful tour to date. Here are some of the highlights of that extended road trip…

Working in pairs or as a trio we actor/readers played an eclectic mix of 14 community and cultural venues across the borderlands, all with their own distinctive character and atmosphere. This particular set of crime stories from our writer friends and fellow northerners, Ann Cleeves, Martin Edwards & Cath Staincliffe – with their distinctive styles and settings – proved to be a compelling line up, holding our listeners attention from start to finish.

Elsdon, a new venue for us, whose Grade II listed parish church of St. Cuthbert’s emerged as a canny place for this kind of event. Hosted by the local writers group, the part of the medieval building we played in had a super acoustic, enhanced by new wooden flooring and comfortable soft furnishings, donated by a local company. The inconvenience of, er, no conveniences and no heating were overcome by everyone dressing up warmly and being prepared to venture across the village green to the public loos during the intervals.

Another new venue was the village institute at Wingates, between Morpeth and Rothbury. Only 92 souls on the parish register and we had nearly a quarter of that number present that Thursday night in October, just as Storm Babet was gearing up to wreck havoc on the region. Lovely warm welcoming audience though, and a beautifully cared for community venue, dating from 1914.

Next night (Fri 20 Oct) the deepening bad weather got the better of us. Constant downpours had caused local streams to burst their banks. Three times on the journey from home we had to turn back on minor cross-country lanes due to severe flooding. Abandoned vehicles at flash points, emergency vehicles with blue lights flashing, speeding past us. Eventually, by sticking to main roads and doing the extra mileage, we finally arrived at Wallington. We were due to read in the great hall, with the iconic Victorian murals depicting scenes from Northumberland rich history as background. However, the National Trust staff and ourselves had an emergency parley and reluctantly decided to cancel. Although our team had made it through it was clear most of our 45 strong audience booked would not be able to. There were also doubts about us all getting back to our respective homes afterwards, given the way things were going, so it really was the right decision. We will be co-ordinating with NT colleagues to reschedule for next spring.

Other tour highlights included a post Covid reunion with dear old friends and comrades in arms from Lancaster days. Returning to read with Sue McCormick for instance, in the cosy setting of the Studio at Dumfries Theatre Royal with another responsive full house. This particular visit enhanced by lunch and a private tour of the fascinating Robert Burns museum in his favourite pub nearby – The Globe Inn – recently restored and enhanced by its proud new owners.

Another new venue was in the Lake District – one I’ve been keen to add to the circuit for some time – Staveley Roundhouse. Helen Longworth and Roberta Kerr my old pals here (above) and the full house proved itself a fabulous audience of active listeners. Kim and I stopped over in the local pub’s B&B which allowed us the rare pleasure of an enjoyable post show drink in the bar of the Eagle & Child, with the company.

Thinking of pubs…The Pheasant Inn at Cumwhitton near Brampton in Cumberland is very much the social hub of its rural community and the enterprising couple who own and run the place – Peter and Kate – took a punt on us last year with our ‘Haunted’ ghost story programme and as a result we virtually doubled audience numbers this time around. Many folk enjoyed a lovely meal in the bar beforehand. A convivial packed gathering in the upstairs events room clearly enjoyed a memorable occasion.

This was also the night well known Cumbrian based actor Peter Macqueen made his debut as our guest reader. This being the only night of the tour I wasn’t reading, it gave a welcome chance for me as producer to step back to experience and reflect on the event as a whole.

Finishing our tour at Humshaugh village hall on home turf in the north Tyne, guests of the Humshaugh Arts Programme (HAP) felt only right and proper. The core company of readers – Janine, Grace, Wynne and myself, along with Kim as assistant stage manager – gathered at the end for a group shot. Clearly de-mob happy we went on for a farewell drink up the road at Humshaugh’s community owned pub, The Crown.

We introduced a couple of simple technical innovations during the course of this tour. One was the abandonment of reader’s mini-spotlights in favour of individual LED file clip-on lights, powered by rechargeable batteries. This aspect of technology has come on leaps and bounds since I first started producing readings of ghost story readings for demi-paradise at Lancaster castle in 2008. I also tracked down a taller more focused and adjustable standard lamp to replace our former model. We still needed a bit more height for reader comfort so our handyman mate and rural neighbour Dave Oakes fashioned us a sturdy wooden base which also doubles as a carrier for an extension cable and other items.

In the wake of this production I’ve already selected fiction for next year’s tour, which will be based on a different literary theme. Next step is the gaining of permissions from authors, agents or publishers, then on to designing publicity material and securing tour bookings. The all round positive responses from venues and writers alike, increasing audience numbers and perception of what we are doing as a grass roots cultural entertainment continues to fill my creative being with purpose and enjoyment!

With my main preoccupation being the current extensive tour of ‘Murder They Write’, October’s garden works centre on meadow maintenance. Our patch is a roughly triangular one on a gentle north facing slope. I started converting it from original field pasture on coming to live to live at the corner house in 2017. The signature ‘meadow-maker’ of yellow rattle (Rhinanthus minor) has done a steady pioneering job to date, thriving as it does on the roots of rampant grasses, weakening them and allowing less robust meadow flowers to follow in its wake. That and a few extra annual sowings of meadow flowers with the establishment and spread of grass suppressers like plantain has established good growth round the lawn bordered perimeter and sections of the hinterland.

Last year I relied on plants self-seeding to promote the gradual dominance of flowers over grasses but this has proved an ineffective strategy in the lower quadrant. The indigenous grasses mounted a comeback this year so I decided to go for a scorched earth policy come the back end. As the sward had been mowed and cleared by the contactor, later than normal in September, it allowed me more time to hand harvest and dry a greater range of flower seeds, including yellow rattle.

Added to that I gathered the seed heads of great burnet (sanguisorba officinalis) from a nearby lane side verge. From a wildflower nursery I ordered yet more yellow rattle seeds and what was termed a ‘restore & enrich’ mix, comprising some two dozen meadow flower seeds.

The final component in this broadcast batch of seeds was red bartsia (odontites vernus). I’m surprised how few online nurseries in the UK supply the seed. It’s a native annual found on low fertility wasteland noted like yellow rattle for its semi-parasitic qualities. The minuscule white seeds come with sowing instructions that say ‘apply directly to grass’ which is great news as most other meadow flowers require a minimum 50% bare soil surface to take root.

Scarifying the grassland is essential for all seeding, to one degree or another. Hopes of successful propagation require one to break into the matted roots of tough rampant grasses like couch and rye. I hired a petrol driven scarifier from contractor Chris, and spent three afternoons in succession going over and over the target ground with it, finishing with sweat inducing old fashioned raking by hand to finish and clear the detritus.

The newly exposed patches of earth were now ready to receive a broadcast by hand of the grand mix, followed by crude tramping to fix them into the muddy ground. I noticed one of our resident robins eyeing me up as I did so and the little opportunist flew in on my departure to seek out any loose pickings or worms.

Can’t wait to see if these labours will pay off next season, once winter has played its part in the germinating process. I also planted 50 camassia (quamash) bulbs and half that number again of small native daffodil bulbs in the meadow and they will be next season’s floral harbingers. Previous plugging in of camassia two years ago was initially disappointing as year one’s plant height was restricted. Last year though they were noticeably taller so success is clearly a gradual process. In much the same way all the management and prep just undertaken should have a result that makes it looks as though there has been no management and prep undertaken. That it was the work of nature and providence alone!

And finally… With winter approaching our rural readiness is underpinned by the stacking of logs in the lean to, replacing sealant cord round the doors of the living room stove, and getting both boiler and the oil fed kitchen Aga serviced. The latter is very much the warm heart of house and home, as it will be in most of the neighbouring out-by properties.

A trip to the bottle bank, with a shop at the co-op and greengrocers in the big village is usually a good social event. Bumping into friends and acquaintances or passing sights like this, where the community knitters provide a seasonal theme to grace the post box, always raises a smile.

We couldn’t quite believe it when a pair of swallows started building a nest over the front door in August. Perhaps they were just practising in their spare moments. But no, it was for real of course and eggs were duly laid. Despite putting the parent birds to flight every time anyone came in or out the house they successfully incubated and hatched four chicks, and last weekend the quartet fledged, to a chorus of cheers from us. With an epic journey to southern Africa ahead and time running out for them to be robust enough to fly with the flock this late brood will need all the luck they can get to survive such an arduous and perilous journey.

Glad to learn it had been generally a good year for butterfly numbers across the UK, according to the annual Big Butterfly Count. Having noted lots of red admirals in the garden it didn’t surprise me that this generalist species was one of the top breeders in 2023. Along with cabbage whites, lesser tortoiseshells and peacocks they’ve been frequently seen feasting on our beds of late flowering plants, like phlox (above) and Michaelmas daisies as well as on rotting windfalls of fruit.

The bench overlooking the semi-circular studio bed is always a good spot to sit and take in views of a fine day. The tracery of tall multi-flowering stems are a particular delight. More surprisingly this summer, one morning before breakfast, a young adder was spied sliding out of the bed and along the path’s stone chippings. A rare sighting as they were last seen many years ago on nearby crags, sunbathing. I’m more pleased than concerned as this otherwise shy creature is an effective catcher of mice and rats and I hate having to put poison down to control numbers when natural predators (and the farm’s visiting cat) can do the job. It appears to have been a good year for these endangered and often misunderstood native reptiles, with lots of sightings up in the neighbouring forest so we shouldn’t be too surprised to find evidence of them closer to home.

A good apple crop this year, and the damsons likewise. In previous seasons blackbirds have been raiding the dessert apples growing along the front wall but this year we’ve been particularly plagued by wasps, making the picking an extra careful operation. They’re seduced by the aroma of extra sweetness in the red skinned varieties I’ve planted for juicing, so fortunately the insects assiduous mining of the fruit isn’t a problem. A regular supply of pure apple juice is our unmatched autumn delight, with some put aside in plastic bottles for the freezer.

The big green Arthur Turner cooking apples from the kitchen garden I peel and slice and dry for consumption through the long winter months. By trial and error have worked out a combination of hours in the lower Aga oven finishing off with drying all day on a non-stick surface over one of the lids before storing in glass jars. Always amazes me just how charged with intense flavour the dried fruit is.

Taking advantage of that recent week of good weather I cruised the meadow stuffing a large envelope with yellow rattle, yarrow, ox eye daisy, wild carrot, self heal and other assorted flower seeds. These can be sown once I’ve scarified the meadow ground sufficiently by back end.

Our regular contractor had had to put off his annual visit and the meadow grasses were getting very dense and going beyond for strimming. We needn’t have worried as Chris arrived with his new acquisition, a ride on mower of a type commonly used by local authorities for wayside management which meant he could mow the whole triangular patch of sward in just minutes. The older he gets the more he loves using this kind of kit, he confides with a laugh. Being the great guy he is Chris also extended his mechanical mow onto the crags, our adjacent four acres of field, topping the nearest soft rushes and thistles, thus giving the grasses a chance to reclaim territory. A handy reminder we need him back earlier in the year to weed wipe before rushes and thistles have time to set seed, which is the only way to keep on top of their remorseless encroachment.

For various reasons we’ve been idle walking the bounds of the field this summer so were pleasantly surprised on a recent foray to come across a lovely swathe of yarrow, stitchwort and harebells in the higher drier parts. Southridge normally keep their posse of Texel tups on our patch by this time of year, and the delay has seen a denser growth of grass than normal, which may favour this late flowering.

Delighted that the new pond has thrived in its first year. brass buttons & penny royal in flower, sedums at home in the gaps between surrounding stones and a succession of native alba lily flowers standing out atop the cool dark depths.

The coming of autumn, with more time spent at home after summer excursions, has given rise to a determined clear out of unwanted accumulated stuff here at the corner house. When Kim fished out this wonderfully expressive stone litho print of Meg, one of the family’s collies from farming days, I photographed it before it left us for a new home with old farming friends and neighbours. A beautiful study that bears witness to the outstanding quality of her work in one of the most time consuming and technically demanding of artistic mediums.

Borth is a village on the Welsh coast I’d never visited before so turning off the A487 on our recent holiday we drove on down there and found ourselves following signs to the Dyfi national nature reserve’s seasonal car park on the beach and from there headed off into the encircling dunes, stopping off briefly at the visitor centre, with its delightful mosaics.

Ynyslas sand dunes are the largest in Ceredigion and their lofty summits yield fantastic views over Cardigan Bay, from the seaside resort of Aberdovey on the estuary’s north bank down to the headlands masking Aberystwyth to the south.

We could see the Dyfi winding gracefully to the sea, its sand banks giving way to the mudflats and reed beds of Cors Fochno, the largest esturine bog in Wales. The far view is framed by a chain of foothills to the Cambrian mountains. A gorgeous uplifting vista under a huge running sky. No wonder this special place enjoys a UNESCO designation. More at https://www.dyfibiosphere.wales/

We stuck to the boardwalk and marked paths but clearly kids have enjoyed hurtling down the steep sand hills to left and right of us where marram grass had not colonised. Ynyslas is home to a population of rare orchids, liverworts, mosses, fungi, insects and spiders who are hopefully not too disturbed by the peak summer presence of humans and dogs. 

Loved the generous wide beach here at Borth that stretches for three miles. Quite a few families here enjoying the offer too, despite the stiff off shore breeze. As an enthusiastic but admittedly weak seaside swimmer I’m definitely in the child category for safe bathing so this shallow incline with decent waves would suit me nicely on a future summer visit. At extra low tides here it’s possible to see the exposed blackened stumps of pine, oak, birch and willow trees some 5,000 years old. Not surprisingly a submerged forest has many origin legends attached to it. It remains a mystery to us unless we return when conditions are right to catch a glimpse of their petrified forms.

Our bracing circular stroll along the beach brought us back to the headland’s tip where sea and river currents merge. Every summer since 2017 this area has been roped off to help protect and preserve a colony of ringed plovers – one of the UK ‘Red List’ endangered birds.

There are some 5,500 pairs of this native estuarine wader around the nation’s coasts and by inland reservoirs, where they are joined by overwintering flocks of visitors from Russia and Canada. Ringed plovers eggs are wonderfully camouflaged to fit in with the shale, sand or gravel habitats where they’re laid.

The parents hunt for crustaceans and invertebrates nearby, dashing backwards and forwards, using their feet to stimulate raindrops that bring prey to the surface. Ingress by humans and dogs during the breeding season, when the young chicks are particularly vulnerable, can devastate numbers and further imperil their survival. Glad to learn that the seasonal isolation of the headland by conservationists, supported through public co-operation, has resulted in a stabilised population of this bird.

One of my favourite nature books is Adventure Lit Their Star by Kenneth Allsop. The tale is set in and around the heaths and flooded gravel pits in what is now part of Heathrow Airport, at the end of World War Two and its central characters are little ringed plovers. The smaller cousins of ringed plovers were first spotted breeding in the UK in 1938, seemingly attracted from across the channel by these industrial developments in outer London’s overlooked edgelands. The story is one of an unlikely alliance of bird lovers foiling a ruthless collector’s plan to steal the birds’ eggs. The scene setting initial chapters in themselves are, to my mind, miniature masterpieces of dramatic immersive writing.

Others from my generation might remember the late Kenneth Allsop back in the 60’s when he was a BBC ‘Tonight’ programme anchorman. An RAF wartime pilot who suffered life changing injuries in a plane crash, he went on to become a highly respected journalist and leading ecological campaigner. The Island of Steep Holm in the Bristol Channel is a nature reserve run by the Kenneth Allsop Trust in his memory. https://www.steepholm.online/

I bought Adventure… , an out of print Penguin copy, from the skillfully curated bookshop in nearby Machynlleth, founded and run by our friends Geoff and Diane, whose admirable ‘retirement project’ it is. Penrallt is one of many delightful independent shops in that interesting market town and well worth a visit, as is their neighbouring photographic gallery with its exhibitions of leading practitioners work. https://www.penralltgallerybookshop.co.uk/

As a teenager in the 1960’s I loved The Prisoner, the ground breaking TV mini-series filmed in the Italianate coastal village of Portmeirion near Portmadog. Patrick McGoohan’s various attempts as ‘Prisoner Number 6’ to escape captivity was a surreal cult favourite for our generation. I visited the place in the 1990’s and could further claim to recognise Portmeirion pottery when I came across it.  Apart from that I didn’t know much about the family responsible for creating both village and decorative earthernware until I discovered their ancestral home in the hills of Gwynedd.

Plas Brondaw is a manor house built in the mid 16^th century, with a new wing added in 1666. In 1904 the young architect Clough Williams-Ellis (1883-1978).  inherited the, by then, run down property from his grandfather, a sort of  21^st birthday present. In his autobiography Clough wrote “….it was for Brondanw’s sake that I worked and stinted, for its sake that I chiefly hoped to prosper. A cheque of ten pounds would come in and I would order yew hedging to that extent, a cheque for twenty and I would pave a further piece of terrace.’

The result of all his life long labours at the family home are the wonderful gardens we visited last month when on holiday in north Wales. The world famous Portmeirion village – begun 1925, finished 1973 – had its genesis in the private experiments in garden design Clough and his wife Amabel carried out here at their much loved home early in his career. Clough was co-founder in 1926 of the countryside charity CPRE and was instrumental in helping establishing National Parks in general and the Snowdonia National Park in particular.

As a landowner Clough was fortunately wealthy enough to buy the site at Aber la – which he renamed Portmeirion – giving him the freedom to implement his extraordinary settlement from scratch, starting in arts and crafts style, then merging to classical and art deco as the century rolled on. Clough was also ahead of his time in including re-purposed structures from the original site and elsewhere round the UK, providing what he called a ‘home for fallen buildings’.

Portmeirion is today an upmarket holiday village complex housing two hotels and a host of self catering accommodation, and one of the most popular daytime visitor attractions in Wales. Brondanw (at least on the day we visited) was  happily bustling without ever being uncomfortably crowded. Long may that continue.  

Formal and playful by turns the terraced garden boasts cleverly interlinked rooms, avenues, embankments and viewpoints defined by hedges and topiary, Italianate statuary and stone paving, all framed by a ring of mountains.

We found the whole enterprise exercised a grip on the imagination that won’t let go. A Grade I listed garden and one of the most interesting I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing.

Plas Brondanw sits on the hillside within its own estate village while the 4,000 acres around that includes five farms, mixed woodlands, former slate quarries and wild river valleys. All the forty odd rented residential properties (including the pub) in the village of Llanfrathan, like the big house itself, sport the distinctive ‘swimming pool’ aquamarine shade of pale blue livery.

Clough Williams-Ellis saw active service throughout the First World War and he and Amabel lost their only son Christopher on active war service in Italy during the Second. Llanfrothan’s distinctive listed war memorial, built in 1922, was designed and built by Clough.

One garden viewpoint looks to distant Snowden, with head in the clouds, while another points to the distinct mass of mount Cnicht. That and another mountain Moelwyn Mawr were added to the family lands in 1940’s. There aren’t that many 20^th century gardens where its owner/creators can bring their own mountains into the picture.

Today gardens and house are run by through separate charitable trusts. The onsite café, managed by a local lady, had lots of home made produce and her staff were welcoming and helpful. We sat out in the courtyard with coffees by a formal lily pond with its fireman putti fountain, a witty touch that typifies the place.

The manor house suffered a terrible fire in 1951 that destroyed nearly all of the interiors and contents including silverware, estate archives and architectural diaries. You wouldn’t know that today as we explored its various corridors and rooms on different levels.

Half of Plas Brondanw remains private family apartments while the other half houses an art gallery (Oriel Brondanw) with changing exhibitions and the fascinating archives of Clough and his daughter Susan (1918-2007). She was the co-founder, with husband Euan Cooper-Willis, of Portmeirion Pottery, now the Portmeirion Group. The couple started their enterprise running the original pottery selling shop in Portmeirion village just after their marriage in 1945. Due to her flair as a designer coupled with commitment to its employees the brand has been for many years a British export success story, still in family ownership, now incorporating one time rivals Spode and Royal Worcester, with factories based since 1960 at Stoke-on-Trent.

Plas Brondanw’s main first floor gallery and library are light filled spaces with views north over the flat bottomed valley. Traeth mawr (big beach) was once shallow seas and peat bog of great botanical value, until drained for agricultural improvement in the early C19th.

Their loss, and those of similar areas on nearby Anglesey, are the subject of the current exhibition, ‘Wetland Dreams’ by locally based artist Sarah Bristow, topographic art expressed through collage drawings and sculpted models, displayed indoors and outdoors on the entry lawns.

Another surprising day in a special environment where its characterful creator’s presence is still alive and well. Highly recommended to any visitor open to its uncanny ability to raise the spirits and engage head and heart in the process. The spirit of Clough is here distilled in his aims to Cherish the past, adorn the present, construct for the future.