How to Boil an Egg with Love

This morning, in this new year, Peter and I turned the radio off. Who wants to listen to all that moaning about stuff that we can do nothing about. It’s a different world for us war time babies now. Anyway, we didn’t listen to the radio. We went down to our less than warm kitchen, turned the heater on and Peter boiled an egg. He loves cooking an egg for me. He has a whole ceremony. It is intense and organised. He is an engineer. He knows about systems. He has designed them all his life. I would never dare to intervene. I am only allowed to make the toast and this is under supervision. This morning, the toast wasn’t quite right. Despite being cooked in a posh toaster, it wasn’t really cooked to the correct level. I knew that there would be analysis.

Home made bread ready for toasting and home made marmalade

The bread that made the toast was his own make. He became seriously perplexed. He had used some spelt flour, but he wasn’t sure in which loaf. At this point, some people would start to debate, but wisely, I was comforting. I thought that we could “ look at this problem later.” Peter agreed, but of course we didn’t debate it later because, by now, he was in his workshop trying out equipment, which had arrived from the Screwfix sale. Yes, guys, it’s on!

Eggs warmed to room temeperature to avoid cracking

Anyway, to return to the egg. First off, two, or four eggs are taken out of the fridge the night before they are cooked to warm. Having done this, we don’t watch the News, because we will get worked up. I read and Peter plays his music. The two do not go together. Furthermore, the little child next door is probably about to go to bed, so he turns the Stones off. I can read my book, Peter will turn to his computer and review the days pictures from some group who have asked him to arbitrate. Sometimes, I sit through University Challenge while Peter answers all but one or two of the questions. This is enormously entertaining. Amal Raja is really on the case. He is incredibly smartly dressed. I wonder at the clothing. It must come from somewhere very posh. Sometimes, I can answer a question and Peter is encouraging.

Choose your favourite egg cups

Let’s get back to that egg. This is usually served up on a Tuesday morning, when I insist on hearing William Hague on Times Radio. William sometimes talks about sheep and the bit of Wales that he lives in. I love to hear about what’s going on in my second country. Peter is enormously jealous of William, but he tries not to show it. The eggs are well on their way when I arrive. They are, of course, perfect in every way. They are arranged on Peter’s favourite china in little chicken egg cups. They are timed to perfection on Peter’s mobile phone. The marmalade is his own make from a recipe in a book from Ben’s farm shop. If we run out of marmalade, we have Ben’s. I am not mentioning the actual egg as this is impeccably sourced and I can’t tell you where it comes from. Next, we have more coffee, which is a must for my sanity, and we discuss this week’s egg.
Job done. No divorce over eggs this week!

6 minutes 30 seconds

Peter is not the only person who has cooked an egg for me. I am, apparently, that sort of pale, sickly person ( Peter has checked that I have taken all my drugs this morning ) that you cook a lightly done egg for. Various relatives including Josie have tried. Wes has not tried. He considers a lightly boiled egg to be poisonous. The only other person to cook exactly the same type of egg was my Welsh grandmother. Now, here you are dealing with a mistress of egg technology, who knew the subject for whom she was cooking, literally from birth. My grandmother was unbelievably old even when I was born.

As a very small baby, I would be transported to Wales by my parents, who were hoping something could be done with this wheezy, noisy difficult child. They were right to do so. My grandmother had given birth to at least ten children. She would allow me into the hallowed ground of her bedroom. She had her own fireplace with a heavily polished brass fire guard. Her son worked down a mine. He fireplace was never empty. She would stand on the door step checking the count of bags of coal while she chatted away to the coal man

The years passed and I made it to a College of Further Education. I spent most summers in Wales. My health was better here. I could get a bus to the seaside. My Grandmother was in her late eighties by then. Mornings were spent helping an aunt with tasks, but afternoons were spent in the small lounge with my grandmother. She would read her newspaper with a large magnifying glass. I would read a Thomas Hardy novel. After a while, my grandmother would stand up quietly. I was never asked if I would like a boiled egg. An assumption was made as she disappeared into the kitchen and that hard cold floor with her black ankle boots on. An egg would appear from the kitchen after an interval. Of course, it would be as perfect as one of Peter’s eggs. It would be arranged in exactly the same way, but it would be in a tiny egg cup with a dainty little spoon and a tiny pinch of salt. Next, the wooden breadboard would appear and a sharp bread knife, sharpened on the doorstep by my aunt. The bread was a healthy bread. It was brown and full of taste. I was to place the bread on the bread board and under instruction, I was to butter it and cut it as thin as thin and then we would enjoy our eggs together, just the two of us, like Peter and I, and we talked about the success of the egg in exactly the same way. It’s an art. I can’t do it. I always forget a step. Cooking eggs is an art. It’s like painting the Mona Lisa. Not many people can do it. I have been lucky in the caring people that I have known. It’s the small things that count when somebody loves you.

Lightly boiled with the yolk just starting to set

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 (aka Peter).

Let the Sun shine in

The sun is streaming through the window as Susan writes. It is not rare that this happens We may have local floods, which can be hugely inconvenient and the river will threaten. We cannot walk on our garden for fear of slipping. Peter has not been able to work on the greenhouse, but, by some miracle, the sun shines through windows and on to dusty surfaces. It enables us to open doors, which have not been opened for some time. Josie and Wes have had to buy a special harness for Millie, the spaniel, which prevents her from drowning in her beloved river. We take Millie up high hills instead. Nothing is as it should be and yet, if only for a small amount of time, the sun shines. We have, even at this height on the Moor, begun to experience a bright blinding light. On Thursday, we stood in an empty field and we could see the little town in the distance. It was the most wonderful sight. We had not been able to do this for months. It will come. The light will expand, so that even when people leave work, there will be light, not grey.

Chagford from Meldon. Now you can see why it is called the “Little” town

Today is Peter’s bread making day. It is one of the most important days in the month. He has set up the mixer. He has his own method gleaned from various books over he years. He is still working his way through his supply from Ben’s Farm Shop and Rowsley Mill in Derbyshire, but some flours are running out, so Susan will investigate some known sources. Today’s bread will consist of many different mixes and it will fill the house with the most beautiful smell. There will be six large loaves and some white bread rolls. Clearly, we did not volunteer for this. We have loads of other stuff to do, but it enriches our lives and saves us cash for the electric bill as the meter ticks up yet more extraordinary nonsense. The bread will save and help even though it uses electric itself. (30p electricity + £1 for materials for a large loaf)

Many of you will know that we are walkers and that we climb in minor ways. The weather has meant a kind of stale feeling in our lives, as it has in many peoples. In addition, January is a really bad month for Susan. The asthmatic spends her life avoiding the great coughers of the universe. Once, a few years ago, just before Covid, she caught flu in a local shop. There was someone in there who was one of the greatest coughers of our time. Susan caught the flu that the customer had on offer, in spite of being vaccinated herself, and spent some time in the surgery whilst three doctors debated as to whether she should go for the hospital oxygen, or whether Peter could keep a wary eye on her. Peter spent two weeks nursing her while she sat up in bed. She was very weak the whole summer. It took forever to recover. Josie has suffered a similar fate and had to attend RD & E as an emergency day case. All was avoidable. Now, Peter spends January watching and safeguarding. Please, please, if you are infectious, stay away. If you can, work from home. We must avoid crowding out our local surgery and the hospital.

Worn from a season’s walking and the next generation already to wear

Peter and Susan have found a way of walking all sorts of places, just sitting with a cup of tea.Last week, in the Guardian, they enjoyed an imaginary walk with the author of the week’s country diary. A party of tourists were staying in the Cairngorms and they walked the Monadhliath range. This led to much discussion about the walks, which we had undertaken. We have been to Scotland a few times, taking our faithful tent and walking boots with us. Some time ago Susan was given a massive Ordnance Survey Map of Scotland’s western area. These maps are really precious and are no longer produced, so it is locked away with treasures. Tracing this walk and it’s pitfalls was a great way to spend some time. We discussed routes and places that we had camped. It was all great fun. Peter has the Ordnance Survey app.It helps us navigate our way, when we stay near the Brecon Beacons. Now, we can choose any walking route and sit by the fire with our afternoon cup of tea, revisiting it. When the rain stops, we shall enjoy the real walk to Throwleigh. It will take all day to go there and back. With luck, we will meet the odd local friend on our way.

During the great big Christmas Break, encouraged by Susan’s cousin’s husband, Doug, Peter produced one of the most beautiful drawings that he has ever done. It was for Doug, who takes a great interest in family trees, and it was for Susan. Susan’s Welsh family had never been traced. Susan produced a small number of Death Certificates and a birth certificate. She managed to remember where the family had lived from 1921 to 1971, when the last member of that generation died. This was a family of 10 children born to her grandmother and grandfather. The tree tells the story of a devastating amount of pollution, which appears to have run through the family. There was one mining disease, which took an uncle. Susan’s grandfather died of sepsis, after cutting his hand working in the Mond Nickel works. Every single person amongst the rest of her aunts and uncles had died of cancer. Her aunts had not been able to have children.

Well now………….Father & Daughter

Susan’s father, who left the area as a young man, was the only one of his generation who had children.

Despite the terrible toll recorded on her relatives, this has been a wonderful document to sit and read. It has given Susan great joy.

When Susan was six, her mother was so ill that her father took her to Wales to his mother, who was now in her early seventies. She lived there for a long time, learning some Welsh and going to school. She lived amongst all this family, as the only child and has many happy memories. Her Uncles would have huge get togethers, going to the pub and having a riotous time. Her father was known as one of the Swansea Arts movement and had been friendly with Dylan Thomas, who, before his death, would come along and get dreadfully drunk. They all remembered him fondly and really missed him!

When Susan was a baby, she was still small enough to go in a Welsh shawl and all the aunts would take a turn to nurse her and they would sing welsh lullabies. They were all great beauties with long, dark, gypsy style hair, long legs and were tall like their father. They all married well and none of them went to work except Aunt Margaret who was the wealthiest. She and her husband were always off to Norway to stay with his relatives. Her story of how she met and married a Norwegian was the stuff of family legend. Aunt Liza’s husband taught Susan loads of games. He even took her to his club, where she won at dominos. This did not go down well.He also taught Susan the art of found gardening. He had taken over an overgrown chapel garden opposite his home. This was the site for all the stuff that went into the family wine, a very serious business involving every single member of the family. It was here that gardening really became a loved hobby. Susan loved the flower garden, which was full of delight. Mr. Roberts, the next door neighbour, spent some time teaching Susan how to exhibit dahlias. She became an expert at finding paper bags for each flowerhead!

Granny Thomas. The Matriarch

Time went on and lots and lots of stuff was learnt. Susan even got involved with a Welsh choir, who came and practised in an aunt’s house each week. Eventually, however, her aunts became very protective and fought a move to send Susan back to England. Her grandmother thought about this for a long time. Eventually, she told her son to fetch his daughter. The child returned to England, where her mother threw all her Welsh clothes in the bin and claimed her rights over her daughter. Susan settled down, went to school at the top of the road and became a teacher. She made the best of it. Every summer, her father would carry her bag the mile to the bus station. He would put her on the bus and she spent the entire summer holiday with her grandmother and all those aunts. She did it for such a long time, that her grandmother, now in her nineties discussed Susan’s marriage to Peter. She had his picture and decided that “he would do”! After all, all her girl’s had married well and here was the future!

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 (aka Peter). 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

Room with a View

The room is empty, but it has so much to say. It is probably the largest room in the house. It has more of a history than any other room. Michael Wood, who is our favourite historian, would kill to get in here. It has so many stories to tell, and we can only guess at most of them. The room is situated at the top of slightly crooked stairs. It has a privacy conscious small window at the top of the stairs. The window, in hot weather, produces a cool breeze, but it is so charming that there is usually a small bunch of flowers on its tiny window sill. We love arranging tapestry pictures and a huge portrait of the Pembrokeshire countryside on the wooden wall beside the stairs. A large outrageous chandelier lights your way. It is a terrible death trap. Various members of the family have come close to death removing the cobwebs! The stair is uncarpeted and it is painted white. Josie declared it to be incredibly dangerous and it is. The wallpaper is a tribute to some earlier age.

We are entering the room now and it is an elderly beauty. It is mostly a wonderful pink, which shows off its glory. It is empty except for a tall shelf unit, which has some decorations on it from Josie’s wedding. What a lovely memory!

Pink. Yes, she said pink and this is the pink wall.

A tall window is made with simple openings and a pink climbing rose nestling into its opening from outside. If you bring a chair to the window, you can spend a good half hour looking out. Below, in the little garden, there are herbs in pots, and a huge hosta with enormous green leaves. There are large sections of slate, which were found in the garden. There is a tiny Japanese pebble garden beneath a yellow honeysuckle, which was given us by Tillie and John, a mark of our friendship and happy memories.

Solar collectors with built in water collection system. Hosta la vista baby….. Hosta to fortune…..your turn now.

You can look up the drive, which has just been topped up with shingle by Adam. We keep the drive as a simple country one with no modern additions. When Ursula was alive and lived opposite us, she insisted on this and she was right. Across, and away from the drive, is Ursula’s old garden, virtually unchanged since she died. It has a selection of shrubs, which were originally bought from The Daily Telegraph many years ago. They are glorious in colour and in size. It is the most beautiful garden, a frame for a thatched Devon longhouse. At the end of the drive, when it is dark, there is often a light from one of the houses, which is comforting in winter.

If you stand in the doorway right now, you will see the iron bed. When we lived in West Sussex, the three of us would walk the South Downs just near our home. There was a barn at the top of an incline and there was something very surprising inside. The barn contained a selection of iron bedsteads in various states of repair. We loved it. It was extraordinary to see, right there, amidst the fields and the animals. When we were moving to this house, we knew that Josie would miss the Downs and all those beautiful family walks, so we found her this bed, which came from the barn and had been produced by the Iron Bed Company. She was thrilled with the bed and would come home from University in Loughborough every three weeks, over five years, just to sleep in it and enjoy the peace the countryside brought.

2 Brass dancers on an iron bed head

Anyway, back to this room, which has now been vacated by Josie and Wesley. At the other end of the room is Vincent’s cupboard. It is the airing cupboard. It is Victorian and large. It has lots of drawers and a cupboard at the top, which even the tallest of people have to access with a step ladder. It is beautifully painted in white. Susan loves the cupboard and she keeps all her happy household stuff in there. It’s not just for bedding. Oh no! There is Peter’s mother’s wartime wedding frock. There are various historical family garments, including her Welsh shawl, which her favourite aunt used to wrap her in. It is a faded white now, but has an intricate knitted pattern. Josie’s shawl is more practical. Peter used to wrap her in it when she fell over. All of these garments are wrapped in tissue paper. Susan checks them from time to time.They are so loved. From time to time, there is the poor dried up body of a mouse in the drawer. Poor creature!

Every self respecting airing cupboard should include a spare Honeywell 3-way valve. Very rare apparently.

There are hot water bottle covers. There are bed covers with beautiful patterns. They are too good to be used! Don’t be silly! We are unworthy! This cupboard is called Vincent’s, because our plumber is called Vincent and he is really good at taking care of the mass of plumbing that is in this old cupboard. No-one wants to disturb it all. Vincent managed to replace the tank twenty years ago, and it is still in good order. The valves and the pipes are not for an amateur to deal with. Recently Vincent spent a good part of his Sunday tackling a problem with the valve. It is simply high class stuff and he is qualified to work on our oil boiler, which is becoming a rarer art than it used to be.

The radiator in the room is so huge that, unless it is being used, it is turned off. Behind the radiator will give you a glimpse of its past. Don’t even go near it. Don’t attempt to paint it. The wall is the only wall that is not granite lined with lime mortar. This is real lath and plaster. Delicate doesn’t come into it. The walls are covered in wall lining paper. Before my father joined the army, he was a decorator and his brother was a builder. When we were out and about together, he used to tell me never to touch wall lining paper. It can, if removed, give you a very expensive shock. It can cover up some shocking sights. We’ve built kitchens, changed fireplaces. We have even had the chimney lined properly, Peter ventures in one of the roofs and inspects the trees, which prop up the odd roof, but we have never removed lining paper. Never. We live on pensions now!

There is, of course, a roof access in this room. There are four roof access in the house. All the roofs have been covered in as much insulation as we can muster. One access is suicidal, so no-one goes in there. It is in the middle of the steep stairs outside this room, so can be seen from a distance. The room itself has the best roof access. It has the upper water tank, which Peter can access easily. The odd dead bird can get in here and quietly die in the water. You will know this when the bath water is not pleasant!

Peter has laid a floor up here. The easy access has led to so much stuff being up here, it is a nightmare! At the moment, there is so much Christmas stuff just stuck through the trap, major surgery will have to be undertaken. All of Peter’s last invention is up here. It’s just in case the forestry people need the machine again. It’s up here for life! You would be mad to attempt getting it out!

There is a large Petersfield Archive, kept by Peter’s mother. It is enormously entertaining. The newspaper section details such terrible deaths amongst the Petersfield population, I couldn’t possibly repeat them.

A huge box of children’s books has been eaten by the mice and all the My Little Ponies have died a nasty sticky death. The amount up here, probably, consists of the equivalent of the rest of the house! It must be tackled. What would happen if we became disabled. It wouldn’t be fair on Wes. Josie would stand at the bottom of the steps sending up instructions! It just wouldn’t be fair!

On the walls, there are some delightful picture hanging rails. They don’t work, of course they don’t. There’s even a faded old fashioned picture hook. All of Josie’s pictures gradually fell off the wall while she was staying here.

The room is VERY HOT in the summer. Peter has insulated the wall behind the bed. The insulation is locked in by a wooden wall liner. With the sun at the window in hot, or even mild weather, you can’t have any bed clothes on the bed! It is better to suffer in complete nakedness. Everything has been tried. The solution could be to put the Dyson up there on cool, but does anyone now want to pay that bill. Peter is putting a camp bed down in the stable block. Just in case! Don’t worry! The badger is not often here these days, though, he does have a very curious nature about his territory!

We all love that room. We wouldn’t have it any other way. All houses that are old, must have a character room. Mustn’t they?

To finish. Now that Josie and Wes have moved out of the room, we have some thanks to give to those who helped them. The Chagford community has been kindness itself. We cannot thank enough those who have found them somewhere to rent. We would have all missed them so much. Thank you to dear Mick, who worked tirelessly on the day. He never stopped lifting, and handling really heavy stuff. Josie and Wes received such a welcome home to New Street and its environs, it was unbelievable. Every person who saw them had a welcome. There were presents of sparkling wine and flowers. There was much love. What a community! This was a place that wasn’t going to lose its people. Well done. You will pay for this. Of course you will! I have already been asked for cake for the swimming pool and they’ve barely moved in! Josie has painted areas of the pool including the toddler pool. Wes will certainly be in need of help and he will be asking for it.

YOUR POOL NEEDS YOU. HOW WONDERFUL! CHAGFORD POOL WILL BE OPENING ON THE 28th OF May THERE WILL BE CELEBRATION. THERE WILL BE CAKES FOR SALE. THERE WILL BE FUN!

The Pool is opening!!!

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

I’ve never cooked Christmas Dinner

a Very Happy Christmas to all our readers

I’ve never cooked Christmas Dinner. This had never occurred to me until, in the course of normal conversation, our daughter, the very busy Josie announced that Christmas dinner would be roast lamb and it would be from Ben’s Farm Shop. Was that alright with the family? She gave me a warning look, which meant that there would be no arguing.

To explain why I am so useless at Christmas, we have to go back to a few years after the war. My mother and I were our only companions except for the rare occasions when my father was allowed to be away from nursing war victims. I had a happy little toddlerhood. I already had a voracious appetite for books and large quantities of simple toys. Books were great for writing on and toys were always taken apart on an experimental basis. I loved the vegetable plot, where the sprouts, which were taller than me, made a perfect jungle. I always accompanied my mother on ration hunting. She was very pretty and every male shop holder was enchanted. We had a wonderful diet. Her favourite thing that she enjoyed with her toddler was visiting the chickens at a pub on the shopping route. The two used to talk to the chickens through the fence and they both found them enchanting. Due to rationing or expense, a chicken was never served up at home. This is where a problem occurred one Christmas when an invitation was made by the maternal grandparents. This was a big event for my parents. It meant that my father’s divorce was going to be partially forgiven. Their beloved and extremely spoilt daughter, whose pilot boyfriend had been killed towards the end of the war, now had a first grandchild and that was surely a good thing. The grand parents led a high middle class life. No expense would be cut for Christmas. The little girl was given granddad’s dressing room for a small non frightening bedroom rather than a large opulent room. I cannot describe the strain on my father, who was supposed to be taking a well earned break. He supervised my bedtime with great care. I wasn’t to touch any of granddad’s bottles or hair brushes. I could tear up the odd Readers Digest. I hated the dark and kept thinking that there must be a dragon, at the very least, in the roof cupboard.

Oooh it’s a baby Susan…..mind my frock!

The great day came about. I had never seen anything like it. I was used to “simple”, not grandiose. The large dining room had been opened for the occasion. The dining table was huge and it was covered in wonderful food, some of which I had never seen before. I was being carried into the highly decorated room, when I spotted it. I was absolutely silent, then I screamed. I screamed for England. I screamed the house down. There, in the middle of the table, stripped of all its feathers and lay bare was a huge chicken. This was my favourite animal and the people I loved were going to eat it. I don’t remember what happened next. We used to visit the grand house. We even went for Easter. I used to romp in my grand parents bed, but we never again went for Christmas. We and eventually, my little brother, had Christmas alone. My Dad spent Christmas Day amongst his patients and would come home for a lovely dinner. I did the decorations, and, later when I worked as a student, I would love giving my brother his Action Men toys. We liked it quiet.

The frustrated surgeon made it to Theatre Sister in WW2 but when she started in 1927 the chances of becoming a surgeon were slim indeed

When I was at college I met Peter and he took me to his college ball and that was that! Peter’s mother had just been widowed when I met her. It seemed a good act to attend their Christmas. So it was for many years. Peter would go and fetch his Aunty Gertie off the bus on Christmas Eve and she would have a small glass of sherry on her arrival. She would always take this glass to bed with her. (“Saving a little for later”) Sherry was the treat of the year. She had never cooked a Christmas dinner and, I still hadn’t! For many years Peter’s mother’s favourite thing in all the world was to cook the Christmas dinner. I had, by now, learnt to subtly push the meat around the plate whilst studying any painting on the walls. This had once been a grand house too, but Peter’s father, poor man had spent a long time dying and had left very little for the family. Peter had begun to earn, but, as a teacher, currently being bribed by the government to stick at it, I was on an unbelievable ever escalating salary, plus, my maternal Grandfather had died and left me quite a lot of money. After our first Christmas together, Peter’s mother could choose whatever she wanted for the Christmas table and Peter now began to catch me up rapidly, so we were lucky. Mum could have what she wanted and she did. The soda siphon was filled together with the biscuit barrel. Why did Christmas count so much for Peter’s mother? During the war, as an experienced nursing sister, she had worked in the operating theatre of the Royal Surrey Hospital, where many soldiers were taken to be helped. The chicken, or turkey were always carved by Peter’s mother, and they were carved with an expert touch. This was her moment to shine. She would select a bird that was way too big and spend many happy hours making the best of her moment of glory. She would have made a splendid surgeon, which had been her ambition. I spent my time freezing the surplus!

A 1980s style Christmas (or possibly Boxing Day) dinner by Granny Bennett. Note the precision carved meat!

Peter’s mother lived with us for a very long time, and when our children were born, she continued with all her Christmas traditions until one fateful Sunday. At some stage, during the late eighties, we had a terrible flu epidemic. Josie and I couldn’t even comb our hair, we were so weak and Peter’s mother was kept busy us until she too became ill. It was Christmas and something quite unexpected occurred. In the kitchen whilst attending to the patients, in his own quiet way, Peter studied how to cook a turkey from his mechanical point of view. He made no fuss. He combed the womens’ hair, dispensed pain killers and each patient had a little wash before he disappeared. All the patients were happily asleep, when the call came from the kitchen. There, the best you will ever see, was a beautifully brown bird and all the trimmings making its way across the hall to the dining area. It looked wonderful. All of Peter’s women thought that it was the best bird that they had ever seen, but no one could eat it. It had to be carved and frozen after a few days had passed! How sad!

Peter took on Christmas for many years. He did it so well that it seemed pointless to interrupt him. In time, Josie, who was now paying her way through University, gained huge experience of both chef’s ways and silver service, so, unsurprisingly, she wanted to cook for Christmas, and took on the mantle. We have a treat. The establishments, which Josie worked in, were high class and she learnt as much as she could. She chooses the meat, the sauces, flavourings and all the vegetables. Wes, her husband, makes for an excellent sous chef. Their knowledge of wines is excellent. Susan and Peter have never enjoyed a meal quite so much. We are lucky. It’s that simple.

Susan and Peter have now been married for fifty years and Susan has never cooked a Christmas dinner. She would probably start with a tin opener and a frying pan. She has never been that interested in food. This year, she is spending November and December without chatting to the sheep on the hill in case they are going to be for Christmas dinner!

Well done ladies, you’ve made it past Christmas. It’s good to talk.

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

Living in the 1950s

There is light beyond today’s dark clouds

By the Photographers Assistant

Currently, the family are enjoying the return to a simple life and it seems to be reminiscent of Susan and Peter’s childhood. There are many activities which turn the clock back. In the main our parents were absorbed by the hunt for everything needed for the house. Returning from the war and being able and fortunate enough to have a home was a real shock. To be able to have a family and shut your front door on the world was a real tonic. Getting it all together was a real challenge. Susan’s mother revelled in not wearing a uniform. She would buy a pattern for a pretty skirt and stitch the whole lot together by hand. The whole household was dedicated to production of various bits and pieces. Food was difficult. Rationing was still on some items. Cooking something edible was a bit of a chore. Susan’s mother’s charm offensive in various shops was much admired. We seemed to have enough meat and eggs and the rest was Susan’s father’s job. His days off were spent in growing veg in every square inch of the garden. This was Susan’s greatest fun. Brussels sprouts were a great hiding space. They were so tall for a toddler. Most of Susan’s parents’ time was spent securing food and fuel.

Today, we sit at the table in the kitchen and plan in much the same way as our parents. Wes and Josie have managed to get a monthly “click and collect” from a supermarket. They still can’t get a delivery and Josie is still vulnerable, and so they have made a tricky supermarket collection. Susan and Peter have just had the jab, so this won’t happen again. After three weeks, they will be able to protect Josie by doing some of her shopping. The boot will be on the other foot after Jo and Wes have been protecting Susan and Peter all this time. Wes has forgotten to buy some bread so he will have to visit a shop. He also works so every time he comes in he has to shower. The trip for bread will have to be made at the end of the day, to avoid contact as much as possible . Shortly Peter and Susan will be able to visit the organic store that they all love and these supermarket problems will be over, but the obsession with food will need some getting over. Today, the whole family is going to enjoy Josie’s roast dinner. She will provide the chicken and Peter and Susan get veg from the garden, just as their parents did all those years ago.

Susan’s shed………after the tidy up. Compliments only please

Doing our own construction was very much a theme of the fifties, as it is here. Josie has made an incredible deal with a bathroom supplier over the phone. Wes and Josie have spent every weekend since Christmas working on a modernised shower room and a basin for the utility room. Josie has been painting areas of the house that need a freshen up before her mother paints the kitchen ceiling and Peter is busy ordering wood for deep vegetable beds to save those poor old knees this year. Wes has ordered and collects fish and chips from Chagford. The workers are filled to the brim as they tuck in and have a bottle of beer each. The late fifties equivalent of this was fish fingers which mum got from a grocer’s freezer. She made chips with a nice bit of white sliced bread with proper butter as a treat!

Susan has been working outside for three solid days. Soon Peter will be on the warpath. He will be looking for unbroken seed trays, tidy seed packets, pens which actually work on homemade labels, and all sorts of useful tools for the coming garden season. Susan will be in a deep panic. This is a tradition that never changes. She is a disorganised creature and a last minute operator. You will now find her in HER shed deep in piles of junk, trying to find the useful bits. The margarine cartons have not been turned into labels. The seeds are not in ABC order in their box, and goodness knows where Peter’s posh trowel is. PANIC SETS IN as she realises that this will not take just one day! Peter’s prize agapanthus plants have taken shelter in the greenhouse and they all needed weeding months ago. Fortunately, Peter is very happily designing his deep beds. How deep? He’s been watching Monty and he’s not sure that he has got this right. Thank heavens for Susan as the trowel turns up. She is thinking of planting broad beans in greenhouse pots, but her niece, who lives in Derbyshire, has just sent her the most lovely picture of herself and Susan’s great nephew and niece playing with a snowman, so perhaps, plant the beans later!

Wet and wonderful Victorian engineering. Never mind drowning the odd Iron Age village or wrecking the local ecosystem. The dear old Victorians just couldn’t resist “developing” backward old Mother Nature

As children, Susan and her brother would often be taken for a walk, Susan’s poor brother often being pushed in his pram with his older sister sitting at the front of the pram. The parents were very fond of walking a fair old distance up the Oxford Road until there were sheep and fields and great loveliness. The children were exhausted and a happy tea in front of the fire could be taken in their new Canadian temporary home. The Canadian house is still standing and we still have a housing shortage! It was a lovely home. So well built. Many of our children still seek a decent home.
Today, we all take a walk as a family. It is cold and visitors have been discouraged so
Fernworthy will not be busy, so we take the Mini and have a bash around the reservoir before Josie’s roast. Perfect!

Not the Everglades, but a moss covered Devon cloud forest

At the end of the day, upstairs, in the old bathroom, Susan has a bath. She lights Peter’s homemade candle, and places it on the window sill. The light shines out as darkness approaches. It’s a favourite time of day. She has given up listening to the News in favour of the quiet and the view. This window is incredibly old. It has those dents and bubbles that old window glass has and it is not patterned. Susan can look out at everything so wonderfully arranged, from the bird feeder, where Josie has just broken up a fight amongst the blackbirds, to Mike’s beautiful house, where he has added an extension, which is perfect in every way. We were able to watch him climb his ladder and work towards his goal. All the tiles are perfectly arranged as they meet on the end of the building. Amazing! It is time to get on or the water will be cold for Peter. Remember that! The campaign to save water and bath with a friend has never left us. It’s probably saved us a fortune. The lights come on at Lionel’s house, where only the other day a heron sat pompously on his roof, showing its chest and eyeing up the river. Lionel’s house is often used as a jumping off point for many large birds. It seems to be tall enough to offer a wildlife facility. Not so long ago a sparrowhawk would visit and keenly eye up our bird feeder. He frequently dived so quickly that you couldn’t see the moment that he had carried a favourite bird away. Just a cloud of feather in the air.

Mike’s patient and exact tiling

Footnote “What about the internet?” you might say. The internet is still behind the fifties when your shopping was delivered exactly as ordered on a bicycle or in a van on the day that it had been ordered and free of charge. Sometimes a letter says far more than an e-mail. You can keep a letter as a keepsake in your drawer.

The more things change, the more they remain the same.

Footnote

Have you got peacock’s in your local Co-op supermarket car park?

No?

You see Devon really is different

Peacocks in the Co-op car park

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 Day in the (Lockdown) Life……………..

Of an ordinary moorland family supporting the lockdown and living their lives

By the Photographers Assistant

We have had the Christmas break and we are on our way. The Dartmoor winter routine takes off, so its awake and get down those stairs. Wes is the first out from under the big, thick duvet and blankets. He is walking past the heating timer. It is 6.30 so he turns on the radiators and hot water. The boiler roars its steam out of the outlet and rattles its way into action. Wes gets off to work. Currently, he has no choice. There is a huge amount of plumbing and rescuing, which needs doing out there. Sometimes, there is something awful going on. Today, someone has accidentally left a gate open and there is a dead animal to be dragged out of the water. It is the worst, but it can and does happen. People make mistakes. Wes won’t be home until 5.30. In the summer, the pace of the work picks up even more. Now, on an icy Friday, he slips on the drive and is so careful that he is ten minutes late for work.

Not much later than Wes, Josie climbs out of bed. The house is still cold. Her first action is to fill the tumble drier with the night’s wash. It is a condensing machine, so its warm air heats the utility room. The shower is in here, and it will be warm for her to wash. She steps out into the conservatory and looks at the thermometer. It is showing 3 C inside. She knows that it will be a rough Moorland winter. She puts the kettle on and arranges a mug each for Mum and Dad and makes herself a cup of coffee. Upstairs, in the study, she is arranging and thinking about her day’s work.

See beauty in every place.

Another windscreen photo. This one is the Mini on a frosty morning

She returns to bed, where a man on television is trying very hard to explain the vaccine roll out. Josie, her Mum, Dad and Wes’ Nan, all have underlying health conditions, so she is keen to hear about what is planned. Unfortunately, the interviewer seems to have a savage interviewing technique, so that Josie is none the wiser at the end of it, which is a shame as she is really worried. Mum appears with another hot drink. Mum is always in awe of the way that Josie and Wes have their room arranged. They have a set of drawers on which an enormous television is balanced. Anyone appearing on this screen has no hiding place. There is no hiding place for the media, all of whom look drawn and pinched. They are all exhausted and shout at everyone, no matter what side they are on. Josie is amused, as today’s victim is Matt Hancock, who looks as if he hasn’t slept for some years and grown used to it. Hancock has a ream of papers and a steady stare. He is a details man. Facts are his mission, even if they change, he means them. The interviewer has a bit of a warm up, but she has failed to shake him. His mission is to get over to this apparent small child of an interviewer, that things beyond her understanding are happening, indeed, in this pile of paper, he has several plans and alternative plans, which he explains with a steady eye, which looks out of an ashen face. Josie is enjoying this greatly. Her mother feels like a small person as she shuts the door. Intellectual jousting is not for her at this time of the day. Mum does, however, think that Josie looks amusingly small, eating yogurt and fruit in the iron framed bed, which is just a bit too small, but does.

Josie will emerge, still incredibly early, grab yet more coffee and disappear into the study for at least 12 hours. She will plan, she will write up what she is doing, she will make numerous phone calls and the rest of the house will be taken over by her parents, who have entirely different missions. They are old so they are having breakfast either in bed or in the kitchen. These days scrambled egg is the order of the day, and sometimes, porridge, depending on the milk situation. They have enjoyed replacing the endless gloom on the BBC with Times Radio, where Stig Abell frequently loses his temper with himself and his lack of perfection, or he has a serious discussion with Asma about their children, which is always fascinating as the olds have no idea about what is going on with children at the moment. As an ex 1970’s childrens’ teacher, Susan thinks that stressed children should be playing with mud pies or making cakes with Mum, rather than looking in deep stress at a screen. She never liked Michael Gove’s so called reforms for children, which seemed to lead to far more strain for children than any Covid situation. She cannot name him, but she knew a Super Head, who, when in his own school, threw all the fourteen year old tests in the bin, declaring that children like Josie, who had individual talents and needs, did not benefit from exams. ( Josie will be embarrassed, but, under this man’s system, she achieved two Russell group degrees. Our other daughter is an environmentalist and also has two degrees. She was taught in the same system. Exams kill children’s imagination stone dead and show little faith in the teacher’s ability to come to a right conclusion about a child’s ability. They also favour a privately schooled person. End of speech!

While the parents have breakfast, they listen to an Audible version of Love In the Time of Cholera, which is part of their campaign for a peaceful day. Unless Boris and Chris Whitty both make an appearance, they will not listen to or watch the news until 10.00pm. Chris Whitty is an essential, as he reminds Susan of her Dad, who was totally dedicated to the National Health Service. As a very senior nurse, he spent every Christmas on a hospital ward relieving other staff. The NHS was his big priority in life. He had been a socialist all his life and he adored the institution and had joined the NHS at its inception. The only problem for us was having to run up to the hospital whenever there was an emergency at home. I worked there for a bit as a student in the League of Friends Canteen just so that I could see him now and then!

A bracing morning constitutional

After breakfast, if we are not likely to break a leg on the ice, therefore creating more problems for the NHS, we will set off on our daily walk. We both feel the hit from the cold air and it takes us more time to get along, but the walk is good. On their return the kettle is hot to make the coffee and, if they feel worthy, they have a biscuit and they have a chat about what needs attention. Today, they discuss supplies. Coffee is running low. Susan’s prescription needs collecting this week. The Riverford order is good and they won’t go to Ben’s until next month. As there is such a high infection rate, they will use the internet as much as possible. On Thursday, they will go to Blacks and Bowdens, but nowhere else. That is their ration. Peter has ordered three new window blinds, which he will make himself. In order to boost moral, Susan will make a Dundee cake, which can be taken on walks in the pocket and she will make a chocolate sponge for tea times. There will be no time to make soup today, but, there might be time tomorrow. Peter is on the second year wood in the log store, but it will certainly last the winter. This afternoon, he will help Susan take the decorations down and store them away. He too, has to keep up with supplies of paint etc. Josie and Wes are finishing the shower room in their spare time, so it will be all go.We usually make sure that the heater in the bore hole is on. One year the water froze, so we haven’t forgotten that! It will be a busy day for everyone, but hopefully, all the physical tasks will be finished.

A two cake baking day
Dundee cake for sustainable energy and a chocolate sponge for teatime

On Thursday, we stopped work in the afternoon for a while. Josie spent her dinner time, taking one of Wes’ old computers to Moretonhamptstead school, which had been appealing for them. She had to leave the computer in reception as not many adults were there and they were all busy with the children. The children were dressed up as dragons and all sorts of creatures and they were playing with those lovely model sheep in the playground. We were all terribly jealous! How lovely was that! While she did that, we Zoomed with dear Jim, who has endured his time alone with such good grace.

A two cake baking day
Dundee cake for sustainable energy and a chocolate sponge for teatime

At the end of the day, if things are going well for her, Josie will join us for tea, and Mum will have made that homemade cake. A nice quiet sit by the fire ensues. Everyone seems dead tired, but happy that all is well.Josie is worried for two friends who both have Covid. They live away from here, and there is nothing that can be done. Susan edges near the stairs. Wes will be coming in soon, so she wants to have a bath before he needs the shower. This is just about one of the best times of the day. In the bathroom, she lights a very special candle. It has been made by Peter in his workshop. It smells wonderful and it is all the light she needs. In the distance, she can see the reassuring lights of her neighbours houses and a bright and beautiful light in Lionel’s house. What a place to live! We are lucky indeed. The day is done with homemade bread, cheese and the Vikings.(Fantastic series on Amazon Prime, paid for by Josie and Wes. Thank you!)

A simple scented candle. Gives light and comfort

Footnote

It is with great sadness that we send you all news of the death of one of our most faithful readers and our true personal friend, who we shall miss a great deal. Mike Smith of Wiltshire, died on Wednesday after a fight with a long illness. We had known him since our children were small. You could never have a truer friend. May he rest in peace. Our family, to whom he was so kind, will never forget him.

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     

 

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