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.

A week away in in late August, based in mid Wales, opened up opportunities for outings to new places. Family made arrangements for us to discover Mount Snowden (Y Eryri), the highest peak in England and Wales. The younger and more adventurous element booked their mandatory car parking slot on the mountain’s lower slopes and headed for the peak on foot while we senior members opted for the scenic route to the top by train, starting at the terminus down in Llanberis.

The Snowden Mountain Railway is unique in Britain in being the only one to use a rack and pinion system and was opened as a tourist attraction in 1896. Swiss made engines equipped with toothed cogwheels engage the rack to provide the necessary traction to climb inclines to the summit. A rebuilt modern terminus and visitor centre is tucked away under the peak and visitors have half an hour to enjoy the view before returning. We were really looking forward to the experience, whatever the weather. But our optimism was misplaced. The weather was very wet and windy. The station ticket office advised us that due to these adverse conditions our booked service would terminate three quarters up. We could either have our money back or proceed on those conditions. Having wound our way for nearly two hours on narrow roads over hill and dale to get here we stoically opted for the incomplete journey. Twenty minutes later saw us queuing up to board with the other remaining passengers, with steaming engine and carriage in sight, only to be told that this service was now cancelled. Alas, two thirds of ticket holders had opted for their money back. That left insufficient numbers of bodies on board to safely anchor the carriage, risking our being blown off the track by the high winds currently swirling round the mountainside!

We were refunded of course but were left inevitably disappointed and at a loose end. Also concerned for the rest of the family, with whom we couldn’t communicate as there was no phone signal. It turned out the hardy walkers got a good way there from their starting point and took in views of the lake below the cloud shrouded summit, before turning back after becoming drenched on an increasingly challenging track. We met up with them back at our accommodation near Machynlleth to exchange tales of the day over supper.

Our day out perked up when we realised what else the area offered. No-one can escape noticing that much of the mountain sides along the northern side of the valley are missing. A stark reminder of a relentless economic activity that has dominated and defined this area for at least two centuries – the mining and quarrying of slate. Turning into a large car park we came upon a barrack like old industrial complex, comprised, unsurprisingly, of slate roofs and walls. These are the Dinorwic quarry workshops, one of the imposing slate processing works that once made this corner of Wales the largest producer and exporter of slate in the world. At its late 19^th century peak the industry employed 17,000 men and produced nearly a half million tons of slate a year.

The tall gatehouse of the dark castle like building looked even more fortress like and forbidding with waves of rain from remorseless grey clouds sweeping over it, but the welcome we received was warm and entry free. Dinorwic is now the National Slate Museum of Wales and has been invested in by its custodians the Welsh government since 1972 when it opened, three years after the quarry finally ended production. The site reveals itself as a succession of inter-connected workshops facing onto a large central courtyard, crisscrossed by rail lines. Opened in 1870, eight decades after commercial quarrying had begun on this site, it once employed some 3,000 men to repair, maintain, make and store all the machinery and equipment the vast operation, spread over 700 acres, required for its day to day operation. It even had its own dedicated hospital to deal with casualties on site.

My terraced house in Lancaster is one of the UK’s countless late Victorian homes and institutions roofed with Welsh slate. When I had the property reroofed in 2010, some 130 years after it had been built, 75% of the original Welsh slates were good enough to be reused. On our visit to the museum I discovered there was a regular boat journey from the main port for the slate quarries down at Portmadog to supply the Industrial conurbations of Lancashire, via Preston’s port on the Ribble estuary. This area of north Wales is where the slate for my humble home came from in the 1880’s, perhaps from this very mountainside!

Highlights of our visit included getting up close to the works huge waterwheel, installed in 1870, driven by a stream running off Snowden’s slopes whose waters were piped across the valley. Measuring 50’ 5’ in diameter x 5’ 3” wide with a 12” axle this metal wheel is mainland Britain’s largest and sits confined in a narrow brick structure that makes closer examination a mildly claustrophobic experience.

Everyone loved the featured craftsman demonstration. A skilled former employee showed us assembled visitors how a slate is split with mallet and chisel. A deft act that drew a collective intake of breath in much the same way as a magician demonstrating a card trick might do. The wonder here being the sudden appearance of two perfect slates where there was only one before. We also learned that the traditional industry discarded a staggering 90% of excavation as waste, hence the distinctive landscape. Nowadays, much reduced manpower utilising modern mechanical means reprocess by-product as core material for the building, gardening, chemical and cosmetic industries. Quartz, chlorite, hematite and pyrite are amongst the minerals extracted.

Later, looking up from the courtyard at the scarred face of Elidir mountain towering immediately beyond I marvel at the pace of natural reforestation by native trees on former quarry terraces and into vast screes of slate waste. Oak, ash, hazel, willow and alder thrive and colonise, thanks to the wet climate and perilous slopes largely free from further human activity or grazing animals (feral goats excepted). An expanding nature reserve that’s good for wildlife too.

On entering one particular room off the courtyard, set up with tables and butty cans, the air resonated with interweaving conversations in Welsh. An effective audio visual touch. This was the mess room or Caban the men shared at break times. Pressing matters of the day, from religion to politics, sport and music were freely discussed here. At times the industry was convulsed with bitter disputes over pay and conditions. The great slate works were owned privately by gentry families that had been made immensely rich from the slate excavated on their lands while most of their many employees worked long hours in dangerous conditions for little money or job security.

A row of miners cottages, Fron Haul, originally situated near Blaenau Ffestiniog, has been rebuilt at the museum and refurbished to give visitors an idea of what domestic life was like for mining families at different periods, from the 1860s to the 1960’s. Years ago I’d been very impressed with another national museum of Wales – their flagship open air home of resettled buildings at St Fagans near Cardiff. This atmospheric recreation put me in mind of St Fagan’s fascinating row of post war pre-fabs, as furnished through succeeding decades.

We left the museum and crossed the tracks to take a ride on the former Padarn Railway that ferried finished slate to Y Felinheli near Caernarvon for export overseas. Closed in 1961 this initial section reopened as a heritage line, rechristened as the Llanberis Lake Railway. It runs from the village along one side of the lake, at the foot of the mountain. We enjoyed an hour’s leisurely ride, in tiny cabin carriages, five miles there and back, with the odd stop to take in the views and stretch our legs.

Caught a glimpse when trundling the rails of the quarry’s former inclines and terraces, a part of which has been recently restored. Powered by gravity, wagons full of slate travelled down the mountain, using their weight to pull empty wagons back up to the workface.

A totally different railway experience to our cancelled trip up Snowden but appreciated none the less for the modest delight it brought all aboard! The unexpected discovery of the slate museum in its country park though made our day. A place where nature, engineering and culture interact to offer curious visitors a surprisingly atmospheric and inclusive experience…whatever the weather!

It’s a tonic when a younger generation inspire you to share an adventure with them. In our case it’s 13 and 10 year old grandchildren who want to do the 84 mile long Hadrian’s Wall National Trail. Happily for all concerned we’ve been gradually doing it in sections, in no particular order, as and when.  As we inhabit the eastern half it’s something of an adventure to roam west, on beyond Carlisle, to the official start/end of the coast-to-coast trail at Bowness-on-Solway. This was where the port and fortress of Maia stood, guarding the estuary and marking the western end of the Wall.

It’s a very British thing to promote a world heritage site like Hadrian’s Wall and then provide no public visitor facilities at its western end. Luckily for us, after a long car journey and traffic jams in Carlisle, we could negotiate a trip to the loo for everyone at the commercially run visitor centre that dominates the village centre. (B&B, bar, bistro, apartments & luxury gym) For either a donation or a purchase access to the toilets is granted. We were told by one of the locals that there used to be public toilets in the village until recently but they closed because the local authority could not afford to maintain or clean them.

A sign on the wall of a ginnel (alleyway) off the narrow through road gives access to an open bankside with a wonderful view over the estuary of the River Eden to Scotland. Crossings on the ‘wath’ pathways have been made here for centuries by those knowledgeable or desperate enough to brave the shifting sands at low tide. Early Christian saints spreading the gospel, invading medieval armies or marauding bands of Reivers all have their place in the history of the Solway. From 1869 when it opened to 1934 when it was demolished, a mile long railway viaduct physically connected both shores. Now all you see are the pier head remains on either bank.

The local community have created a delightful space here to give an encouraging send off (or welcome) to walkers on the official long distance trail. A wooden framed pavilion, floor mosaic, artist designed bench, information board and a secular blessing ‘ Good Luck Go With You’ carved into the apex.

Setting off on the trail via the only road in or out I noticed a long straight length of large sandstone blocks below a thick hawthorn hedge marking the field’s edge. A reminder that a single track branch line once ran along here and a stone embankment was needed to front high tidal ingress. The Solway Junction Railway closed to goods traffic in 1899 and was finally done away with in 1932.

A stream we crossed spilled out on the seaward side, through grass covered settled mud banks above the tide line, carving a final course through the sands. On the other side of the road its hidden bed between grass pastures was characterised by dense high reeds merging into the hedge lines. It must provide a good hiding place and highway for wildlife.

The initial mile of road walking brought us to Port Carlisle. It’s a fascinating settlement whose very existence is a testimony to the rapid changes brought about by the industrial revolution. Before the coming of the railways Carlisle’s growth as a regional centre at the lowest bridging point on the River Eden depended on it having a port outlet. This was the driver in transforming the tiny fishing hamlet of Fishers Cross into the new settlement of Port Carlisle in the 1820’s by digging an 11.5 mile canal from sea to city centre. Designed by the Newcastle based engineer William Chapman it was cut deep and wide in order to take smaller seagoing vessels.

The purpose built harbour and canal basin facilitated turn around and storage and could also accommodate larger vessels so cargoes either way could be transferred. Passengers soon followed coal and grain as the main freight with boats sailing to Whitehaven, Liverpool and the Isle of Man.

Hot and cold sea bathing facilities opened and all the new settlements brick built houses and merchants provided services of one kind or another for visitors as the Victorian era dawned. Many north America immigrants passed this way. Most famously the Carlisle born mother of Woodrow Wilson who would become the 28^th US President (1913-1921). The former hotel where her family and many other migrants stayed overnight awaiting passage is now a private house. (Below)

Within three decades inland waterways – as a means of travel communication and commerce – were overtaken by the arrival of the railways. By the early 1850’s Port Carlisle canal had been filled in and replaced by a branch of what would become a new line from Carlisle to Silloth further down the Cumbrian coast. That town rapidly developed as a deep water anchorage so Port Carlisle’s fortunes declined, its infrastructure silted up and fell into disuse.

Talking about this history with the kids, we had our picnic just off the path, perched on dislocated blocks of red sandstone that once made up the massive canal and quayside wall, overlooking the abandoned headland and harbour. A quiet peaceful spot now, with oystercatchers nearby and other wading birds too far off to identify with any certainty. The Solway is the third largest continuous intertidal habitat in the UK and home to many thousands of migratory birds in winter. So at least one migratory tradition continues on this esturial shore.

I left the family to continue following the trail and wandered back to Bowness to pick up the car where we’d left it at the RSPB reserve. I then drove to meet them on the green at Glasson, opposite the recently closed village pub, now being converted into a private dwelling. The hostelry was called ‘The Highland Laddie’, a reference to the clansmen of the 1715 and 1745 Jacobite uprisings, who would have crossed the estuary here on the ancient wath ways.

Whether caused by the Covid crisis or something else the pub’s demise is a sad loss to walkers (open all day, every day) beer lovers (CAMRA branch met there) and local fishermen. The tradition of haaf netting for salmon survives here and the pub’s former sign board (2009) humorously reflected both the art of pub signage and the practice of sustainable small-scale fishing. (I’ve been fortunate in the past to see this ancient netting technique in action on the Lune at Sunderland Point and the Tamar at Cotehele, between the Cornish and Devon banks.)

England’s fearsome warrior king Edward I, known as ‘the Hammer of the Scots’ died of dysentery while on campaign at Burgh-by-Sands on June 7th 1307. A dying wish for his body to be taken into battle at the head of the invading host was quietly ignored by his successors and the late king was solemnly processed back to London for burial in Westminster Abbey. I couldn’t resist stopping here briefly on the way home to see the parish church of St Michael where the king’s body lay in state.

There’s an excellent display about the event in the church tower whose ground floor you enter through massive thick walls by a narrow passage gateway known in the dialect as a ‘yett’. Like most religious and secular buildings in these parts St Michael’s was constructed of dressed stone taken from the Roman wall fort of Aballava on which Burgh is situated. (Named from the Old English ‘Burh’, meaning fortified settlement) Like the Roman fort of Maia (modern day Bowness) there’s virtually no sign it ever existed today, so widespread and thorough has been the recycling process!

Edward I’s imperial expansionist campaigns in Scotland and Wales had a huge effect on cross border life. The long-term instability left isolated communities to fend for themselves against cross border raids. In Burgh’s case the church’s defensive western tower, dating from 1361, gave clear views  over the Solway, its bells warned villagers of attack whilst the nave sheltered their livestock. At one time there was also a defensive tower at the other (eastern) end, which explains why there is no window behind the altar. This is the region’s best example of a church doubling up as a ‘bastle‘ or defensive house.

What a pleasure it is to discover places where layers of history overlap or lay half hidden and to see how geography has defined its character and development. Though shorn of Roman structures this stretch of the national trail is rich in re-formed buildings and industrial heritage as well as being an internationally important haven for wildlife.

Postscript. A friend has sent me this link. It’s an evocative account of fording the Eden and the Esk by David Livermore led by local guide Mark Messenger, starting at Burgh.

Crossing the Sulewath: A guest post by David Livermore

You can’t help but wonder that if the redundant rail line was still operational today would the village’s former community facilities be here too – the pub, shop and café? Staying in a redundant Methodist chapel in the Yorkshire Dales last weekend I mused about the possibility. This particular settlement’s old station has been converted into luxury accommodation with plate glass windows to take in the extensive views west. The line itself is still traceable on its level round the curves course, appearing then disappearing into the mizzling distance.

The South Durham and Lancashire Union Railway opened in 1861 and was operational, under different names, between Barnard Castle and Tebay for the next century. Generally known as the Stainmore line, after its highest and bleakest point, it was designed by leading railway engineer and native of Cumberland, Sir Thomas Bouch (1822-1880). This cross Pennine track transported coal mined in Durham to smelt limestone and iron ore in the furnaces of Barrow-in-Furness. At its peak in the 1880’s a million tons a year passed this way. In the wake of industrial decline after World War II the line closed to passenger traffic in 1962, as part of the infamous Beeching cuts.

Thanks to the extraordinary efforts of the Northern Viaduct Trust (www.nvt.org.uk) the Stainmore line’s trio of magnificent viaducts around Kirkby Stephen have been saved from demolition and maintained for public access free of charge. In addition, local enthusiasts have restored Kirkby Stephen East station, which sadly we didn’t get chance to visit on this occasion (www.kirkbystepheneast.co.uk) Over two days, despite high winds and rainstorms, we explored sections of the track between and across these wonderful engineering structures.

There’s an all weather path – a section of the coast to coast walk – from Kirkby Stephen town centre to the village of Hartley where a steep incline gains access to the old line in woodlands by an active limestone quarry. (The last section of line continued to serve it until 1975) At this point the Merrygill viaduct’s nine arches crosses Hartley beck, 78 feet below. A platelayers hut by the ruined signal box provides visitors with shelter and information about the line and quarrying.

Walking further east you pass under road bridges in cuttings on to the ravine of Ladthwaite beck, spanned by the eleven arches of Podgill Viaduct. Originally built to carry a single line it was widened to double in 1889. There are fine views west over the Eden valley and the Lake District, while to the east a line of dark fells marks the boundary of the Yorkshire Dales National Park.

This public section ends a little later where the Stenkrith road bridge crosses both line and River Eden. Since the Millennium a metal and concrete footbridge below it gives walkers mesmerising close ups of naturally occurring holes in the river’s bedrock, through and around which the rushing waters swirl.

Returning to Kirkby at this point we followed the Eden downstream through woods and fields, eventually crossing it by a wooden footbridge.

Onwards by hedge hugging paths, which eventually led into a broad riverside field, featuring a large limestone bank barn.

Locally known as ‘cow’uses’ (cow houses) these field barns are distinctive features in the traditional dales landscape. Mostly dating from the C19th, they were used for storing hay and overwintering cattle whose muck was spread over the field each spring to fertilize the next hay crop. This one, being built into the slope, had upper and lower entrances that farm carts could utilise.

The second leg of our viaduct walk took us a mile or two further westwards along the high line to Smardale, starting and finishing at a car park provided by Cumbria Wildlife Trust. (https://www.cumbriawildlifetrust.org.uk/)

The next mile and a half of track bed passes through their delightful nature reserve. Dense swathes of oak, ash, hazel, birch and sycamore cover the steep hillsides and embankments. Former boundary walls, their coping stones covered in dense coats of moss, are glimpsed between the trees.

Shortly after passing under an arch of Smardale viaduct (the rest of it lost to view in the treeline either side) we heard the welcome rumble of an unseen passing train. The famous Settle & Carlisle line, crossing over north/south. The country’s highest  route passing over what was once the second highest. Being rival enterprises back in the 1860’s they didn’t interact and this point was their one and only passing place.

Arrived at Smardale Gill Viaduct to discover contractors in a fleet of vans doing major maintenance work, upgrading the parapet railings and re-pointing the old trackside limekilns further on. This meant we couldn’t cross as planned but needed to divert off track, on to open fell side, free of woodland cover.

That diversion was a great bonus, focusing attention on the impressive structure of the curving construct, all fourteen arches at a height of 90 ft. above Scandal beck below, flowing over rocks millions of years old. So confident is the design that the footing of one pier is planted not either side of the water but right in it. 

The path also allows you to see courses of corbels on each pier that secured the rough wooden platforms where Victorian navvies once toiled to build the structure skywards to completion.

Worsening weather meant abandoning the planned return leg over the exposed flank of Smardale fell and instead we retraced our steps, past track bed verges of many wild flowers the reserve protects and promotes. I particularly liked the mauve tints of field scabious and the bold magenta of bloody cranesbill.

Unsurprisingly, given the inclement weather, there were no signs of the rare Scotch Argus or Northern Brown Argus butterflies that have a welcome safe haven hereabouts. Plenty of fruit flies though which buzzed continuously around our heads as we walked and landed en masse once stopped! Piles of logs and coppiced wood mark the way – perfect habitat for a wide variety of insects that in turn provide food for birds like redstart and pied flycatcher.

A lovely sojourn in a beautiful remote part of England where nature and historic transport history are valued and enhanced by their interlinked existence.

NORTHUMBERLAND: I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire/ These high wild hills and rough uneven ways /Draws out our miles and makes them wearisome.

The Cotswolds is an AONB (Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty) graced with buildings using the locally quarried stone that gives even the humblest structure an added attractiveness. My old friend took me to a spot where this was amply demonstrated which I’d otherwise not have known about.

Driving through Beverston the clusters of uniform style cottages immediately tell you this is an estate village. Dating from the mid C19th, the quality of materials and vernacular design show the care that went into their creation. The big house and parish church were not so obvious, being shy of the road, cocooned by old walls and mature trees, now in full leaf. A short drive down a bumpy track brought us to a shady deserted square between the two historic fixtures. And what a pairing they have made over eight centuries of neighbourly companionship.

It was said of the Berkeley family that in riding to London from Berkeley Castle, down the road from here in the Vale of Severn, they never left their own land. Beverston would have been an initial stage of that cross country progress as a castle was erected here by one of their founding number in 1229 and further extended & reinforced by them in the C14^th. As with many other castles it last saw serious action during the English Civil War and was subsequently ‘slighted’ by Parliamentary forces. In other words, made unusable by having walls and other defensive features demolished.

Fortunately Beverston castle’s substantial remains were not abandoned, as so many were elsewhere, but recycled over the following century to transform a military stronghold into a substantial manor house and ornamental gardens.

It remains at the centre of a 693 acre farm estate today, complete with venerable buttressed barn and more modern stables, grouped nearby around a green with specimen trees of some vintage, one propped up by timbers.

We marvelled at the architectural interaction of Cotswold stone on the different planes and levels. A Grade I listed building and scheduled ancient monument it remains a private residence, not open to the public.

Glancing through a rusty iron bar gate in the wall we could see that the dry moat has been incorporated on the garden side of the house as a kind of ha-ha feature while the grassland beyond apparently boasts an array of orchids.

As in many other places once the feudal lord’s secular needs were met in the form of a castle a church would be built or improved to secure the eternal souls of himself and his kin. Here in Beverston, St Mary’s has an attractive stocky Norman tower, partly rebuilt in the C15th. The graceful metal lamp arch adds picturesque charm to the churchyard entrance.

It didn’t always look so spruce. The dilapidated church was renovated, not just once but twice in the course of the C19th century. The end result is a pleasing and vibrant one and the parishioners are still fundraising to bring social facilities in line with C21st needs. The airy building we entered was flooded with soft summer light thanks to the large windows of plain glass, plain white washed walls and effect of the restful honey coloured stone.

The church fabric boasts a number of fine medieval features but the one that impressed me most was the problem solving technique devised by the Victorian architect Lewis Vulliamy to secure the nave roof – a bespoke arrangement of trusses and corbels used sideways on the supporting walls. It struck me as an architectural version of that one time popular family fun game ‘Twister’.

Loved the fact that the medieval rood screen, discarded in the first Victorian restoration, was rescued from the rectory garden where it’d been used as a pergola and put back in its original rightful place, between nave and choir.

Alerted by the guide notes we went looking on the outside for four medieval stone grave covers with incised chamfered crosses and spotted them where they’d been incorporated into the masonry high above. Three of them in line to form a top course, the fourth on its own embedded into a lower section of wall.

Intrigued to learn that the parish registers contain references to the families of Shakespeare and Hathaway. William Shakespeare undoubtedly knew this part of the Cotswolds well and describes the district in Richard II, as quoted in part above. If you’re interested in knowing more the parish has a good website: https://www.beverstonparishcouncil.org.uk/

The Cotswolds is an area of England that conjures up images of postcard picture perfect villages, many inhabited by second home owners, blond stone buildings nestling in folds of rolling estate farmland and densely wooded hillsides. A recent visit to catch up with an old friend allowed me to discover how much of this stereotypical view was for real. As a long time resident he knows the area well and was keen to share some of its treasured features with me.

1500 years ago, when under the benign rule of imperial Rome, the area around the administrative centre of Cirencester (Corinium) was home to some 50 villas. These palatial homes were at the heart of rich agricultural estates. Their wealthy owners, with extensive land and mercantile interests, lived a luxurious lifestyle and imported goods from all over the Roman world…So plus ca change on that front!

One of the best preserved of these Roman villas open to the public is near the village of Chedworth, just off the ancient Fosse Way. It nestles at the head of a coombe below sheltering woods. The spring that rises here provided a vital water supply. The villa’s owners revered spirits of place and made a feature of the pure waters emergence with a shrine to the resident nymphs (nymphaeum).

It wasn’t until the 1860’s that the historic site was rediscovered and excavated by the family of the local aristocratic landowner. An arresting feature of one room is the remains of a tree trunk embedded in a dividing wall that shows the ground level at the period of excavation.

The museum and warden accommodation, now offices and storage, dates from then and stands, somewhat incongruously, on the dividing wall of the villa’s central courtyard.

A scale model made of metal gave us a three dimensional overview of the building in its 4^th century prime. The excavated ranges of single storied interlinked rooms is now mostly roofed over for preservation and interpretation.

Our meander there led us along raised walkways over and around a series of fascinating floor mosaics, the largest collection in the country still in their original positions. Ploughing and other disturbances in later ages have damaged the original fabric but the remnants in the luxury dining room and baths sections remain substantial enough to impress.

Underneath the floor lies an elaborate hypocaust system that provided dry under floor heating. Millions of tesserae made from pieces of coloured stone sourced from far and wide make up the mosaics. Some are local (white, off white, olive), others from Somerset (blue, greys) and the Forest of Dean (purple, browns) with broken brick or tile for reds. There’s some dispute, centered on the mortar used, whether Chedworth’s mosaics were assembled on site or prefabricated elsewhere.

How the interlinked bathing areas were developed and used is also still up for interpretation. Sauna like arrangements, hot semi-circular baths and a cold plunge pool with steps all feature in the arrangements.

Modern research indicates this villa survived the withdrawal of Roman troops from the province of Britannia in 410 AD, albeit as a purely agricultural holding, for at least another century before being finally abandoned. Roofs fell in and its valuable dressed stones were recycled into other buildings or used in making limestone for mortar in a nearby kiln. Living as I do near the empire’s military boundary on Hadrian’s Wall, that part of the story is familiar.

The finds museum is small but has some fabulous items on display in glass cases, including jewellery, tools, ceramics and an altarpiece. Particularly liked this tiny copper alloy figure of a deity, which would have been part of ritual practice.

A collection of spindle whorls. Rods with weights used for twisting wool into  yarn. A large part of Roman women’s work would involve clothes making for their families.

The villa’s clay tiles were most likely made in Cirencester where they were laid out on the ground to cool straight from the kiln. Two on display here present accidental indentation, one of a human hand and the other an ox’s hoof.

An outdoor feature I loved were the mini-meadows, literally garden rooms, developed in some of the partially excavated spaces in the north range. Alkaline loving meadow plants thrive here in the thin soil and mortar. These include oregano and marjoram, Mediterranean herbs first introduced by the Romans.

Best of all we came across some snails. No ordinary molluscs but large, edible snails (Helix pomatia) originally brought to this country by the Romans and still very much at home here, as they hibernate in the walls. Apparently the site also supports a remarkable number of bat species, including the rare barbastelle.

A great place to visit on a summer’s day, and the interpretive staff we met were particularly well informed. The National Trust has been the site’s custodian since 1924. More at: https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/visit/gloucestershire-cotswolds/chedworth-roman-villa

We marked the first of July with some much needed exercise on a circular stroll nearby, along a bridleway through fields by the forest’s conifer crowded edge, returning home by footpath and single track lanes. 

Moody westerly weather gave us great variety of view over the high land, set off with constant shifts of light and changes in temperature. There are a lot of cattle out on summer grazing now but luckily we only had one field of cows with calves at foot to navigate. Not having a dog with us helped. Utilising hazel walking sticks a welcome assurance too in such circumstances.

The winding low water burn, emerging from the forest, carves a shallow valley for itself and at this time of year has meadow grasses aplenty with patches of yellow flowering Lady’s bedstraw and hawkweed in its banks.

One plant seen in amongst the predominant clover and buttercups of the grazed fields is self heal. As the name suggests it has a long tradition of use in herbal medicine. Found in shorter swards that have not been chemically treated this low lying creeping plant is adaptable to longer grass too. It has the prettiest of small violet flowers. (At home I leave clumps of the nectar rich flower unmown in the lawn areas, and rejoice to see the bees visit).

A tractor and cutter was laying a crop of grass for  silage as a flock of seed seeking finches followed in its wake, with a scattering of corvids working the newly exposed turf for worms.  This being a bridle path a jump for horses embedded in the stone wall makes perfect sense. At the next field an exultation of skylarks treated us to their etheral singing. Like John Clare we ‘listen to its song, and smile and fancy’.  

Attempts to follow an OS map marked footpath convinced us it’s never, or rarely used.  We passed an abandoned footbridge over a stream and wonder if the path originally went that way. Instead we’ve to make our way uphill to peer down through the gorge’s leaf canopy to find where the track should drop again.

A fallen ash blocked our passage and necessitated some nifty leg work over a barbed wire fence and a scramble back down the steep bank to where woodland gave way to field again. To our relief he footbridge we sought suddenly revealed itself. That in turn brought us up to the narrow lane and more easeful sauntering along its quiet lengths to join the wider road for home.

The generous verges and drainage ditches here are largely untroubled by man or beast so remain home to a rich variety of plants. Some I spotted were hedge bedstraw and burdock, silverweed and vetches, with a mass of Meadowsweet just starting to break into fluffed up creamy bloom.

Followed the weak winged but restless progress of a number of ringlet butterflies and finally catch a picture of one resting on yarrow.

Pleasantly surprised to spy a dozen or more common spotted orchids, their beautiful pinky white flowers peeping out between the grasses. Even more pleased to have one (for now) back home growing in the patch of roadside meadow by the yard gate. Fingers crossed it spreads is seed for next year.

Sign of the times. A supplementary official notice needed to remind scramble bike riders and 4×4 off road drivers that public footpaths are not BOATS (Byways Open to All Traffic)

On the higher and drier stretch of the road home the vegetation is coarser and dominant umbilifers are in the process of change over. The cow parsley now well over and seeding freely as the stouter hogweed, with its irritant hairy stems, beaks into flower.

Our front garden wall boasts more biting stonecrop this year than ever.  Wonderful splashes of yellow emanating from the gaps between grey stone.

Busie old fool, unruly Sunne,/Why dost thou thus,/Through windows, and through curtaines, call on us?/Must to thy motions lovers seasons run? From: The Sunne Rising (Donne’s poem is lettered on the side of Prospect Cottage)

Unique is a much over used word. Applied to Dungeness though it is spot on. The outing here was aided and abetted by a good old friend of ours who lives up on the Sussex Downs and had visited many times before. He also had wheels so no need to get the bus from our base in Rye over the county border to this corner of Kent.

Often referred to as England’s only desert Dungeness is one of the largest shingle banks in Europe, a result of coastal longshore drift over the centuries. This triangular bulwark defines and protects Romney Marsh behind it. The etymology of ‘Dungeness’ makes the association between the two topographies clear as it means ‘head of the marsh with manured pasture’ in Old English. The marsh has long since been drained to become fertile farmland where native Romney sheep and Sussex Red cattle graze, which we had admired when crossing it by rail on the line to Rye from Ashford.

Both a national nature reserve and SSSI, Dungeness today is home to 600 different types of plant, an astonishing third of the total found in the UK as a whole. We were thrilled to see plants that are rarities elsewhere thriving here.

Nectar rich beauties such as vipers bugloss, sea kale, mouse eared hawkweed, horned yellow poppies (above), sea pea etc freely colonising beach and roadsides.

An Anglo-Swedish scientific programme has recently re-established a population of short-haired bumblebees here, where they were last logged in the UK back in 1988 and officially declared extinct in 2000. They need species rich grassland to survive and Dungeness has no shortage of food plants.

We watched a kestrel hovering in the clear blue sky above as our friend recalled seeing harbour porpoises hunting through channels between shingle banks exposed at low tide.

We called in at an artisan weaver’s studio then watched a tractor delivering a trailer full of produce to a roadside shack doing a brisk trade in fresh fish and shellfish. Our lunch destination though was a local landmark, the Pilot Inn.

We duly sampled ‘the best fish & chips in England’ outside the bustling hostelry, watching the world go by while guarding our grub from a raiding party of starlings. The engine wreckage of WW2 planes and memorials to killed aircrews stand poignantly nearby.

Across the way men were rebuilding and extending one of the original shacks. Many of these simple dwellings were converted railway carriages and goods waggons occupied from the 1920’s by workers from London seeking an affordable rudimentary home by the sea. These days such places are snapped up by the well healed seeking a get away in what remains the most remote and least populated part of south east England. We saw one place – a cool black wood cube with swish interiors and panoramic windows – reportedly being rented out for £1700 a week.

What attracted Kim & I here initially was Prospect Cottage (Above). Built in 1900, and the former home of a local fishing family it was bought by film maker and gay rights activist Derek Jarman. A beloved home from 1986 to his death in 1994, it was made famous by his writing.

The iconic garden the artist created, intermingling native plants with found and organic objects in a seemingly boundless state, has been influential on garden design ever since. After a national fundraising campaign Prospect Cottage was acquired by a charitable trust and is now managed as an artists retreat, although I expect getting any privacy or peace here in the height of summer to work would be problematic.

We circled and explored the garden with the remaining art forms time and tide had gifted its famous occupant. A lot of the original sculptures are elsewhere for safekeeping as they would surely have been nicked by now, as there are no defining fences, hedges, walls or other formal boundaries hereabouts.

Dungeness itself is a formal entity in being an estate. It extends to 468 acres (190 hectares) and contains some 100 homes on 99 year leases, although only around a third are occupied all year round. It’s not hard to imagine this as a bleak exposed place to live in winter, that would make or break the will to be a seriously committed resident. For many years a family owned and run business, in 2015 the estate was put up for sale and was bought by the French energy giant EDF for a sum in excess of £1.5 million. This is no lucrative development opportunity as Dungeness is highly protected, but as the buyer also happens to be the area’s biggest employer it makes business sense.

Britain’s nuclear power stations are all situated on our coasts because they need huge amounts of water to cool the reactors. EDF own and run Dungeness power station, the dominant landmark that defines the ness’s western horizon. Built in stages from 1965, andgenerating electricity by 1983, it was due to close in 2018 but is now scheduled to remain operational ‘til 2028. The company had previously been paying up to £100,000 per annum to the estate to move shingle from the other (eastern) side of the ness to stabilise and reinforce the sea defences on its western flank.

This special environment being only an hour and a half’s drive from London makes it a magnet for visual artists and has featured on a host of album covers, music videos and dramas, like this 1981 offering from Pink Floyd. The cost of running the estate is partly met by issuing filming rights, currently £1500 a day for commercial film or photography or £300 for students.

It can be hard work walking over the shingle. We took our time though, to absorb the sights and sounds of the great gravelly bank as we followed its coastal crest westwards. In the old days locals attached short planks to their feet to gain easier traction. These days orange plastic mats ease passage for pedestrians to reach the shore.

Fishing boats are hauled up the strand by winches and their gear secured in boxes by the boats or in tar coated wooden huts, some of which are liberally decorated with a collection of signs. Incidental art works in the spirit of the place.

Wind, rain, waves and salt laden air take a terrible toll of wood and metal. Abandoned boats and collapsed winches, even a rusted out bulldozer punctuate the steep sided bank. As it recedes inland the shingle rises and falls in gentle swells, colonised with more vegetation the further back it goes.  

Our constant way marker was the former lighthouse. There have been seven buildings on the ness since 1615 and this one, now a museum, opened in 1904. The white buildings are former lighthouse keepers cottages.

Sadly time and logistics did not allow us to incorporate a return trip on the UK’s smallest (15” gauge) regular passenger steam train line, all 13.5 miles of it. The Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Railway, operational from 1927, is a major tourist draw today and just hearing and seeing the immaculately preserved engines steam and whistle their way through the landscape was a pure delight.

They’re not obvious to find and when you do discover them they’re not  really accessible. As befits former military sites they don’t render up secrets willingly. I’m talking about the acoustic mirrors or ‘listening ears’ now protected from incursion – except on special open days – by a moat. Extensive extraction of  gravel in recent years has created a wildlife lake and the three experimental concrete structures are marooned on an island where they sit, like ancient monoliths, peeping skywards over trees towards France some 30 miles away.  

Built between the wars on what was then Ministry of Defence land the 200ft long wall and two circular dishes equipped with microphones were designed to pick up the sounds of approaching enemy aircraft. An early warning system that was soon to be made redundant by the invention of Radar in 1938.

The waters here were remarkably clear, green weeds waving from the depths beyond its cool shore. Resting from the heat on the escarpment I saw a great crested grebe dive and swim to catch a small fish before resurfacing. Elsewhere mallards and their ducklings sailed in and out of reed beds. Shags, goldeneye and coots were out there on the lake too, with swallows slicing the air above them.

Beyond that still planes were coming in and out of Lydd airport (AKA London Ashford Airport). Controversially the former RAF base is earmarked for runway extension to take bigger, heavier commercial traffic. Beyond that, and dating from 2008, stretches the largest onshore wind farm in the south of England, generating 60 megawatts of electricity for the grid.

Nukes, planes and turbines exist cheek by jowl at Dungeness with an incredible richness of flora and fauna. A treat for curious creatives or lovers of life on the edge, providing us with one of the most fascinating and rewarding of walks yet.

The moon is even more spectacular. The sunset turns the seashore into a rosy mirror, with streaks of pink cloud. Then the moon comes, and casts a silvery path across the waves, a shimmering carpet for the stars. Dungeness, Dungeness, your beauty is the best, forget the hills and valleys. (From: Derek Jarman’s Garden)