The Power of Gardening

Yes! Gardening is as powerful as can be. Some of our readers will look at this title and think that this is not for them. That might well be true, but we do hope that you will give us a read as this article could also be amusing!

Now that we are getting older, we are experiencing some great changes in the world. Sometimes, we find these fashionable changes amusing, for example a modern barbers shop has opened in Okehampton. I listened to a talk on the modern barbers shops and was very impressed. Alas! I suspect that Peter will not be amongst its customers. His hair is a different matter. We travel miles and miles to get that done! Alas! However, gardening has become something that it is fashionable to deny. That is absolutely fine. Each to their own.

We were brought up with gardening. Yes you can get your violins out. At the end of the war, there wasn’t much choice. Gardening saved you a shed load of grief. You could eat everything that you could grow. Further more, if you had been in any of the services, you were usually super fit, so turning over a long garden or a plot provided by the council was no problem. There wasn’t really much else that you could do at that stage, so 1953 finds both Susan and Peter pottering behind their respective dads for company. Susan and her father were a big team. They had been provided with temporary housing, which came from Canada. It was fabulous. It was bang up to date. It even had a coal hole, so we could keep warm by the fire. My father came from the Welsh valleys, so coal was a must. His brother had worked in the mine throughout the war. I have his death certificate. He had a massive funeral before I even started school! The coal hole was in the garden. It was the only place that I wasn’t allowed. Our speciality, as I toddled about holding an armful of tools, was Brussel sprouts. They were so tall that you couldn’t see me. All you could see was the movement! People used to wonder what it was! We grew everything. My mum had a front garden plot with loads of flowers in it. I wasn’t allowed in there since I had pulled them all up once just to help her out. The three of us had a pet robin, who sat on the window every morning. It watched us eating breakfast, toddling up and down with bread crumbs.

Peter and his dad in the 1950s

Peter was blessed with a cold as cold middle class house in a middle class area. His mother bought it when she sold her nursery for children. She had been a nurse and was never paid enough to keep the enterprise going. She told me that she had dreaded the winter in this house. They were all as freezing cold while I was all toasty by dad’s fire! Peter’s father, however, had what my father would have envied. He had an entire veg plot that was the size of a tennis court. Further, the old lady, who lived next door, had a similar sized plot, which she was never seen in, so Peter could play in there while his father was gardening. Peter’s father’s speciality was runner beans. He grew enough to feed the village and then some! Peter’s mother specialised in salting runner beans down in jars. She offered me some once and I avoided the question. I grow the runner beans. Peter will only eat them in extremis. He likes to have a fried egg on top of his pile of beans. Neither of us are very keen on sprouts!

Our parents went on growing veg. and gardening. It was Percy Thrower who was their inspiration. He was the Monty of the day. He would start his programme by hanging his coat on the greenhouse door. My father thought that was absolutely it. You couldn’t be any better than that! Of interest to me has been that when we had to move to a flat, things started to go wrong. The garden was downstairs and mum and I couldn’t go down. We were both likely to fall. My mother was heavily pregnant. We were trapped. When dad was nursing at the hospital where he worked he couldn’t take us for a walk. Eventually, my mother became very ill and she and the baby had to move to live with her parents. My father took me to live with his elderly mother in Wales. For me, I was spoilt rotten and became bilingual, loved it. Over the years, I travelled very happily between two countries. My Grandmother had a gardener. The garden was huge and as I got taller, I was able to handle the right tools. It was a huge release from academic work. My father and I would meet up. Before joining the army, he had been a painter, and he spent happy hours painting his mother’s house.

Yes, it was a good party

This tale has a sting in the tale. Of course, when Peter and I got married, we loved all the gardens, which we owned. Our parents had given a great gift in life. All that fresh air and all that healthy food. In our senior years, we are still able to enjoy it. What of our parents? We know now that all four had advanced PTSD. My mother never was herself again. She had enough drugs pumped into her for her to become an addict. My brother took as much care of her as he could. She died of a massive stroke. Cigarettes took my father when I was 32 and my brother was six years younger. Peter’s father had a large brain tumour, which took many years to kill him. The experience nearly broke his mother. Peter was 20 when his father died. Was it something he picked up in the war? We don’t know. I met Peter when he was recovering from his famous 21st birthday party, which his college lost control of. It ended with a tractor being driven into a fountain. He became an engineer with a Cranfield qualification. His mother never knew about his party. She was very upright We took his mother to live with us. I wouldn’t have her until she gave up smoking! She died aged 96. I loved her dearly, but her way of keeping sane was to run a routine, which nearly drove the whole household mad. She died in hospital with Peter, Josie and I present. We might as well not have been there. She went back to Dunkirk. She had been a nursing sister there. She died mouthing instructions about a wounded man.

The author with an abundant onion crop way back in 1979

The upshot of all this is quite simple. We and our children love gardening. Josie is the best gardener of us all. She grows veg. And fantastic flowers in the smallest plot that we have ever known. The lesson needs to be learnt. If anyone involved in the current war thinks that they will get away from it, they won’t. It will be with them when they least expect it. Gardening and fresh air and exercise will help, but what people have gone through will always be with them. A lesson that even modern man never learns until it’s too late. Our hearts go out to those involved. Meanwhile, I will continue to light a candle for my father in the SAS section of Hereford cathedral. He was a medical commando, who was amongst the first troops who went into Belsen. He made my brother and I watch every documentary on it, including the gas chambers. Peter’s mother liked to talk about Dunkirk. It helped her. Who will help the current victims of war?

You may not have a plot of your own to garden, but even a visit to a great garden will help you. Here are some that have inspired us and many others.

Castle Drogo NT garden designed by Lutyens and Jekyll to help the Drewe family who lost their only son in WW1

Sir Roy Strong’s Laskett Garden, a gardener cheerfully trims topiary

Recommended if you feel a bit fed with gardening but need to chill, Mortimer and Whitehouse; GONE FISHING BBC iPLAYER. Jim Fortey, Peter and I love it. It was recommended to us by Josie and Wes, who also use it to help them find holiday spots.

Words by Sue

Pictures by, or edited by Peter.

Visit our Facebook Page at Dartmoor Diary Facebook Page and contact The Photographer directly on Peter Bennett Photos email The Photographer’s snapshots for this blog can be seen on     Dartmoor Diary Flickr Album or all his snapshots on  Flickr (follow link)           The serious stuff is currently only available directly from The Photographer (aka Peter).

Edge of Darkness

It is very easy to become overwhelmed by darkness and rain this month, so, this year, we are going to combat it.

A year ago, on our usual trip to our friend in a delightful Herefordshire barn, she mentioned that she was thinking of purchasing a Rhino. Peter was impressed. He thought about her purchase until his next annual visit. He spent the whole visit eyeing up the Rhino. He examined it from every angle and he became more and more impressed. He began to mention it on his walks. He became completely obsessed with it. When Peter arrived home, he spent hours in the garden, measuring it up and looking at his savings account several times. He was also designing Susan’s new kitchen. Indeed, Wes was standing by in case his father in law became a little over ambitious. Wes kept asking about the kitchen, but all Peter came up with was work surfaces, which Wes happily fitted over existing machinery. Thank goodness Peter was still fit, it had to be admitted that age was a dagger hanging over him, He felt that all his jobs would take at least a year. Fortunately, even though he had first known Susan many years ago and she had never been in the best of health, she was still up to mixing concrete and painting! The main problem was that due to the fuel crisis, she spent hours and hours cooking. Indeed, he spent once a fortnight cooking bread himself.

……give us our daily bread

Susan and Peter had spent twenty years in their current house. When they were looking for this house, they were more interested in the garden than actual granite and lime mortar. Their first act had been to plant seeds and put up the old greenhouse, which they had brought with them. Susan, whose health had been dreadful on her arrival, had spent hours in Richard Padley’s garden, next door, wondering about the Victorian triumph that was exhibited there. The vegetable garden was even still walled and whilst the landscaping was a little tired, it was a good imitation of Chatsworth’s. She used to drone on over supper, while Peter was absolutely filthy with effort. She was completely in awe of Joseph Paxton, Chatsworth’s revolutionary young Victorian gardener, who had swept all before him. He had even joined Charles Dickens in investing in railways and everything that was modern and “up there” in engineering. In particular he had virtually invented the modern greenhouse and designed and sold the first mass produced greenhouse for the ordinary gardener. He died young of overwork. Susan had laid flowers on his grave. She simply loved all that Victorian stuff. She had married a revolutionary agricultural engineer herself and had prayed, when in a decent Victorian church, that her husband would last longer than Paxton. She prayed for his sustained energy as he joined in the nineteen seventies “green revolution.”

A man cannot have too many greenhouses/sheds/motorbikes/tools

All these years later, Peter was worried. He was worried about the Rhino. He stared out of the kitchen window while Times radio droned on never endingly in the background. Susan was interested in politics again. He had met her at a debating society, so he knew what he was in for. She was wondering whether Sunak could do anything about anything, particularly the fuel situation; and all this cooking, which was distracting her from strimming the garden. It was expensive, but he had better move up there with his idea. What did Susan think of buying a Rhino. Ecstasy! Wow! He had hit the spot. He produced a cup of tea and a piece of toast made from his latest batch of bread and some of his own recipe rhubarb and ginger jam. Did he really mean that it would happen now? Peter said that he meant that it would happen now. Indeed, he had sent for the brochure, or she could look at his big screen for photographs and see it on there. Talk about beyond excitement!! At last….she was speechless. This had definitely broken through big time. Thank God! Her reputation for being careful with her money went before her. She offered to help with the cost! Extraordinary! He offered for her not to buy the socks that she had offered him. She said that she would buy those too. They would be thick like hers for the cold weather while they were assembling the Rhino.

They went to Peter’s big screen and there it was. The Rhino greenhouse stood tall and clearly proud with its green aluminium frame. Peter quickly pointed out that only recently they had made concrete together. They had filled a huge hole at the back of the workshop, between them and Sam’s work shed. Sam’s little girl had been delighted to leave a dated foot print to commemorate the event. Susan and Peter spent all week measuring and remeasuring the old greenhouse site, which included the smaller footprint of an older greenhouse, which had been given them by Richard. Construction was on it’s way! The two were ecstatic!

Peter arranged for Sam and his little girl to have the larger greenhouse and Tom, Sam’s friend to have the smaller one.

Tom removing one of the old greenhouses to its new home

Twenty years have brought a lot of changes to this large garden. Originally, Susan had found old tools and a huge number of bamboos in one of the outhouses. There had been a large vegetable plot, which Peter had dug and worked hard on. Now, with changing times, Peter has raised beds, where the plot was. Wes helped him with the construction and he helped construct a safer bridge across the stream. (Twice…because a storm swept it away soon after construction) Wes and Josie insist that Susan no longer cuts the long grass beside the stream. Two hundred climate conscience trees are arranged around the garden. Water collection is key to the garden’s success and Peter has an eye to this.

Raised beds in the spring, before it had sprung

The Rhino is due to arrive shortly after this blog has been published. Its construction will brighten the November days with promise of vegetables to come. Watch this space!

Recommended reading is A THING IN DISGUISE THE VISIONARY LIFE OF JOSEPH PAXTON
Written by Kate Colquhoun Published by Harper Perennial

Words by Sue

Pictures by Peter

Visit our Facebook Page at Dartmoor Diary Facebook Page and contact The Photographer directly on Peter Bennett Photos email The Photographer’s snapshots for this blog can be seen on     Dartmoor Diary Flickr Album or all his snapshots on  Flickr (follow link)           The serious stuff is currently only available directly from The Photographer. Any similarity between characters in this blog and real people, products or events is entirely co-incidental Any similarity between “The Little Town” and Chagford is entirely deliberate

2 Churches and a Barn Conversion

We have abandoned the veg plot, which has been a hard master, and come away to Angel Barn, as we always do in September. We have spent a week sleeping, eating and drinking. A couple of days have been spent seeing whether we can still walk as well as vegetable garden. We always start off up the drive to the main road, which is a reasonably wide lane. It is the thoroughfare mainly of tractors and Land Rovers and the odd difficult drive to sixth form college for our hosts. I remember well when Josie hit sixth form, all those years ago, when it was suddenly decided that sixth formers should pay bus fares. As now, no one said that this would involve attractive young women in walking a long way down long country roads. Josie had to learn to drive and that was that. I was delighted to let her drive my car and Peter and I were happy that she would be safer, especially from reckless young men drivers. However, I digress, we are walking up a deserted lane. It is the weekend and some farmers have given up the struggle and are having a rest. The hedgerows are a delight. There are berries galore and the blackberries are so juicy and delicious that they provide a light snack along the way. We both have our walking boots on. We shall walk a distance. Peter has the ruck sack with his trusty camera, and the picnic on board. The highlight will be a pork pie from Hope stores, the trusty local store, which provides a whole lot of foods including Peter’s favourite plain chocolate Brazils, which seemed to have disappeared in normal shops long ago!

It is splendid weather, just not too hot, but splendidly fine with enough breeze to help us along. The fields, at this time of year, have been used for the collection of winter fodder and are now mostly empty. The fields full of sheep are few and far between. What looks to the ordinary walker like wondrous flat land, is, on investigation, stoney soil, a challenge for farm machinery, no matter how good it is. There are water bowsers here and there. All is still and quiet. We are passing a field with some amusement. It has been up for auction and a young couple are exploring what they have just bought. They have a couple of dogs, who are very excited. The couple have brought their garden mower, which is not inclined to work. They are laughing and giggling and having a grand old time. Fields that go for auction and are not snapped up, go to people like this, who long to have leisure in the countryside. Further up this lane, there is another leisure field, which is now home to a small orchard. We used to see this couple, clearly dressed in town clothes, enjoying a picnic and fresh air. Now that they have fruit, they have decorated the whole of the field gate in barbed wire. This is strange, as anyone who lives here, seems to have access to fruit. It might reflect on our ignorance of what now goes on in large towns, where thefts may be greater than we realise! In any case, it seems a shame that this should be so.

Now, we come to a barn, which we have watched being developed for some years. The young farmer, who we used to have the odd conversation with, has now become a man, just short of middle age. His fight with his land and the development of this dwelling place, may be catching up with him. He is pleased to see us. With some irony, he tells us that the local planning authority has given him permission to erect a larger new barn, which stands beside the developed one, in only 9 days. He nods at Peter, who knows how long it has taken for him to make the original barn habitable. It might well be that accommodation for feed and sheep is more important than that for the working farmer!

We carry on our way. There is a brand new house, standing alone on one side of the road. We had seen this house being built. It was beginning to look a bit sad. Current conditions had not been kind to this family, who were clearly struggling to keep going. It made us feel sad that ambition had clearly turned into a struggle.

On we went to the turning off place. This had once been a reasonably large country school, now turned into three terrace houses, it was all neat and prim. The end terrace had an air of going native. The family who lived here, had turned into farming enthusiasts. They had taken a field opposite their house and had sheep and trees, a touch of rewilding and all sorts of activity in there. On the way back, we were amazed and puzzled, as the field had been stripped and burnt. Peter thought that the prospective farmer had taken a wrong turn with this carbon release and was quite cross.

We continued along the road, looking at sheep and farm buildings, until we reached our destination. Well, that hadn’t been too bad. We were fitter than we thought. Here was St.John the Baptist Church, a special small building without any ambition at being grand, just nice. In the churchyard, we felt welcome amongst the families, who are buried here. They are all local and much loved. This is, by no means a neglected churchyard. It is constantly visited with flowers and its neat upkeep is much to be admired. During Covid, we walked here and were welcomed with an outside hand disinfection kit and kind words. We sit on the seat provided and enjoy our picnic amidst these beautiful farm buildings. If all churches were so loved, how wonderful these places would be for those who need a rest and sanctuary. Peter and I must press on, so we are reading the church notices. The vicar will not be here for a whole month. Another sadness for most country churches.

We have not managed to get to a large enough church to express our grief over the Queen’s death, but, here there is an answer. Of their own volition, people are writing on small cards with a pen provided and we add our own thoughts to theirs.

So, we leave this sanctuary and join the open road. We will go on to St.Margaret’s, a church up a huge hill, right out in the top of the countryside. We pass a house, where they used to leave spare vegetables out for passers by. We once had a supper of a huge melon from here. We were sad to see that the vegetable growers had moved on. On and on, up this hill, Peter holding almost all of Susan’s divested warm clothing. The heat was stupendous. There were small orchards with unpicked apples and rather grand middle class houses with burglar alarms. It must be said that anyone thinking of crime out here would have to be mad. Why would you want to come all this way? Let alone the possibility of a shot gun being got out. These are the sort of middle class people, who, at the very least, would shoot the odd toe off. At last, here is the Churchyard. This is a cause of curiosity for us. When we first came here, it was rather glorious, but each time that we have come, there has been a change. This place is deteriorating. It seems to have no heart left. There are some glorious monuments here of all sorts, mostly expensive, but neglected. There are some family areas, which have been attended to, but Sir John Betjemin would have been terribly shocked, as are we. We cannot make it out. Such is the change. Perhaps, this is another victim of Covid. It is unlikely that no one has a strimmer or a gardener. It may, simply be that there are not enough people, which is highly likely. Peter takes photos of some victims of neglect and we pass on, back to the road home.

We have had a good day. We were fitter than we thought we were. We shall go back to the peace of Angel Barn, and think of our day out from time to time, until we come again. Walks like this are our stuff of life, unless the vegetables play up for attention!

This week’s recommended book is “The Sheep’s Tale” by John Lewis-Stempel published by Doubleday.

Postscript.

Pam Pigeon 1936 – 2022.

A village icon, and stalwart of the Chagford Swimming Pool, she will be much missed. Always a twinkle in her eye.

Words by Sue

Pictures by Peter

Visit our Facebook Page at Dartmoor Diary Facebook Page and contact The Photographer directly on Peter Bennett Photos email The Photographer’s snapshots for this blog can be seen on     Dartmoor Diary Flickr Album or all his snapshots on  Flickr (follow link)           The serious stuff is currently only available directly from The Photographer. Any similarity between characters in this blog and real people, products or events is entirely co-incidental Any similarity between “The Little Town” and Chagford is entirely deliberate

Journey to The End of the Earth

Throughout the pandemic so many people have been kind and caring to us and our family, yet, we know that many of them have not had a break or period of rest for the whole of this period. We would have been eternally miserable if it hadn’t been for some of our neighbours, dear Maria, who rang so often with news from Chichester, James and Kate, who were so kind, Jim, who continued to Zoom, June and Trish and so many others. A special thank you to Wes and Josie, who came to live with us for the last two years, and who we would otherwise only have seen through our masks. Dear Jenny in the States, congratulations on working through to promotion. Sharon and Mike, who made all our holidays possible. Journey to The End of the Earth is especially for you.

It is about a week before the big adventure. Peter has booked a journey to the End of the Earth. He has been very particular. He has a list to which the place concerned has to adhere. It is out of the way and within a short distance from his desired photographic location. It has to have a wilderness. It has to have nothing at all except scenery and sea and sand for as far as the eye can see. Its roads are flat and straight. It has to be bleak, even cold with clear artist’s skies and achingly beautiful places that are beyond the written word. It should make David Attenborough and Chris Packham weep. He has booked it. He has brought every bit of photographic equipment up to date. Batteries are charged.

There is a week before the event and things are getting a bit dicey re Covid. The beautiful place is being monitored by Peter, for its figures. It’s colour on the NHS map is ghastly. Susan and Peter are going to have to take everything with them. They must not risk a crowded area. If Susan got Covid while away, it would be dreadful. Peter piled them both into the car and they set off for Ben’s Farm Shop and had a big shop. They bought tins of everything, fruit and organic wine. The wine was to be rationed at half a bottle a day. Catherine and Chris at Blacks had been terrific with fresh meals and cake. This was an expedition very like the one they had for a month in the remoter area of Scotland. Peter and Susan had the big soft bags out and stuffed them with warm clothes. They even took some mountain walking gear. Nothing was left to chance. On the evening before the trip, he downed a large whisky and watched the news. There was a shortage of fuel! The language was not repeatable. The whole household worried. Josie and Wes had to get to work and Wes’ Gran could not do without him. Everyone woke at the same time. Cups of tea were downed and Josie and Peter drove to Whiddon Down at 6am. Only three pumps were operating. They filled up. Peter did something he had never done, not even in the seventies crisis. He filled a spare gallon can! Peter sat with another cup of tea and an Ordnance Survey map. He could make it to the destination. He rang ahead to count petrol stations at the End of the Earth. They had some. They were still going. Hoorah! With the stacks of supplies etc on board, the two waved a farewell, and were on their way.

Peter was very organised on the journey. The main objective was to make the petrol last and to drive with that in mind. They would pass two towns that were full of Covid so any stop would be dangerous. The two managed three quarters distance before they thought of stopping. Peter’s long years of driving were paying off. He had steely concentration, which was just as well as the torrential rain didn’t stop. They could not pause at an overcrowded service station, so they had a stop in a deserted country lane.

The End of the Earth

Eventually, they arrived at the End of the Earth.They came up over the big hill and here it was. Two viewing lay-bys had been built here especially for new arrivals. The sea and sand stretched as far as the eye could see. It was a breathtaking view. There was nothing else here. The few buildings that there were, were shut. The two drove down to a reluctant car park. No razzamatazz. Just this beauty and a few fans. There were camper vans and large cars like their own, but not in numbers. The fans had surf boards, body suits of all types and the sorts of pairs of boots normal adventurers can only dream of. It was all self reliance and individuality, tough weather beaten skin and lovers of fresh air. The two slipped the car into gear and drove to their concession to old age. They spent the night sleeping in a centrally heated paradise dreaming of the sea. Susan couldn’t stand the heat and unlocked all the windows and threw them open in the morning. Peter cooked breakfast on the modern hob while in the background, there was a lot of swearing about how all the knobs worked. Sometimes, some people reveal how uncivilised they can be. He looked at the frying bacon and thought how much cheaper Josie and Wes’s tent would have been!

Just trust Daddy…..he won’t drop you……probably

Where do you go when you get to the End of the Earth? You explore the edge. Peter and Susan used to come here when no one else came. There was one particular beach that was as wild as wild. When they were small, the children used to love it. It was dominated by an old slate mine and its buildings. There was no bridge above a ravine, but Peter could cross it. Susan would pass the children across a great gap and Peter would catch them. There were lobster pots and wonderful creatures to see and the children could build with off-cuts of broken slate. It was called The Blue Lagoon and unless you risked the jump, you could only see the lagoon, which was a perfect jade colour, from above. Here lies a wonderful story of modern times.When Josie grew up, she would love travelling hundreds of miles to see the lagoon and remember her father wanting her to see such beauty. She and a friend were tired and wanted a break from work. Her friend loved wild places so she brought him to see the lagoon. It made a very poor impression. It had changed and there was a bridge. It was so crowded that you could hardly move. She and her friend were shocked at the decimation. Her friend was a lover of all wild places, He was enraged. Everybody here had a wet suit on. This was the behaviour of a bunch of wimps! Without even thinking, he stripped to his underpants and made his way to the top of a cliff that all the suited were jumping off. Josie was amused, as, in true Dartmoor style, and with no second thought, he dived off the cliff and swum the width of the lagoon. There was complete silence as he made his way across the beach to a towel. Josie took him back to their cottage and spent the entire day drenching him in towels and blankets. She was cross. There had been so many other places to go and so little time off work for the two of them. They still speak, so that’s all right ! Susan and Peter are so pleased that this is still Josie’s favourite place in all the world and their’s too, but since this incident, nature has taken a hand. The sea does not approve of the civilisation of its domain and has reclaimed the beach and the car park!

and Dartmoor boys jump in just their bathers

The sea wall at Abereidy made from a Beeching closed railway line. Exposed by the storms, turned into an artwork, and now completely washed away

On this particular trip, Susan and Peter visited all their favourite places and with their previous experience, even managed to find a beach to themselves. Best of all, Susan managed to work the oven, if not the hob!

Staying at the End of the Earth is quite beyond description. There is nothing much there, but seals and their young and birds and natural world sights beyond your imagining. You’ve got to try it, but only bring your wet suit in secret. Anyway, no one will know who you are. It’s not about us and all our tedious modern trappings. Expect to search for a cup of coffee, let alone a posh restaurant!

Be prepared for the weather at the End of the Earth. It can blow

For all our lovely people and friends in Devon, we stayed near St.Davids the small city right on the edge of Pembrokeshire. In the very beginning of its story involving humanity, both the Vikings and dwellers of Ireland came across the sea, hence, the creation of St.David’s Cathedral, so wobbly and with its own beauty. It will take you 5 to 6 hours to get to this part of the world. Go prepared and stay for a couple of weeks if you can. You will never forget it.

We have lit candles for you all

St David’s Cathedral. Originally sited in a hollow to protect it from the Vikings in approx 600AD, then rebuilt in 1181AD

Words by Sue

Pictures by Peter

Visit our Facebook Page at Dartmoor Diary Facebook Page and contact The Photographer directly on Peter Bennett Photos email The Photographer’s snapshots for this blog can be seen on     Dartmoor Diary Flickr Album or all his snapshots on  Flickr (follow link)           The serious stuff is currently only available directly from The Photographer Any similarity between characters in this blog and real people, products or events is entirely co-incidental Any similarity between “The Little Town” and Chagford is entirely delib

The Door into Autumn

On Sunday 26th of September, we had the first real deluge that more than hinted at the coming of autumn. During the night, the rain streamed down in a continuous downpour and every window and door that could rattle in this old cottage set up its usual winter song. Peter emerged from bed to jam the old orange sock in the door, but the wind hammered away at the windows as loudly as ever. If anyone, out there, wants to make yet another film of Wuthering Heights, this is your ideal location. Fortunately, Josie had made one of her super roasts complete with piles of home grown vegetables, so everyone snored away until the morning house alarms went off. Out, into the wild went Wesley, battling against the forces of nature. At last, he climbed into the van and headed off for work. Yes, it was definitely autumn, but we had, all of us, on the Moors, made the most of the glorious weather. Now, the water butts are full after the brief drought.

Little Women. A favourite book

On the weekend, prior to autumn, Josie and Wes had, at last, managed to get a break. They went to visit dear Izzie (short for Isabel), who was one of Josie’s old school friends. They both attended Midhurst Grammar School, which is opposite Cowdray Park in West Sussex. It is well known for its polo matches. Now, Izzie is very involved in running a polo club in the Cotswolds and this was the last polo weekend. Josie and Wes had a great time. They had met some very fascinating people and loved seeing their friend again. Having known her for so long, it was wonderful to know how she was. She and Josie had worked their way through sixth form together, both with hard waitressing jobs. They used to meet up occasionally and have a Friday night outing, but that was on the rare occasion that they were free. They were both keen on polo and were such lovers of the game, that they were frequently let into matches for free. They knew most people involved and Sue, Josie’s mum would love to meet her at the polo cafe opposite the school. The coffee and ice cream there were amazing. Mum and Dad occasionally got into polo at Cowdray park and really enjoyed it. It had all been part of the decision to leave West Sussex. There would be no polo close by in Devon. Josie was, in any case, off to Loughborough University. Her ties would not be broken, but certainly, less frequent. She and Izzie had kept in touch for all these years, through all their moves and all their job changes. Now, in Cirencester, they were having a good catch up. Izzie showed Josie and Wes her first house purchase. It was an early 1930’s council house and It was very impressive. All the rooms were the right size and there was plenty of garden. Josie felt much encouraged for any purchase they made. If Wes got the time to do the work, they could have a go at purchasing a house like this. The twosome arrived back, at the end of their weekend, with some nice goodies. Wes had spotted a brand new coffee machine, going for a song, at the fete. Their little dog had won a prize at the dog show. A very nice bottle of wine was tucked under Josie’s arm. They were both aglow with sunshine and warmth. There was a lovely surprise for Sue. Josie produced a worn and elderly version of Little Women. This was discovered to be a 1932 edition, which had been sold through a newspaper. This was an absolute treasure and such a thoughtful present. Sue thumbed the book with great care. The illustrations and print were glorious. It would be added to her study collection and put next to her favourite treasures.She had another version of the book, which had belonged to Peter’s mother. Miss Alcott, who had written the book, had been a nurse, like Peter’s mother, and that is why she had it.Susan was now unsure whether Little Women was her favourite book or, of course, The Secret Garden. She loved this book, though, given her by her daughter, therefore, it was very precious indeed. Now that autumn was here, she would spend hours rearranging her book collection yet again. Peter thought that it was about time that she read some of them, but he didn’t quite get that this was a collection.

The bees are preparing for Autumn, look at those full pollen baskets (corbiculae)

We have all so enjoyed these days of preparation before autumn. The flowers have been beautiful and the insect population in the garden has greatly increased. The number of bees on the chrysanthemums has been amazing. The butterfly population has been the best ever.
John Hooper has brought logs to our new neighbours as well as to us. The wood is dry and smells beautiful. When oil is too expensive, we shall light the fire and enjoy its flame and patterns against the walls. At night, we will huddle up together and enjoy all that warmth.

Even the butterflies are feeding on the nectar

We have all cut our hedges as much as we can and we have plenty of garden refuse for the compost heaps. Wes has cut the stream side so that will make a glorious autumn walk beneath the trees. Below those trees, we have the Door into Autumn, which Peter has placed as a Tolkien tribute. It was once the door into our house, but it was very heavy and had begun to deteriorate. It had been painted a perfect green with heavy door knockers and ornaments. We couldn’t possibly have thrown it away. So there it is, the Door into Autumn ready for all its seasonal visitors. No doubt, that our friends, Mr Fox, Badger, and Mole will inspect it, but they won’t be able to open it. It will be a puzzle for them. It will do them good. They are all already far too confident in themselves! We hope that our visitors will enjoy it too. If we are really lucky, Jim might even make one of his drawings of it.

Across the River and Into the Tree. Hemingway meets Tolkien and Kenneth Grahame

A HAPPY AUTUMN TO ALL OF OUR READERS. KEEP SAFE AND SWEET DREAMS TO EVERYONE

Words by Sue

Pictures by Peter

Visit our Facebook Page at Dartmoor Diary Facebook Page and contact The Photographer directly on Peter Bennett Photos email The Photographer’s snapshots for this blog can be seen on     Dartmoor Diary Flickr Album or all his snapshots on  Flickr (follow link)           The serious stuff is currently only available directly from The Photographer Any similarity between characters in this blog and real people, products or events is entirely co-incidental Any similarity between “The Little Town” and Chagford is entirely deliberate,

All Change

There has been a lot out there about Covid and all it’s ramifications. Out here, in Murchington, which metaphorically is almost at the end of earth and time, all is still peaceful and calm Murchington is a small hamlet on the way to Gidleigh church. It’s the sort of place you pass through if you are lost on the road. This place is real country. It is a place which must have a routine, or it will fail. If people forget how to live here or they find that the living is by no means easy, it will fail. There are places like that in the Gwaun Valley in Wales. You can visit a farm there, where water has run from the farmyard for miles. The building that was there hardly exists. Birds live in the deserted barns and the authorities have given up hope, yet, nature takes hold and peace reigns.

A burst watermain on the same farm had been running for years

Nature reclaims a farm so quickly

It is Sunday night in Murchington. The clock has stopped. Even the earth is at peace. Susan sits at the kitchen table. She has poured a glass of wine for herself and for Peter. Josie and Wes are visiting a pub. It is way up the road. With its abandoned phone box at the side of the road, and a silent village hall, the pub opens now and then. If you don’t know when then you’re not a local. They have gone with some new neighbours from London. The neighbours have passed the test. They can find their way on their own. Susan is dressed in her best Sunday frock. It is long , light blue with lilac patterns. Peter is in charge of the stove. The AGA blew up, so they have one of those new ones. Its a Falcon with amazing facilities, but it’s not an AGA. Susan is happy. They went to Ben’s Farm Shop at Staverton for the joint and it bubbles and makes lovely noises. There is too much pork about, so it’s pork. Peter loves pigs. He would like one really. Thinking about it, they are not too sure why they haven’t got one. Peter would love scratching its ears. Susan is reading a Nigel Slater cookery book with her new glasses, which actually fit. If she is being honest, she is not the world’s best meat cook. When she attended school, all those years ago, she was hopeless at all that stuff. After a term or two and the total destruction of a kitchen tap, she was transferred to carpentry classes. She got a distinction at that. Her father had visited her school for the first time, a keen supporter of feminism; he thought that his daughter should be learning in the car mechanics section!

A disapppearing phone box

The evening did it’s Sunday drift. Peter is an engineer so, he cooked like one. Several timers were involved and great accuracy was required. They both wondered whether the meat was done, so Susan stabbed it with a barbecue spear while Peter measured its internal temperature to 2 decimal places with a digital thermometer. The two agreed that It was done. On show, for vegetables, there were all the long grown greens, selected in last year’s seed catalogue. Peter and Susan had lovingly brought on, nurtured and discussed these carrots, potatoes, broccoli and beans. A bottle from Waitrose was discussed and decided upon. Susan produced a crumble for pudding. The apples had been rescued from the squirrels. It was unclear as to who would finish the garden’s apples first. We all know that squirrels believe in the first come, first served principle . The two moved, with loaded plates out into the conservatory. They didn’t sleep all night. They had eaten so much. Serve them right!

2 relaxed pigs

Meanwhile, on Bank Holiday Monday, Hayley and her partner were celebrating a season of their successful camp site. Susan and Peter, Josie and Wes, not to mention the dog, tramped up the big hill to the site. A barbecue was on the go and all was a very merry scene. Drink flowed and sausages were eaten. Josie’s pre cooked onions were a huge hit. Gossip and conversation flowed. All the neighbours had a good old chin wag. It turned out that one of the remote inhabitants, who had been rumoured to have died, had not died at all. His new neighbour assured us that, despite no longer being allowed to drive, the poor man was continually waging a war against the authorities. Indeed, this seemed to be what was partly keeping him alive. On a similar theme, some neighbours only remembered Josie, as the girl, who had arrived in the hamlet, only to disappear off to university. The fact that Josie had been employed for some years now, and that, indeed she had got married to Wes, was a complete surprise. Poor Wes! He had now been married to Josie for the past five years, but that didn’t count. He was interviewed by several elderly inhabitants. They were deeply suspicious of him being a swimming pool engineer. How did that get a decent bit of lamb on the table? Wes was saved by the arrival of Sam, our new next door neighbour. Sam was, of course, newly arrived from London. He was showing willing and wanted to meet Murchington people. He arrived on foot with a baby carrier with the cutest baby burbling at everyone in sight. He also had a dog. It was a small dog, but it qualified because of its large bouncing get along mechanism. People approved. This man was showing willing. He wanted to join in. At the end of the evening, all were satisfied that at the very least, they were up to date. Our new neighbour made his way across the field with the rest of us, the baby still interested in all its surroundings burbling and entirely happy. We discussed the week to come, although there were only 4 days left. At home, we all put our feet up. Susan and Peter watched an Agatha Christie serial, perhaps, the dreadful murder was why they couldn’t sleep.

Tuesday dawned and Susan and Peter were enjoying a second pot of coffee. Slumped in armchairs, barely able to move, after an accident cutting the hedge, the two wondered what on earth they could do. Neither were excited at the thought of long needed housework. There must be something else, but there wasn’t. Susan set too with a will. She had decided that cooking must be done. You didn’t grow all these vegetables Just to let them go. Peter emptied the dishwasher. Vegetables needed chopping and this was not his scene. He announced that he was going to do some filing and disappeared as if in a puff of smoke. Later, the phone rang. It was John Hooper. He was delivering another load of wood for the winter. Peter was pleased. He had a strong sense that winter would not be good this year. He remembered that the bore hole had frozen one year. Melting snow for water had not been fun. Soon, John appeared on the drive. He had a larger tractor than usual. It was towing a large trailer, but he managed it all and came in for a cup of tea.

John making charcoal

John talked of times past. Going any where near Sandy Park was such a nightmare now. The road was entirely unsuitable for so much traffic. There were many new people move in to areas that took his logs. Times were changing as they always do, and, if we are being honest, we are all a little worried about it. New people must be helped and shown the way or we would all be lost. We discussed all this over tea and chocolate gingers. John’s family were all well, as were we. John departed. Dear John knew all the country ways. He was a farmer at heart and he had welcomed Peter and Sue when they arrived. He had set to with his team and helped them clear the long neglected garden. He had made himself a friend when they were new. Peter hoped that he and Susan could be a friend to new people in Murchington for fear of losing a peaceful home, where we all get on.

Footnote

On the Sunday before the Bank Holiday, Susan was in the bathroom when she heard Olive calling form below. Opening the window, Susan saw Olive looking up for her. Olive rarely visited without there being a reason. Olive brought the sad news that dear Lionel had died. He was just the nicest person that you could meet. He would always stop and talk, even if he was on his way out of Murchington. The Chagford townspeople may remember that he ran a lovely little jewellery shop in the square, where the sheepskin shop is now. We are all sad about it and his loss diminishes us in this small place.

Words by Sue

Pictures by Peter

Visit our Facebook Page at Dartmoor Diary Facebook Page and contact The Photographer directly on Peter Bennett Photos email The Photographer’s snapshots for this blog can be seen on     Dartmoor Diary Flickr Album or all his snapshots on  Flickr (follow link)           The serious stuff is currently only available directly from The Photographer Any similarity between characters in this blog and real people, products or events is entirely co-incidental Any similarity between “The Little Town” and Chagford is entirely deliberate,

As I walked out one November morning

Inspired by the wonderful Laurie Lee

By the Photographers Assistant

And now for something a bit different. Inspired by Slow Radio, and slow TV like The Yorkshire Bus, here is Slow Blogging.

Enjoy a walk through the Dartmoor lanes with us during a quiet autumn day in Covid-19 Lockdown 2

For those of you who wish to follow this walk on an OS map: follow this link https://www.ordnancesurvey.co.uk/osmaps/route/6775456/gidleigh-and-wonson

Exercise for Three

Having whooshed the dirt away and found no immediate work in the garden we decided on an autumn treat. We shut the house up, put an apple in our pockets and set off for Gidleigh. We walked the lane from our house. This was the lane that Ursula always insisted on being an original country lane with its pretty weeds and old fashioned ways. At the corner of the lane there is a lovely wooden seat on which people occasionally sit. The seat is maintained by Mike, who has lovingly preserved and looked after it all these years. Sometimes, Peter and I have been so excited about a visitor that we sit on the seat so that the visitor doesn’t miss the turning. Around the corner and past the house that Liz Goodchild used to live in. She rented a cottage out and we used to know some of the people who lived in this delightful cottage. A couple from this cottage used to walk past our house and we got to know them. The couple imported beautiful, fluffy wedding dresses and they kept them in the barn. They would take their two children for a walk and come in to see us. We used to give them a hot drink and some biscuits. Marcus, our rescue spaniel made a disgraceful fuss of the children. At first timid of this huge animal, the children were soon in league with him. They were a fun team. There would be no biscuits left!. Eventually. The barn was so cold that winter could not be endured, so we received the sad news that they would be emigrating to the U.S.A. to join some fellow Christians, who were building a community. Our house went very quiet now there were no more children. Marcus sulked for months and held us entirely responsible for the loss of his friends. We were just sad. The biscuit tin stayed full.

Opposite Liz’s old house we met Lionel and Sally just wandering out into their garden. We were so pleased to see them. The four of us used to meet up now and then, but know we were all under a heavy Covid cosh. We loved walking past their house. It was so beautifully built by Mike, who was their neighbour too. It fits so exactly into its surroundings.They were going to take themselves off to Scorell up the road. It was just such a lovely day.

We continue on our way and meet George Lyon Smith’s daughter exercising the most beautiful grey horse. What a lovely country sight.

Next we start to pass Duncan’s beautiful fields with views that would take anyone’s breath away. Here is the naked Moor with its high green hills, beautiful trees and sky. It can be shrouded in mist, covered in rain and snow. Its mood is unpredictable and you will need to walk that way with care and if you want to walk it properly, particularly in winter, you will need equipment. We came here from the gentle West Sussex Downs. This was a different case from those rolling hills. When we came here we were lucky enough to join one of Tom’s tours, where we learnt all about survival as well as beauty on the Moor. We remember well one day, when we were all feeling a bit cocky about our ability. Tom stood in what looked like a safe area. He took his walking pole, held it above the ground, and let it go. It was swallowed whole by the ground. Love the Moor was the message, but never stop respecting it!

Onwards, down to the river and a spot near the Woodland Trust Blackaton Copse. We had happy memories of Josie and Wes’ wedding, where Josie resplendent in her wedding dress, and now being wed, took the muddy path right down to the river. The Wedding Photographer could not believe that the whole wedding party were happy to almost bathe in mud while they had their pictures taken. The wedding frock was later restored by being washed in a product produced, as if from a conjurer’s hat, by Colin at Bowdens. It cost less than £4 to clean it! From the river, we go on towards Gidleigh Village Hall, which must have one of the most beautiful views in the country. You could stand here for a very long time, identify major landmarks or be entirely swept away by this view. Try it. It really will knock your socks off.

 

 

Around the corner, past the now empty little trinket and supply box, shut due to Covid. A sad sight indeed. Here, by his rather stylish bungalow, we meet with Dick, who is on business bent. Not for him, the idleness of a walk. Dick is bent on pleasing his wife, Janie. Here is Janie’s art studio, which is in need of a new path. On the Moor this is no simple task. There is sorting granite pieces and all sorts to be done. Dick sighs and lights a cigarette. Leaning on an implement of destruction, he is only too willing to have a chat. He sweeps a hand across his brow and tells us that all is well with Gidleigh.

Dick lives next door to the church and we shall visit this old friend. Inside the church, we remember Josie’s wedding and how, when she had been home from University, Anthony Geering, our previous vicar, had shown her something that you would never spot without being told. The beautiful medieval rood screen had had a very clever repair. Perfectly replacing a broken piece, there was an old fashioned wooden cotton reel, so beautiful mimicking the original colours and shape, you really had to know it was there. If you visit, see if you can see it. Outside the church and around the corner, there is an empty part of the graveyard, which was once the site of great bravery. Mr. Hardy, who lives in the castle beside the church had hatched an idea. He went to his tool shed and got out various tools of destruction. He carried them all towards a tree that he felt was past its sell by date, and examined it. This was not going to be a trivial exercise. He felt that the tree should be removed root and all to prepare for possible burials. This was a heavy task for a venerable more elderly member of the congregation. Meanwhile, recovering from a recent, serious operation, Peter was taking the air on a longish walk. He had walked to Gidleigh church, in need of a rest and was sitting on a bench when he heard the noises of an agonised destruction taking place around the corner. Somewhat alarmed, he investigated, and found Mr.Hardy bravely chopping at the tree. Peter was hard pressed, but, having had a large number of trees down throughout his life decided something had to be done. He stepped for ward and seized the axe. He found it comfortable to hold so he took a swing at the tree and the tree broke. One more swing brought the tree down. Mr. Hardy continued to do all that he could. By lunch time the tree was down. The two men heartily shook hands and sat down. Peter knew that he was now well and Mr. Hardy was enormously pleased.

Today, Mr. Hardy’s garden is being tidied and there is a neat little bonfire at the side of the road as we round the corner.

 

The two continued walking along enjoying the silence of the countryside when several cars swept along the road. Clearly, some wood had fallen nearby and local people had been clearing it all up. You can’t waste this sort of find out here, where independent living is a must.

We pass the gate which leads to the walk to the old hermitage. This is a hazardous diversion, particularly, in wet weather when the river is not to be trusted. You could have quite a nasty accident if you go this way. At the very least, You could get tremendously wet!

The horses on the right hand side of the road are just about as pretty and adorable as they come. They are proud and haughty, but they will let you say a nice hello if you play your cards right. What a beautiful sight!

Now, we see beautiful chocolate box pretty houses. Most of these houses are lovingly maintained and treasured, but it is only on a walk like this you will really see them. You have to know that they are there. We pass a moorland bridge, so unusually formed, but attractive to see, covered in ivy, it is a scene from a film.

 

 

So we go on until we reach the street that leads to the Wonson’s pub, sadly shut up by Covid. Here, beside us, is the phone box with the defibrillator in, a reminder of our human state.

 

Further on we pass Providence Chapel, where we and many others sadly attended John and Winnie Kingsland’s funerals.

On the opposite side of the road, there is a most tempting jar of marmalade for sale, but we have plenty at home. Now, we start for home, down the hills, and past more houses and sheep. Near home we pass Mr. Davies turnips, ready to feed his animals. How neatly, they are planted. At the bottom of the hill, we are home, so it’s past he chapel and back to Mike’s bench. At home there is tea and cake. Perfect. Absolute perfection. Put your feet up, light the fire and ask those who want to abolish your log burner, just how exactly, those who Iive off the grid are going to keep themselves from freezing!

 

 

 

Words by Sue

Pictures by Peter

A very Happy Christmas and a splendid New Year to all our readers, in case we don’t get back to you before then

Visit our Facebook Page at Dartmoor Diary Facebook Page and The Photographer is abandoning Artfinder,  ( Peter Bennett on Artfinder ) so contact him directly on Peter Bennett Photos email

The Photographer’s snapshots for this blog can be seen on     Dartmoor Diary Flickr Album or all his snapshots on  Flickr (follow link)           The serious stuff is currently only available directly from The Photographer except for a few left on his  Saatchi Art shop

Any similarity between characters in this blog and real people, products or events is entirely co-incidental

Any similarity between “The Little Town” and Chagford is entirely deliberate, Click on this link to find out more. Visit Chagford     

Tailpiece

 

Once upon a time in the West

By the Photographers Assistant

Murchington Jubilee photo part 2 (Hayes and Mosses)

The removal van had made a long journey from Sussex. The couple had spent the night sleeping on camping beds in their new home. The cat had spent the night in its basket looking very annoyed. This was yet another new patch for it to adjust to. Jim demanded more breakfast and feeling quite ancient today, settled himself down for an uncomfortable time. By the time the removal van left, he had resigned himself to his fate and he had no desire to leave the new home. He was bored and fast asleep and he missed the young cats, both of whom had been killed in a new traffic system outside their old village home. The grown children were at some other institution and he missed their cuddles. Dark days indeed, but not for the adults, who were delighting in moving furniture about and, above all else, looking forward to the restoration of a large garden.

This move had come about as Peter had managed to avoid moving to Switzerland with some of his colleagues. After decades as one of the country’s leading engineers, he had spent an evening doing his sums and decided to retire. He had actually spent some money and bought a new car in which to go and find somewhere he could live in a peaceful environment. Both he and his wife knew exactly where they would like to go. They had contacted Phil Fowler, driven down and Phil had put them in his Land Rover and shown them two beautiful houses. The two took the details to the Ring of Bells pub, where they bought a round of drinks and had a chat with some locals. The locals were adamant that this little hamlet was the place. You could not wish for anywhere better! This was the confirmation of a dream. In 1972, two young couples had a walking holiday together in this lovely countryside. One of the couples had spent until 2001, trying to get here. At last, a dream was fulfilled. They would never get on an aeroplane again. Enough was enough!

Sid Setter. Gardener, carer, repairman, local historian, friend

Returning to the new home, Jim, somewhat reluctantly, started to join in with the family. Josie returned for a holiday and he helped her settle into the big bedroom, overlooking a beautiful garden and a field. Peter, never one to turn down an offer, undertook a short engineering consultancy job. The travel only involving the U.K. Susan didn’t know where to start. Should she start in the house, or the garden? The garden had always come first. What a mess! It had been a beautiful garden, but it had been grazed by a horse. Here, in the shed there was evidence of previous gardening from some years ago and most of it was useful. There were old bean sticks, substantial balls of string and the odd implement. It was a treasure trove. The garden revealed old crops. There was a tree that would be full of cooking apples in the autumn. Treasure upon treasure. There were old fashioned raspberries that would survive a Dartmoor winter. Yes, a job could be done here. Meanwhile, unused to seeing Sue in action, Peter noticed that over a number of weeks that she had not been thriving. She seemed to be very tired and weak. His mother had died and she missed her. This was something he had not spotted. Sue struggled without his mother’s help. She had always had a couple of underlying illnesses, but they seemed to be taking over. This was a chance to find the local surgery. What a lovely change that was. Everyone was so welcoming and it was nothing like so crowded as their old one. Excellent! By some great good fortune, all the doctors seemed really useful and Sue was put on Dr. Sarah Wollaston’s list. Before long she was being sorted with two consultants and the right medicine. Meanwhile, Sue had decided on some exercise, which had been missing with the Foot and Mouth outbreak. Both Ursula and Michael, her new neighbours encouraged her to visit Richard Padley’s garden, a part of the original farming estate on which they all lived. Walking up the lane to the garden was simply beautiful. It could be muddy, but who cared when you could see that view down to the Teign and she thought the shrubs were better than a tour around Wisley. There was a really wild bit with all sorts of trees. It was quite hard climbing the hill up to the garden if she approached from the river. This was how she met Sid, the only gardener in this huge garden. Sid began to take an interest in this weak looking creature, and began not to be able to bare seeing her struggle, especially with breathing after the hill. He began to have little chats with her. She seemed deeply interested in the garden and he spoke to Richard, the retired FAO statistician, who could no longer manage to walk into the garden. It was agreed that she should be allowed to walk through the house garden and above all into the old walled fruit and vegetable garden. This was a real prize. Anyone who has seen a real Victorian walled garden, would simply stand and wonder. This became a real go to place for a treat. Sid was a wonder. From time to time he even managed to grow some broad beans for Richard. When we had Marcus, our rescue dog, we had some real adventures. Marcus was very protective of the garden and was at his peak, when a badger was on the veg patch. Fortunately, he was accompanied by Peter, who managed to rescue him from the fight. It would be impossible to praise Sid enough. He worked so hard and knew which parts of the garden would look so wonderful wild. As Richard got older, he worked miracles to keep him in his home. Richard was amazing. We will always remember the day that Richard’s cat appeared in our garden. It was dying and Peter was holding it. Richard was in tears and said that it had caught Aids. It was just very sad. Now, Richard had lost his beautiful wife and his cat.

We loved our new home and fellow hamlet dwellers. Sue would visit Ursula while she was having breakfast. Ursula, who had been a West End Actress, loved a visit and they would discuss Ursula’s garden. It was much admired and what really tickled Sue was that most of the substantial shrubs in the garden had been bought from the Daily Telegraph and not a posh nursery. Ursula had a lovely strawberry patch, which would amuse her neighbours because it was so well looked after and it was protected from the birds with many double cream pots. She was a good example of nutrition for any elderly person, having a large glass of wine and a really good piece of cheese for supper!

From 1959 Morris Traveller to 1978 VW Passat Estate……some people mark the height of their children in the porch. John Kingsland marked his cars, a rural petrolhead!

Ursula had a trip out every Wednesday with some other elderly neighbours. She would dress up and wait by the gate. John and Winnie Kingsland and Charles would appear in John’s latest car (the 1978 VW Passat) and off they would all go to the Little Town. When they got to there, Winnie and Ursula would take off on some mission or other, but the two men would stand outside Bowdens, ready to communicate with any other old mate, who happened to be passing. They would all return home for another week. Ursula always had a more higher flown attitude. After all, when we had arrived, she had a big green car (Audi 90) and was the best driver in the whole hamlet. Seeing her in reverse gear was a real lesson to us all!

There used to be lots of partying in the hamlet. Virginia and David always held an election party at which nobody ever heard the results for the noise of gossip and general uproar. David and Jenny held some wonderful parties, at which loads of local news was downloaded. Their children were almost equal to our children, except that our Lucy was so elderly that she had moved away by now. For a while, their Richard and our Josie, students both, had to get up at some unearthly hour and drive together to help the Department of the Environment. It was exhausting for them both. In the end, Josie was head hunted by a “dragon” type of employer and released from the early hours. We are all so proud for Jenny and David as Richard went on to become a doctor. Both students did well. Thank goodness! Anyway, parties in the hamlet used to be great fun. Peter had his 60th here and you couldn’t get in the door for sweat, food and laughter. We could be said to have settled in!

Winnie Kingsland. Born and lived in Murchington her whole life. Our heroine

Winnie and John are so missed. They were simply lovely people. They knew everything about the hamlet and were always there for anyone. When John was ill, we remember him walking the back field with long strides and great strength trailing a plume of St Bruno smoke behind him. When Sue was involved in an arts event, he helped one of her actors by teaching him to speak in real Devon language. It was a treat for us all to hear him.

We simply respected Charlie, who had a farm across the road. He turned out in a three piece suit in his 90s to supervise his relatives digging and planting his garden. He had a presence that demanded great respect. We were sad when he died.

Olive and Mike have lived here for a very long time. Mike came and helped Peter with some skilled pointing on the house. He is a man who works hard. He built the beautiful house in which Lionel and Sally now live. It is just a good solid, yet, lovely building and exhibits Mike’s skill exemplarily.

It is all change in the hamlet now. Barbara, a dear neighbour is about to move out. She and her husband David were kind to us when we moved in. Sadly, David died a while ago now and Barbara is moving on. Nick, who has been here a little while and was a great friend to Wes and Josie, is moving on. Goodness knows who else will sell for it appears, quite frankly, to be a good time for it. All we can hope is that some good country loving people will move in and be able to live the wonderful life that we have all led. Let’s be optimistic!

Murchington Jubilee photo Part 1

 

Words by Sue

Pictures by Peter

Visit our Facebook Page at Dartmoor Diary Facebook Page and The Photographer is abandoning Artfinder,  ( Peter Bennett on Artfinder ) so contact him directly on Peter Bennett Photos email

The Photographer’s snapshots for this blog can be seen on     Dartmoor Diary Flickr Album or all his snapshots on  Flickr (follow link)           The serious stuff is currently only available directly from The Photographer except for a few left on his  Saatchi Art shop

Any similarity between characters in this blog and real people, products or events is entirely co-incidental

Any similarity between “The Little Town” and Chagford is entirely deliberate, Click on this link to find out more. Visit Chagford     

We’re all going on an Autumn Holiday

No more worries for a week or two

(Sorry Cliff)

By the Photographers Assistant

The friendly and helpful farmer looking after Llancillo Church

This month we are off on a break and you are invited to go with us. Heaven knows, there is enough gloom, so let’s have a cheer up.

We knew that it was autumn when Wes set off to help close the little town’s swimming pool. There was a strange feeling around the house, as if this was some sort of closure, and so it proved to be. Soon, he would start closing his customers pools and he would begin to have a little more time to think of other projects. While the Photographer and his Assistant surveyed the garden and decided to plant some late spinach under a cloche, Josie and Wes decided on what they could do to help out indoors. Wes was happy that his bridge across the stream was now well settled in. He and Josie began to think of a long list of jobs which would update the house. The family had been in the house for a long time now and some of the initial work on it was showing its age. Wes, at first, looked to a couple of his greatest strengths. While the elderly were pottering in the garden, he examined a now aged shower room. This must be first. Tiling and plumbing were among his great strengths. The Photographer and the Assistant were in Josie’s car before they knew where they were. There was much grumbling at leaving the garden for the day. Tiles and a new sink were selected before they could refuse and so, the next project was selected. There was never a dull moment in this house!

It was Sunday and the Photographer and Assistant were packing. A holiday was in the offing. Josie was getting a lovely lamb dinner with all the trimmings. We won’t describe the roast potatoes. It would just be cruel, especially if you are hungry!

Monday morning and Josie was up and supervising the departure. After much humming and carry on, she succeeded in packing them off. She had a whole cleaning plan in her head and there were some friends to socially distance with. God only knew if her furlough would ever end. She so missed her job and colleagues . Keeping busy was for the best.

The two pottered off up the M5 and M4. They were going to the remote barn to stay at Sharon’s, where there would be perfect peace and time to relax after the rigours of summer and the lockdown etc.Sharon’s welcome was always warm and a bottle of wine and some welsh cakes arrived. Bags and food were unpacked. The Assistant had brought lots of cooking material with her. There were curry powders and poppadoms, garden vegetables, and loads of eggs. There was bacon for breakfasts and lots of bits and pieces. There were even some cooking apples from the garden.

The news on the Monday evening was not good. Here they were, on the Welsh border and it sounded as if some lock downs were on their way. Until now, they had assumed Wales was safe. The next morning, the two set off for Crickhowell with a long shopping list. Our own Bowdens has its strengths ie ordering paint etc., but Webbs has huge amounts of stuff that the farmers come to buy. The Assistant was after a certain type of saucepan set and a huge bail of garden twine. Photographer lusted over all the Stihl equipment any man could possibly want, but he knew that his loyalty was really with E Bowdens of Bovey Tracey. He reluctantly left with a few useful small items. Meanwhile, the Assistant was beetling over to the butchers, where an obscene amount of welsh cheese was purchased together with some strings of onions. The camping shop was as practical as ever. They even managed a cup of coffee at their favourite cafe. Poor Crickhowell.
What a wonderful example it was for Covid distancing. Everywhere was strictly distanced. Huge flower troughs had been planted in the road, so that people were helped into distancing on the pavements, and it was all so pretty. Every single person wore a mask inside and outside the shops. It seemed so unfair that it was so close to the area that had been locked down.

On the Wednesday, the Photographer managed to get The Assistant a slap up meal at the Felin Fach Griffin restaurant. This was the first time that he used the NHS tracing app on his phone. The two tucked into a smooth carrot soup, a mixed fish grill and a chocolate fondant to die for. The fondant’s taste was beyond description. You can imagine the quality chocolate mixed in with wonderful cream. Stunning!

The Black Hill from Offas Dyke

After this, the Welsh government began thinking about more lockdowns in Cardiff etc. When Liverpool was shutdown, 4 Welsh counties were locked down too. The Welsh Minister was asking people not to move about Wales any more than they had to. We decided to spend the rest of the holiday on our feet and what a glorious time we had! The weather was good and we walked for many miles. We took particular pleasure in climbing the Black Hill, otherwise known as The Cat’s back. What a climb! What a view! Bruce Chatwin’s book, “On the Black Hill”, about it came to mind and there were some broken down farmhouses, but the scenery was glorious. The Assistant’s grand mother had always told her of the glory of the Black mountains. You have to see them to know how true that was.

The Assistant reaches the trig point at the summit of the Black Hill

Our walking continued, and we always managed a lunch on a seat in a churchyard. The most difficult walk was to the church at Llancillo, a church under the protection of the Friends of Friendless Churches. It certainly was difficult to get to, situated in a remote corner of a farmer’s field. It was a wonderful example of church history with a Tudor Door way and a medieval preaching cross.

Llancillo Church. Supported by the Friends of Friendless Churches. Medieval Prayer Cross and Tudor door evident

It was visited often, and, in the same week, several people had been, including a visitor from China. There was a strict Covid notice, even this far away from the roads. Someone had been looking after the church. There were bits of cleaning equipment behind a screen and a beautiful white cloth adorned the altar. What a great save! So appreciated.

Freindless, possibly, but still loved enough for some kind person to clean and tidy

Our walk to Newton was taken from the barn.We set off with two pork pies and some fruit. The Photographer had his camera and had left the Assistant on the road, while he tried to capture a picture of a bull.

An actual Hereford Bull. Magnificent

In the distance, the Assistant could see a cyclist approaching. He was quite a way off and she was thinking about the photographer’s lenses when the bike stopped in front of her. A conversation ensued. He had pink trousers and an exceptionally bright jumper. It soon became apparent that he was about her age and that she might be being chatted up! The Photographer appeared when she had run out of conversation. The pink trousers decided that he would accompany them to the next junction, where he kept them talking for what seemed an age, until he decided that he needed a cigarette and would continue his journey. The two were very amused and beetled off to the glory of Newton, an agricultural settlement down a distant lane. Here, they found an undistinguished, but much loved church called John The Baptist, where there was a comfortable seat for lunch. It was not so glorious as some other churches, but it had hand gel at the churchyard gate and it was obviously a pillar of its community and much loved. Having lunched and connected many rural families in the churchyard, the two set off for a little longer, passing the farm machinery and homes, before turning around and walking home for supper.

St Margarets in Newton on a beautiful sunny day

Becoming ambitious, at the next opportunity, the two decided to walk to St Margaret’s church, which was further on. Here, was another glorious day. The two passed many houses and farms neatly arranged along the road. They were just becoming tired when they passed an argument in the road between a farmer and a householder, who wasn’t sure that the field next door to her house really needed to be so covered in lime dust. The two had St. Margaret’s in their sight. When they entered this glorious churchyard, they became very impressed with its size and its small wooden tower. It was sad, however, that despite its grand appearance, the church was firmly closed. We suspected that it was probably having difficulty with Covid, and security We did, however, find a lovely seat to have our lunch on. It became obvious that this was a seat that commemorated the memory of a lady called Anne and that opposite was a well maintained plot for her large family. All the women who had married into the family had their previous unmarried as well as their married names carved into their headstone. Another plot had also been maintained with the same practice. This seems to be common practice in the area.

We had walked ten miles on this day and had so enjoyed the glory of the fabulously well kept farm hedges and the beautiful sheep. It reminded us of the wonderful displays at the annual Royal Show, now defunct.

So the holiday ends and we shall be pleased to return to the ministrations of Wes and Josie. As many of you have asked, Josie has now been taken off furlough and is busy helping her customers on Zoom and the telephone and enjoying the company of her distanced colleagues. From now on, we’ll just have to look after ourselves. Oh dear! We’ll soon need another holiday!

 

Words by Sue

Pictures by Peter

Visit our Facebook Page at Dartmoor Diary Facebook Page and The Photographer is abandoning Artfinder,  ( Peter Bennett on Artfinder ) so contact him directly on Peter Bennett Photos email

The Photographer’s snapshots for this blog can be seen on     Dartmoor Diary Flickr Album or all his snapshots on  Flickr (follow link)           The serious stuff is currently only available directly from The Photographer except for a few left on his  Saatchi Art shop

Any similarity between characters in this blog and real people, products or events is entirely co-incidental

Any similarity between “The Little Town” and Chagford is entirely deliberate, Click on this link to find out more. Visit Chagford     

A peaceful Autumn emerges from the storms

By The Photographer’s Assistant

 

Josie and The Assistant were making the most of the autumn. They didn’t feel too brilliant this evening and the men had a project on. Josie had a cold and the Assistant had had treatment for her troublesome leg. They didn’t feel like making a huge supper and were indulging themselves.
Josie had a large jumper and her comforting sheepskin slippers on. The Assistant had giant furry socks and warm tartan pyjamas. The television was showing the ultimate Country file programme. It was a Mary Berry special. The section on hand made cheese was of particular interest. The cheese looked wonderfully creamy, but not too creamy. It was covered in hay, which was wonderfully picturesque. Josie, still on furlough, was looking for a cheese making course, which she could attend. It was all very inspirational!

So Cosy

Sitting by the fire and watching relaxing television programmes is a real treat at the end of a well spent summer, mainly spent gardening until we were satisfied and exhausted. Josie had been working on her art, but, above all, she had been cooking produce from the garden for many a happy and exhausting hour. Now, with distancing sorted out at the gym, she could go out to Topsham and exercise. She could meet with her old bridesmaids in their new homes and enjoy a chat. She and Wes could walk greater distances and they had found a pub with good distancing, that they could walk to. Things were looking up.

The Photographer and The Assistant had been able to attend an appointment at the surgery and go to see the dentist. They had not found PPE frightening to look at. All they could see was their old doctor, trying to help them and a dentist, who was delighted to see them again. They did not feel in the least bit intimidated. The Assistant felt safe enough to arrange a hygienist appointment, which would be using different procedures from usual to protect from Covid.

Saturday was a delight with the annual trip to have our flu jabs. We all had different timed appointments and the route was made clear for entering and exiting the surgery. Lately, living right out in the countryside, we had felt a bit isolated, but now, we remembered and saw all the people we used to love seeing and talking to. There was Jo from church, and some near neighbours, and lots of familiar faces. It was so cheering. After, we had a couple of cups of coffee in the Three Crowns, out in glorious sunshine. We were able to do some shopping before the town became too busy. Josie was driving and the Photographer got in the car carrying two delicious bottles of wine. The Assistant had two huge pieces of salmon from Andy’s old place. A day of treats!

Innovation on Dartmoor hill farm……now that’s something to note! Spring Barley being grown for silage

On one of our walks up the hill, past Mr. Davis’ fields, we saw the most wonderful crop of barley. We were invited to go in and see it. It swept around corners with a wonderful swirl of green
and we were able to feel the crop. Mr. Davis had been trying out some new farming ideas and they had really paid off. Occasionally, we meet him and his family in town. What a delightful family! The children are full of bubble and bounce and they love the farm animals. So encouraging for those of us who have been connected to farming and lived next to it for all our lives.

Meanwhile, we are all coping with the apple harvest, which has been a bumper one this year. We are all standing over pans and cooking away with mixed spice and just a little of Mick’s honey, or perhaps, a bit more and a spoonful all on it’s own, just to make sure that the latest batch is o.k.

John Painter has had his wild meadow harvested and made into round bales. What happy memories of wild wild flowers as the bales are stacked up. Happy memories of our spaniel Marcus who loved to go over Duncan Vincent’s back field here. He would walk among the drying grass having the best and most interesting sniff of the year. How we both loved that autumn walk. Meanwhile, John’s old lathe is happy settling in to the Photographer’s work shop, where it has it’s own corner. All of the Photographer’s engineering friends have had much advice to give and the machine hasn’t actually turned it’s restored wheel yet!

The newly planted trees in the garden have given us great pleasure this year. They have grown well and are looking strong. We enjoy walking around them in the evening as the sun goes down and all the birds have flown over to their roost.

Meanwhile, Wes and Josie have created an autumn to do list. The rot in the front door is to be replaced with fresh wood and Josie is freshening up the front door. When they have done this, the porch will have a new lease of life. Much to our relief, They are going to replace the old shower and Josie is ordering new tiles and has paint to match the work. This has all needed doing for some time. It will all be so cheery again. Hoorah.

2 Pieris enjoying an evening Aster…..Why do they look so lovely here and so threatening on a cabbage plant?

Butterfly’s are aplenty as they fly around the orchard and the stream burbles in the background as we sit on the bridge, which has now been replaced and regained its former beauty.

All in all, autumn has bounced in in a most charming manner, and we reflect on this, as we sit on our favourite seat in the churchyard in the little town. We can light a candle now and watch it flicker as we leave, this almost peaceful place in the little town.

We have managed to return to Blacks, which is so close by this quiet place and enjoy being spoilt by Chris and Catherine as we rest our old bones sitting next our dear friend Jim, who joins us for a cup of coffee.

Yes. Peaceful autumn has returned and with it much of the world we knew before the arrival of Coved to our shores. Let’s do our best to drive it out again.

San Francisco at 1045 in the morning under the wildfire haze

A sad and distressing footnote to the blog has been this picture, sent to us by dear Jenny in California. She is currently surrounded by smoke. Her current state just reminds us of how fortunate some of us have been. We all send you our good wishes dear Jenny. We think of you. The next candle is for you with a prayer that it will all go away.

Footnote:

3rd time lucky!! The bridge installed yet again. Let’s hope it stays this time

 

Words by Sue

Pictures by Peter

Visit our Facebook Page at Dartmoor Diary Facebook Page and The Photographer is abandoning Artfinder,  ( Peter Bennett on Artfinder ) so contact him directly on Peter Bennett Photos email

The Photographer’s snapshots for this blog can be seen on     Dartmoor Diary Flickr Album or all his snapshots on  Flickr (follow link)           The serious stuff is currently only available directly from The Photographer except for a few left on his  Saatchi Art shop

Any similarity between characters in this blog and real people, products or events is entirely co-incidental

Any similarity between “The Little Town” and Chagford is entirely deliberate, Click on this link to find out more. Visit Chagford