Of Herons, Helicopters and Speeding on the Moor

It was, alas, almost the end of Easter. The Photographer and his Assistant stood at the entrance to the back field, where the hamlet’s inhabitants had created a well worn path along the uneven field and down its steep hill to the stream below. They were watching in silence as the blonde head with the woolly hat and the bobbing tail disappeared from view. It had been a lovely day with good food and wine, but it was over. The daughter and her dog had disappeared from view leaving the two alone on the hillside, thinking of what to watch on the telly as they gently snoozed the evening away. All around the hamlet guests had left or were leaving, some to go back abroad, and some to big cities. The whole place had the feeling of desertion and solitude. Never mind, it was only two weeks to the next Bank Holiday. Who knows who would arrive then?

Back to normal and no more food, probably forever, from the look of the weighing scales.

The next morning, the Photographer was surveying the sky for much needed rain when over it flew in the most casual of manners. It was that wonderful throw back to an imagined dinosaur age. We had a heron in the hamlet, flying straight over the houses. What a magnificent sight, not so for anyone with a pond, of course, but just glorious all the same. He was the shape of a modern plane, with those giant legs drifting majestically behind. He appeared every morning for two or three days, flying from the river and on to an unknown destination. He was followed a few days later by a hovering helicopter. It flew around and around. It was out of sight at first and all sorts of thoughts came to mind. Did someone need the Air Ambulance, a frequent sight heading for the little town’s school playing fields, but it wasn’t that. It had gone on for too long. Possibly, someone was missing or injured higher up on the Moor. The Photographer got his long lens out and, there was much relief when the helicopter turned out to be surveying the electricity cables for any faults. An amazing display of flying took place. You just couldn’t take your eyes off it. What skill!

Delicate flying……and all to check our electricity cables are up to scratch

 

Having surveyed the water butts, and giving regard to the bore hole, the household embarked on what was usually a summer occupation; water conservation. The blue bucket was lowered into the kitchen sink and stayed there. Washed hands, washed vegetables, coffee grouts and old tea and anything that wasn’t toxic was now carried into the garden on a rota basis. This water kept most of the plants alive, including the lovely pots of tulips, which had bloomed for some weeks now. Next the Photographer kept a daily eye on the oil tank read out. They had turned the oil off, except for heating the water, some weeks ago, the oil price had begun to be prohibitive. The mark had been on three for weeks, but now, it was down to two. The oil supplier arrived in a day and filled the tank. This tankful had just lasted 14 months, which was pretty economic. The installation by Vince, the plumber, had worked. He was determined to help the Photographer install a condensing boiler system, no matter what problems arose, granite walls etc. He had succeeded and they had gained an extra three months oil usage out of this system. All of this meant nothing to the Assistant, who just loved the steam, which came out of the outlet and reminded her of her obsession with the steam train. She thought that the disturbance was worth it just for that!

Tulip Black Parrot..in the rain

 

There may have been a shortage of rain, but, here was the perfect excuse for all types of work out of doors. Compost, which had been left for a year in its bin was now released and the Photographer turned to with a will. He sieved and sieved, until a cup of tea was really necessary. The two looked down on the compost in awe. Usually, the compost was mainly straw and the clearings from the garden stream Piled up and left for a year. It had never been sifted. They could not believe that the new bin used for kitchen waste, egg shells, waste veg, etc, could produce such a fine product. They decided to bag it up and keep it for very special plantings.

A fine product…….compost to die for!

 

There were some spare tomatoes in the greenhouse and the Photographer could not waste them, so he put them up on the little town’s Facebook page and they were gone almost instantly. He particularly liked seeing a small child and her mother carrying a couple away. This page is the life blood of the town. Everything that you can think of goes on this site.

Next, the Photographer turned his attention to dismantling and rebuilding a new smaller fruit cage on the veg plot. They both agreed that this would be sensible considering their age! They did, however remember various incidents in the cage. The cage, which was supposed to keep out deer, rabbits and birds, did no such thing. The local squirrel and his family would be regular destroyers of the netting, particularly, around the vulnerable edge of the frame. Naturally, any bird could now enter at will. The Assistant, being the most illogical creature on earth, would stand and just scream at the cage. Marcus, one of the most famous local spaniels, was then in his youth, and was severely distressed at the site of his mistress screaming at animals that he could not get in and catch. What was to be done? A friend offered what appeared to be the only possible solution with strawberries now disappearing almost before they were ripe. He offered a squirrel trap. It would be humane and the squirrel would be caught and could be released onto some other part of the Moor. Yes, that was naive, but we were just starting out! The trap was laced and baited with strawberries. Marcus danced about so much that it was felt he could destroy the cage. He was put indoors. A squirrel was soon captured, but it became obvious that anyone picking up the cage would be severely wounded. A fully licensed shot gun was produced by a helpful local, as per DEFRA guidelines, but do not worry, the squirrel bounced about so much that it wasn’t worth letting a shot off. Anyway, we south easterners weren’t used to that sort of practical solution and weren’t keen. It was decided to let the squirrel out in order to have a rethink. The spaniel appeared, having worked his way out to see where his mistress had got to. He gave his mistress a brave look and barked, Leave it to me, and disappeared over the horizon after the squirrel. Death was swift and the squirrel was swiftly disposed of without ceremony. What can we say?! Marcus was always keen to help in these matters. His love of squirrel chasing never subsided. In his old age, he would cry when he missed one. He is buried very close to where the squirrels now roam free. Poor Marcus! Incidentally, he came close to being the Best Dog in the West, but never quite made it. The best dog, when he was alive, was a resident of Wiltshire called Bilbo, a gentle man amongst dogs, not given to chasing vermin and always an adoring and not a deserting animal to his mistress. Currently, the Best Dog in the West is Finn, another fine and loyal dog. You might think that the Daughters dog, the ever glamorous Marilyn Monroe of the dog world, would qualify, but her appetite for anything, particularly whole lemon drizzle cakes, has ruled her out.

Dear Marcus…..squirrel wouldn’t melt in his mouth!

 

We are all hoping that this weekend does not produce the madness of the last Bank Holiday where the speed limit on the Moor was continually broken. The top speed on the monitor was 117 miles an hour. This is not a holier than thou attitude, as you know the Photographer is a devout petrolhead, but hit one of the many animals frequently sleeping in the middle of the road, hit it fast and you are dead. That means the Air Ambulance has an unnecessary call out and lots of people are sad. Please be careful! That said, have a happy holiday, out there in the wild, perhaps take a walk with Dartmoor’s Daughter, not to be confused with our very own “The Daughter” whose main preoccupation is now raising funds to help the Chagford Swimming Pool open on time this season.

Watch this space for more news on The Pool

The Photographer’s snapshots can be seen on Flickr (follow link) or the serious stuff is on Artfinder (follow link)

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

 

 

 

Let’s Get Away From It All

By the Photographer’s Assistant

 

We, that is The Photographer and I, are no longer listening to the news. We find it very stressful and worrying and we have already made our minds up as to which way to vote. The dreadful murder of Jo Cox was almost beyond belief, so we just can’t go there any more. This is a blog for those of you, who like us, have been thoroughly traumatised while sitting in your own sitting room.
Where shall we go?

Well, let’s go out into our Dartmoor garden, which we have been encouraging lots of friends to come and see. The garden has been a project for 14 years now. It has cost money, but not too much. Most of the plants have been unwanted or in sales. When the Photographer started slashing the undergrowth, he was looking worn by life and the world. Now, he is just worn by trying to reach the garden’s expectations, which are very high. He enjoys the fight and is often to be found in the evening slumped against the Assistant, who is fast asleep, pretending to watch a cultural program. She would rather be watching The Musketeers, but the Photographer likes the erudite.

 

Rh. decorum, NN0907 collected by Neilson in China in 2009. Isn’t it wonderful, and fragrant too……Wow!

 

This year the garden has finally decided to give good marks for effort, and actually grow vegetables that are upright, strong and edible. The roses and peonies are bright and scented. Things are really happening out there. On the return from a short trip away, there was a shock in store. A rhododendron, which had been purchased for under £7 had flowered for the first time in Britain. It had been brought from China by the plantsman, who went on trips there, and sold the plants on the basis that they would probably do nothing. The plantsman was so excited that he sent an e-mail at 5 am asking for a photo. The Photographer has caused a stir! On the same trip around the garden, the large banana plant donated by Paul, an old friend, had flowered. No! We don’t think that it will produce the fruit, but we don’t know whether it is a sign that it will die. We hope not! So if you are near, do drop in. Fresh batches of scones are always on the go.

 

The sinister banana flower

 

The silence of the countryside and the swish of the wind is so welcome. That walk up the hill to look at the sheep and animals and enjoy the greenery is such a wonderful counter to life out there.
It is almost beyond belief that some of us live in such a productive and peaceful environment. How lucky we are!

Of course, there is the odd necessary disturbance here. Some weeks ago, at around 8.30 am, just as the Photographer was getting the sleepy headed Assistant a nice hot cup of tea, there was the almighty roar of engines and people. The Assistant stuck her head out of an upstairs window. It was Mr. Pigeon, the thatcher. He had come to thatch the next door house. He had brought with him a team of scaffolders and fellow workers. The Assistant shivered as she saw the scaffold surround her study window, but most dreaded of all was her kitchen stairway, where she kept her beloved pictures of Wales. Here, each year, as the light expands through spring and summer, the stairwell captures the sun and throws it in a most miraculous way, highlighting the pictures. The Assistant can run and get a tot of whisky, a big cushion, and watch the pictures at their best. Time would pass, and there would be a long delay before this could happen. She knew this work was needed and felt utterly selfish and miserable at the loss of this light.

Mr. Pigeon, however, was a brave captain of his ship, he gave out orders and kept on course. At one stage, he was so determined to get on with the job that five men were on the roof. Further, the whole business gave the Assistant the excuse not to wash the windows until the job was over! Being born of the Moor, Mr. Pigeon proved to be related to quite a few people and was interesting on many aspects of life. He also, for example, drove the school bus part time and had some offers to make as regards the daughter’s wedding. This is all still under consideration. For some weeks, the Photographer and his Assistant quite thought that they were living through the more cheery scenes of a Thomas Hardy novel. The whole business could have been used as light relief in Far From the Madding Crowd, which is the Assistant’s favourite novel, though, of course nothing can beat The Wind In the Willows, recently illustrated by Steve Dooley of Dartmoor fame.

 

There’s a man on my roof No. 2

 

Finally, we must mention The Two Hills Race, which takes place in the little town every year. The race starts in the recreation field and covers two enormous Moorland Hills. It is attended by most of the community and our visitors, who are usually stunned by the whole event. Large numbers of the braver and fitter members of the community of all ages enter the race and it is a real challenge. A few people put up the most amazing performance, but most people just flog themselves to the finishing line. It is a brave and outrageous event admired by all. In contrast to the athletes, the viewers variously resort to beer from the pavilion, cups of tea, or massive buns full of roast pork. The Photographer takes photos and puts them up on Flickr for inhabitants to relive the whole terror of the event. The Assistant looks for photo ideas. She is well known as a local walker and people are curious as to her and the Daughters non entry. Now this is when a real genetic illness can be useful. They both reply that they would love to do it, but are subject to athsma and the pollen count. So that’s that then. After all, wasn’t it enough that, after hearing a rumour that, despite being involved in the swimming pool, she couldn’t swim, the Daughter proved to be able to do a magnificent breast stroke for as long as you like, up and down the pool. As for the Boyfriend, don’t even bother to compete!

 

The eponymous Steve Dooley who really is 60 and amazing to have completed the 2 Hills for his birthday

 

That’s it then, from a community that is so busy, swimming, running, walking, growing food and animals, appearing on Springwatch, running a film festival, having an annual agricultural show, and talking the world to rights in cafes, that it has no time for the News as mostly broadcast about the South East anyway. How many people commute from Dartmoor? I won’t tell you. They do it by plane and you would be amazed.
So amidst all this community achievement, what has the Photographer achieved this month?He put up a picture of which he was very proud on the Springwatch Flickr site. Was it a picture of a fox, a lovely wild flower, a fantastic bird? No. It was a picture of a slug and its slime, and, so far, 300 people have looked at it. Isn’t humanity wonderful!

 

A slug descending on its own slime. Delightful

 

 

The Photographer’s snapshots can be seen on Flickr (follow link) or the serious stuff is on Artfinder (follow link)

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

 

 

Silence Is Golden

By the Photographer’s Assistant

May is a wonderful month on the Moor. It is not a frenzied month. It is not a demanding month. It is a pause between seasons. On the second Saturday of the month, we restart our trips to Hittisleigh market. This is a small community which punches way above its weight. It is a meeting of good friends, who are easy with one another’s company. The kitchen dispenses cups of tea and bacon butties with the consummate ease of long experience. It is a restful and happy place. From the market you can travel out and have a picnic in the complete silence of the countryside. Our friends always pack a tea flask, so that they can just sit away from the hustle and bustle for as long as it takes to feel at complete peace. The area is deserted. It was hit hard by the foot and mouth outbreak and some fields are still completely empty and the roads are rough and unmaintained. It has become an area of no interest to the hustle and bustle of modern life. We enjoy the beautiful wilds, the flowers, the bright purple grasses. It is what is happening to rural England with increasing neglect and is not all bad. It is rather lovely, but eventually, you will need good boots or a 4X4 to get here!

 

Time for bed….and thank you for the eggs, ladies

It is now 7.30pm and the Photographer is keenly walking down the lane to a neighbours house, where he is looking after their ducks. For him, this is one of the best parts of the day, the quiet collecting and putting away of these lovely animals, who add to the pleasure with a gentle conversation and by giving beautiful eggs for breakfast.

The country lane leading to the little town is full of wonderful flowers. They are all sorts of delicate and beautiful colours and the early morning silence makes for a magic atmosphere. The Daughter discovers sheep on the bridge and makes some hasty phone calls on her way to work. How many town dwellers long for such a hold up. The lambs are becoming larger, but, just for now, they can still be enjoyed.

 

Do you like butter?

The Assistant cannot resist the call to the wild. She has been to the store and found the tent that has been dormant for two seasons. She feels the call of another home far away, which can be visited now, before the major tourist season. She wants to stand on the shore and watch the wide sea, the birds and no surfers! The Photographer joins in. He erects the tent and finds it is still water proof. It is a preparation for the silence of the sea. They will go Celtic camping with the other celts while nature is still in charge.

The little town is in a state of anticipation. Notices are being displayed. Something very big is about to happen. The Photographer will record the event, but first, he wants to record this sense this feeling.The two, who are on foot, make their way along the town roads, over the river bridge and past the most glorious of buttercup fields, which is being enjoyed by every inhabitant that has the excuse to get out there. He can’t resist that photograph, cliche or not. Further on they have reached their destination. The door is locked. Silence reigns, but not for much longer. The Swimming pool is beautiful. It is at the smartest it has ever been, but, just for now, it is unused and perfectly quiet. It is difficult to say how much this place means to this community. Every effort every sinew has been turned to the pools improvement during the winter. Long, long evenings have been spent on the project. This is one of England’s rare fresh water pools. The community has worked to gain funding, so that the pool can now enjoy a little environmentally generated heat, where it had none before. Solar panels have been used to heat the water in the modernised shower block. Friends have come to put in a day’s work. Silent efforts have been put in. The Boyfriend has spent weeks here getting it all right.

The Daughter has put all her marketing skills into getting it the publicity it needs. Andrew has painted the decking. A member of the committee spent days with bureaucracy getting the place a post code, so it could receive its funding. People have baked cakes, and spent hours of their lives until they are absolutely exhausted on this project. And next week it all comes to fruition.
THE REAL CHAGFORD COMMUNITY FRESH WATER POOL WILL HAVE AN OPENING ON SATURDAY 28thMAY AT 2.00 PM. Swimming is free on that day. It is free to children under 9 for the first week. Normal admittance will be £4 for adults and £2 for children. That is the Little Town’s summer sorted. If you can’t swim it doesn’t matter a bit. You can meet other mums with the children. You can read a book and enjoy. Refreshments are available and have a good reputation. Get in there. It’s brilliant. Non-swimmers pay £1.50. If you are on holiday, you are very welcome. Perhaps our friends from the remoter areas will come and enjoy.

 

Soon…..soon those covers will come off and the pool will be open!

 

So, at the moment, we have quiet contemplation. From the start of June, we’ll all have visitors, which is as it should be. When they are impatient and don’t understand lane driving, slow lives and our general way of life, we should try to remember the way life is for them with all its fast and complicated ways. We are lucky and maybe, we should give a little, just a bit to the guys who bring their families up the M5 seeking what we already have. Silence is golden!

 

Footnote

 

Hey!….I’m getting good at these cliches!……”field of golden buttercups hails the onset of summer”…..or just for Paul “potential grassweed trial site”

 

The Photographer’s snapshots can be seen on Flickr (follow link) or the serious stuff is on Artfinder (follow link)

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

Why Worry Now?

By “The Photographer’s Assistant”

“There should be laughter after pain, there should be sunlight after rain, these things have always been the same, so why worry now?” (Mark Knoppfler)

The last day of winter happened last Friday.

The Photographer went for a walk to the furthest extreme of the garden. He found that the wild plum tree had been pulled and pushed out of the ground by the wind and a large rambling rose. It was a very sad occasion. The rose had been given to them when The Daughter had been away a great deal and they had loved to sit and admire it in early summer. The Photographer hated using chain saws himself, so he rang up for a tree surgeon and began the process of cutting the brash away. It was the last sad act of the terrible wind that had driven them mad on the moor all these months.

Wild plum………bloody furious actually.

 

On Saturday the temperature spurred up by an extra six degrees and the sun came out. It shone so brightly that it hurt their eyes and pointed out the film of dirt on the kitchen window. On Sunday the Assistant walked 12 kilometres in the sun, lapping up the heart of the heat. The Photographer took his camera on the first walk of the Spring. For the first time in the year he was able to take pictures of the hills shrouded in that most beautiful of blue mists, which makes your heart ache.

 

Duncan’s tree with mist

The change of weather had an amazing affect on the little town. During the winter the town had suffered the premature loss of some dearly loved inhabitants. This had brought a mood of depression amongst the desperate rain and flooding. The remaining inhabitants huddled in the cafes dressed in dull, but warm clothing, covered in worn scarves and hats, weighed down by wet shopping. At home coats were permanently hung to drip over baths and on shower rails. It was the worst of black winters. The shades were drawn and the town was suffering. It wanted light. It wanted colour. It was worse than having great snow drifts or heavy ice. It was quite simply bleak.

 

The river Teign is over there on the horizon somewhere. This is a field.

How did things change? There seemed to be a sudden miraculous shift. A couple of weeks ago, Luna, who is a favourite at the organic cafe, at last,had the baby she had been carrying in this long grime winter. The news spread faster than any bird’s flight . Luna had had her baby. The rain stopped and it became a little drier. The baby made a very early appearance amongst the newspapers and coffee cups. The customers were ecstatic. They actually smiled and laughed. Then, somebody else had a baby. That was it. Luna said her baby had become old news! Another baby. All that hope for spring in two little bundles. After that, the little town lost the score of how much good news there was. The sun began to shine every day. Never mind that it was cold!

Coats began to be unbuttoned. The swimming pool committee put up a notice to say that this wonderful, natural water pool, which would now also be heated, would be having an opening ceremony in May. You could see the end. You could go for a swim in a heated pool. Hope! More clothes were flung off. Daring souls, who didn’t even smoke, were to be seen outside cafes drinking coffee and even having breakfast. One house held an “Open Garden” really early so people could have a stroll around its delights. The Cyclist bought a new van in anticipation of a good summer trade in his beer events sales. Gidleigh Church is busy preparing for their Flower Festival in July. Soon there will be Annual General Meetings of all sorts of clubs, of which there will be more than we can possibly mention.

Last of all the town has colour. At the Spar shop, there is a blousy display of flowers and huge Easter bunnies. They are outrageously colourful and not too expensive. The Assistant, though, has privately got her eye on the animal eggs. In fact, it would be a shame to eat one of those, they are so outrageous, and, anyway, she is on a gruesome “Mother of the Bride” diet.

At the dress shop a frock has appeared with amazingly bright colours. It can be seen from across the Square and will suit someone who is attending a cheery event.

 

Easter temptations

At Blacks, you can buy a sophisticated egg surrounded by straw which is truly beautiful. You wouldn’t dare eat one of those, it’s so pretty, but you could have a delicious saffron yellow hot cross bun instead, if you weren’t on that diet! It would simply drip with butter and make you shut your eyes in joy!

Everyone is making a huge effort so Easter will be lovely. The little town will celebrate. We hope that all of you faithful readers will enjoy Easter too.

Footnote

 

I’m waiting for my driver, don’t ya know

Excitement Over The Holidays

By “The Photographer’s Assistant”

 

It was a Wednesday. The Boyfriend stood outside his front door and was immediately dripped on by the cold flow from the thatch above. He and the dog shivered together. The dog, looked very serious. She stared up at the boyfriend in a concerned manner. Shouldn’t they have taken the van? Shouldn’t they be working on the oak kitchen, which they both had in hand.

She and the boyfriend were walking now. They were going to walk through the woods and this was not as simple as it usual. A giant tree lay across their path and it was so muddy. There were streams of water everywhere. Eventually they struggled out onto the road. The dog became excited, they were going to one of her favourite houses. There might be a ball game.

The Assistant stood at the sink in her pyjamas. She had a virus, which had laid her low. She looked out of the window, wondering why it wasn’t raining yet, instead, the Boyfriend appeared around the corner. This was good, but was there something wrong at work? The Boyfriend looked cheerful enough. He and the dog came in for a cup of coffee. They all had a big chat. The boyfriend wanted to speak to the Photographer and they disappeared off together while the Assistant made a late attempt at getting dressed. By the time she had come downstairs the conversation was over and the Boyfriend had started for home before the next shower. The Photographer was looking slightly shellshocked. He wanted a cup of tea and sat down on his arm chair quite flummoxed. The Boyfriend had asked for the Daughter’s hand in marriage, and the Photographer had naturally acceded. There was a ring and the Boyfriend clearly had a plan. It took the Assistant and the Photographer all day to absorb this news. The Daughter had been cunning and a bit of an escape artist up to now. The parents were a little worried. There would be no excuse for the Daughter as she and the Boyfriend had been together for a long time, but she was very independent and they were worried for the Boyfriend.

A couple of days went past and there was no announcement. They had no idea what was going on. The couple were due to appear on Christmas Day, but they were late. The Photographer and the Assistant sat nervously over a cup of coffee, having returned from church. The Photographer managing to stifle the Assistant’s cough sufficiently for the service to go forward at its normal pace.

There was complete silence. The two were lost in a world of thought. Suddenly, the phone rang, literally off the hook. There was an announcement over the phone. The Daughter was in tears of joy. Of course, she would marry her Builder. The dog had proudly delivered the ring all on her own. She was very proud and felt very important. There were phone calls and internet contacts, and finally, the really happy couple arrived for more coffee and food. The ring was displayed from every angle and it was agreed that it was very suitable.

Twinkle twinkle little star………

 

The Assistant was out in Exeter the following week and casually passed a jeweller’s window. She was never normally interested in jewellery, but, today, she looked in the window. She had not had an official ring herself for reasons of youth and complete poverty and she wondered what it was like to look at them and chose one. She looked at the rings and almost had a seizure. She had done this alone and the Photographer had to rescue her and take her to the Boston for a large black coffee and smelling salts. She now had a full understanding of the Boyfriend’s hard work and was impressed by the ring. The Photographer sighed and wondered about that day 47 years ago when he was so young that a ring was out of the question. The Assistant, however, soon revived, and, casting a crafty eye over the Photographer’s face, wondered if it would be alright to have that new sofa now rather than later on in the year. The Photographer winced and bought them both a veggie breakfast. He had had a secret look at his bank balance. A wedding and a sofa!! That motorcycle restoration would have to wait for another year! The wedding plans meanwhile, progress.

 

Cafe Tables

Of course, over the holiday, the weather was appalling. If there were any gaps in the weather, it was strange to be able to get out. The little town’s river was at its maximum, but it was adequately supplied with run off fields and areas, which absorb water, but there was one night which proved spectacular. The following morning, the Assistant awoke to get the Photographer a cup of tea. The rain was in torrents. She was totally distracted. The outside cobblestone patio was inches deep in water and the porch was inundated. Fortunately, the rain eased up enough to be absorbed into the soak-away and land drains, but it was a frightening reminder of what was going on up North. On the same day, the Daughter rang late into the evening to tell us of the spectacular sight in the little town. She and the Boyfriend (now a.k.a The Chosen One) had attempted to walk the dog, who to it’s credit, was not keen. They had found that the water had broken through the leat in the middle of town. The water was out of control and was running in a torrent down the main street. It was travelling past the local hotel and one of the pubs and was just the most amazing sight. It didn’t flood any building, because it wasn’t lingering on its way out of town. The most extraordinary aspect of the whole display was a medieval sight around the drains, which were full and dispensing large rats out into the town. The very next morning, a local farmer brought his machinery into town and quickly sorted out the situation. If it wasn’t for the local farmers, there are some situations, which would build into a real crisis in our little town.

 

……and the wall came tumbling down

In the village’s main street, a wall collapsed, which had only just been constructed and it was sad to see it’s owner labouring for many days to put it right.

 

We hope that you will forgive a longer blog, but there was so much to tell.

WE WISH YOU GOOD HEALTH AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

 

STOP PRESS: The first lambs of 2016 seen at Blackaton

Spring Lamb 3

Spring lamb 4

Spring lamb 2

Spring lamb 1

A Number of Encounters and A Disturbing Killing

By “The Photographer’s Assistant”

 

Things were getting a bit lively in the surgery. It was flu jab time. On the way in the Assistant had met one of her poetry critics. The critic had a crippling condition caused by a rare illness caught earlier in life. She was very bent over and would have been very tall and willowy, but life had decided otherwise. She leant over towards the Assistant, who was clearly meant to receive a confidence. Yesterday, this lady had had an offer of a lift to Exeter, a rarity that had to be taken up. She had had a great time in the big city, but had grown tired and wanted to catch the bus back. She had attempted a run, which didn’t work out. The fall had been awful. It had been down some steps onto her head. She thought as she fell that her daughter might consider murder if she had caused broken bones, but, by some miracle, she was alright. She stood up and all that hurt was her elbow. By now, the two and the Photographer were seated in the surgery. The Assistant inspected her critic’s arm and could find only a small graze. “ Don’t tell my daughter, “ the critic whispered. The Assistant sympathised.

Daughters can be very wonderful, but can take full charge. Only recently, the Daughter had announced that if her mother continued to work at gardening at this pace there would be a terrible outcome and the Assistant had had to change her medication, because the whole family was sick of the wheezing accompaniment to any social activity. You know they are right. Damn it!

More and more sick elderly, and carers arrived for their jabs. It has to be said that they all looked very fit and healthy. This is a surgery where any extra pounds are not tolerated. We are all expected to keep fit whatever. Their lectures are not worth the naughtiness. Everybody had not seen everybody else since last winter. Grandchild sitting, extraordinary holidays, huge social obligations, voluntary work had all taken their toll on friendship activities. Indeed, the Photographer and the Assistant had only just begun to catch up with some dearly missed friends, who they hadn’t seen since Easter. The Surgery was full to busting with people catching up. All the seats were taken and people were standing up. The nurse, calling patients in, could not be heard above the gossip. The Assistant felt that the time had come to depart as Anne, the receptionist took charge. Her voice was raised with authority and the Assistant waved as she departed. Anne can really control a crowd. Recently, she had sorted out a hospital appointment for the Assistant, where she had taken no prisoners in the Assistant’s defence. Departure was definitely the best option.

The month continued with more meetings. Some took place at the ordination of our friend, Chris, who is going to be the most brilliant priest. He spends so much time attending to the flock that he can’t possibly sleep. The singing at the service was amazing. The little town had really risen to the occasion. The Assistant had not heard singing like this since she used, many years ago, to go to London. How glorious and cheery!

 

A village Group

Harvest supper, attended by Chris, of course, was a remake of a party from Cider With Rosie. The hall at the little village was packed. Everybody was exhausted with catching up. The food was good. The raffle was spectacular and to top it all, someone brought a banjo with them and they could really play. These events are certainly not dead out here!

A patchwork Group

 

The Photographer and Assistant are now looking forward to a painting exhibition, being mounted this weekend in the little town’s church. It’s all talk, talk, talk.

 

A running Group……..The 2 Hills Race

These are not the same group, each group is different people. Some groups overlap, some repel, but what binds all together is the vitality of a sense of community

Amongst other events in nature, stuff has happened. The most harrowing event has been the killing of a large animal somewhere near the garden. This was also heard by our neighbour, who lives alone and must have been very disturbed by it. The fox, who for as long as we can remember, has been a resident in our garden, murdered something out there in the dark. People said that it must have been a squirrel, or similar, but this was not. The screams were like something off a horror movie and they went on and on. We still have no idea what it was. It definitely sounded like an ambitious cat.
The Ravens are still sorting out territory and the noise is terrible and amazing.

Everybody was disturbed by yet another photographer in a small plane flying over and over the gardens for at least an hour. Nature stopped and there was no peace in this, the most peaceful of places. When the plane departed, the Assistant was pleased to see a returning buzzard in full flight, magnificently weaving its magic in the sky.
For some months now The Daughter has spent forty hours a month working as a volunteer for Oxfam on the Oxjam music festival. Many of you have supported her in this. The people from the little town both played at and attended the festival. BBC local radio and the local papers have been terrific and we would all like to say a big thank you to them. The Daughter was thrilled with this support. The Boyfriend filled in gaps and worked tremendously hard. You will all be pleased to know that the Daughter achieved her objective and raised enough money to bring a water supply to an African village. Thank you everybody. I expect the Daughter will now turn her attention to organising her mother and father. Oh dear! Where can we hide the whisky?

An End of Summer Frenzy

By “The Photographer’s Assistant”

“Is it on?”, came a weak voice from the attic. The Assistant looked at the TV screen. Everything on the Moor was tenuous, connected on the end of wet strings and this was no exception. The Assistant prayed that there would be something and there was. She was now reliving the experience of the past 48 hours. The Photographer had fallen fast asleep on the sofa with a Kindle clutched to his chest. He had shut the world out.

When the Assistant had first met the Photographer he was on his way to being an expert on agricultural spraying technology. He was going to save the African continent from starvation. He was a twenty year old on a mission. The Assistant was training to be a teacher and knew no one could save anything, let alone Africa! He spent hours on driving a tractor up and down fields in the most boring way possible. The Assistant was a charitable soul, who was hardly ever anywhere, but on her bike toiling to lectures. She let this poor demented soul sleep at her college away from the noisy and juvenile agricultural students with whom he was tempted to be drunk beyond reason. His work must be finished. His mother was a poor widow living on National Assistance and the thought of letting her down was not to be contemplated. He had used to sleep for hours then, getting up now and then to go and drive another tractor. Now the Assistant returned to these days as he cuddled his Kindle and lay flat out for several hours. This was not good.

It had all started on Friday. As you know, anything that goes wrong happens at the weekend. His Apple computer had been cranked up ready for the next set of photos. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. There was a clear white screen. The Photographer brewed a cup of coffee. Nothing. He had not bought the reconditioned lap top that he had promised himself. He was at a loss. A rare happening. Having reconnected everything except the kitchen sink, nothing. He admitted defeat and got out his bank card. He rang Apple and entered a long and surreal process. The Assistant made cups of tea and stayed silent. If ever there was to be a row, it was at a moment like this, when the engineer inside the Photographer actually didn’t know what to do. The phone call was very useful. The Photographer had a cup of coffee with the Assistant and explained that he had to admit that the machine was suffering from old age, however, there was a solution. It was going to be hard up on the Moor. If it had been a laptop, he could have visited a friend on the right side of the road in the little town. One side of the little town receives quite fast broadband. The other side doesn’t! It would be impossible to transport a 27’’ iMac to the little town. If he had had a portable, it could have helped him with his communications for the repair.

There would be a 36 hour process to repair the iMac, which fortunately, did not take place on line, however, the enabling process would take 5 hours on line, during which the wet string could simply not work, or drop out. With a deep breath, everything started up. During the night, they took it in turns to watch that the repair was progressing. It worked. It had been worth the effort. The Photographer is continuing to use a new operation to help reinstall 30,000 photographs. Some of them can now be seen again on line.

The Moor continued to take its toll for the rest of the week. The rough land knocked the side of the tractor mower off. The part has another week to go before it arrives. The Photographer put more insulation in the loft and knocked the tenuous television connection out. The Assistant painted the huge outside shed and it was all he could do to keep up as he was painting the difficult bits and refilling her paint can. Even though they were tired this had to be done now as the weather was already breaking down. Sometimes, it is impossible to get out for long spells when the weather has finally closed in! In the end though, large progress was made when the log man’s assistants were extremely brave delivering two trailers of wood, backing them down slots in the lane that looked impossible. Now, the log burner could be lit.

There have been some wonderful events, though, that make Moorland life, the life worth living. We are ending with a selection of shots of the month’s events. The Photographer and his Assistant attended a wonderful barbeque with lovely company at the log man’s house, where his wife had made some wonderful dishes. The Throwleigh fete, the Little town’s big Agricultural Show, the lovely teas at Gidleigh Church. The Daughter’s wonderful Sunday lunch. Just living in this community makes every inconvenience worth while.

The Photographer has been awake for days now. Who would miss a single day of those challenging Moorland views!

Next month, the Boyfriend finds a suitable supplier to enable the Photographer to build a log store and the Daughter’s work for Oxjam Exeter Takeover is near fruition. If you like loads of music, tickets for the Oxfam Oxjam event are now on sale. Local Moorland group The Fireblockers will be making a trip off the Moor to support the event. If you are near Exeter, give it a go or look for your local Oxjam. You can help Africa this way!

Here are the links:

via Facebook

https://www.facebook.com/oxjamexetertakeover

or via the simple internet

http://www.oxjamexetertakeover.org/

Some August Event images, just for flavour

 

A cornucopia of Champion Onions

 

Oh Bake Off, what have you inspired?

 

This is what a Ram used to look like before it became a RAM (Random Access Memory)

 

Cakes……..a Gidleigh and Throwleigh speciality

 

Driving Miss Daisy?

 

Spring Madness

By “The Photographer’s Assistant”

 

This morning the Assistant awoke at 5:30. The Assistant opened the little window wide to see, to her relief, no frost as the first morning bird arose. She believes that it is the nightingale. Its song is trill and it is always the first bird to rise, excited as it sees dawn and unable to maintain its silence. By 6:30 the noise outside the window is incredible. A cat can be heard rustling about in the undergrowth, looking for the first snack in its day long breakfast. Exactly at 7:00, a chainsaw starts up across the river. Goodness help you if you want a lie in at this time of the year, but the work must be done before winter. In the mist along the river, less than half a mile away lies one of the most expensive and exclusive hotels in Devon and the Metropolitan inhabitants are having a rude awakening to Dartmoor spring madness. Dartmoor, in the late spring, is, quite simply, full of frenetic activity. So long have the inhabitants been locked into barns, cottages, and warm clothes that the release is almost too much.

In the surrounding countryside various sights have been seen. Men are stripped down to virtually no clothing ( Poldark had better beware ) as they fight vast swaths of undergrowth. Women appear in skirts revealing legs not seen since last year. There is a general collecting of wild flowers and nearly every dwelling has vases stuffed full of hedgerow delights. Wild garlic is harvested and preserved ready for the winter. Wild garlic pesto is available in some village stores. Rabbit appears on country menus and men go into raptures as they taste the delights of the first rabbit pie of the season.

In the little town, people who only appear in late spring have begun to arrive, cars burdened with housefuls of summer clothes and town provisions. If you have been here all the winter, now you must get up early for your bread and paper, or the incomers will have them.

The shops are almost uninhabitable as spring shopping begins. The two local general stores are cued out from dawn to dusk. Inhabitants need chainsaw oil, strimmer cord, a new saw to attack any job, outside paint to protect buildings from fierce winters. Grow-bags for plants and bamboo supports are almost bound to run out. Camping gear and fold up chairs are in great demand and one store will even order that certain lawn mower for your circumstances. The visitors stand in the middle of this mayhem. They cannot believe the depth and range of goods that can be bought. There are saucepans and kettles mostly for kitchen ranges. There are coats and wellies, all types of country clothing. Local builders come in for the odd bit and piece. One lady is seeking the winter underwear catalogue. Many people have only seen this type of store in a classic TV drama. Talking of TV stars; you may be surprised at who you see, but we have a local rule that they are treated like the rest of us, and they like it that way!

 

All you’ll ever need for life on the Moor………our treasured Bowdens

At the little town clothes boutique, some beautiful clothes for summer are on display, and the male assistant is busy helping ladies with choices of colours. After a drab winter, vibrancy is required. Many outfits will be needed for weddings and the assistant is willing to spend any amount of time helping women to chose the best. There are no discs with numbers given out here. The customer really does come first. Weddings will be booked for what will hopefully be good weather. Indeed, some weddings are already on and the parking warden is having a field day as the new town car park has not yet been built.

In the deli, it is all about choice, especially with so many Devon cheeses and puddings on display. Customers are spilling out onto the pavement.

Out in the countryside, there are parties and meetings among neighbours, who may well not have seen one another since the autumn. Cakes are made to entertain special friends and the little town wine shop has been busy supplying every type of drink. The little town has a hotel and three pubs offering accommodation and on the warmer late spring nights inhabitants drift out onto the pavement.

There are a constant stream of events and soon the town swimming pool, with its own natural water supply will be opening. During the day, you and your child will be able to swim and at night, you will be able to party.

If you are coming to Dartmoor now, you will find the quiet reflective period over and you will need to be fit and energetic to join in.

So what of the Photographer and his Assistant? They get up very early now if they are walking to town. The walk is a sleepy one. It is early and they can still get breakfast at the Deli. They load up with their provisions and walk home in time for coffee. If their daughter is about, she will join in the breakfast. They will meet friends in their favourite cafe. They will buy a steak at the butchers shop and a good bottle of wine in the wine shop. People from away will visit. They will enjoy their garden produce. Above all, they will wake excited about the day ahead keenly aware that they are plain lucky to have another day in the place that is as close as The Assistant can imagine to paradise on earth.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, may you have a wonderful late spring and may your God go with you.

We have included a few entertaining pictures of the little towns election fever. The turn out was high and some of the sights had pathos and humour.

 

All political views are welcome in the little town

 

 

 

Maybe next time…….

New Boots and Panting

By “The Photographer’s Assistant”

 

On the Moor owning boots of all descriptions is compulsory. You have your wellies where all brands eventually have a hole or two, if you are unlucky the holes are below the water line. You have your best boots for appearing in town and you have your medium boots, which you can risk getting muddy on the way into the little town. Above all of these and far far more expensive are your walking boots and these are so expensive they can easily absorb half of the Assistants state pension.

The scene is the conservatory on an average spring day. The Photographer has just examined the Assistant’s walking boots and has gently pointed out that very shortly these boots won’t be made for walking anywhere challenging at all. A six miler is definitely out. This is a seriously joyless situation. New boots will need breaking in gently over a number of weeks and the camping and walking season is very close.Only yesterday they were talking about camping above a beautiful beach as soon as all the plants were out in the garden. The Assistant was feeling the emotional pressure of a great loss. These were the best boots she had ever had. Being pigeon toed, it was always difficult to get used to new ones. Her last boots were ones from when Ecco used to produce them, and they were now used for gardening and this would have to mean that they would have to be used temporarily again. Above all, she felt angry with herself for not spotting the situation and saving towards it . The Photographer had only just replaced her car and would never dream of making her buy her boots out of her pension. Oh Dear!

The Assistant looked down at the boots. They were lovely. They were ladies Meindl Air Actives. They were leather with wonderfully worn toes and they had lovely stripy laces. Oh Dear! Thinking about it though, they had done an awful lot of miles. It was perfectly possible that they had done a small number of thousands.

In 2009, they had done their first serious walk, ascending Snowdon by one of the more challenging routes. The boots had got marked for life by the terrain, which was relentlessly unforgiving and the Photographer had had to encourage the Assistant a great deal. The summit was literally the high point of Marcus’ life when for a while he was the highest dog in the UK.

The Photographer’s Assistant in need of encouragement.

Marcus……..Top Dog in England and Wales Sept 2009

There had been a trip to the Brecon Beacons, where Sugar Loaf had been enjoyed and wonderful canal walks had been explored in glorious weather.

 

Dark Satanic Canal Bridges…….the Brecon Canal

The Assistant had never been forgiven for very nearly ascending Pen-y-Fan. As she was athsmatic, and the Photographer had had the Snowdon experience, he had worked out a much longer route than the usual one. It was a good gentle route, but he still wasn’t sure that the Assistant could make even this ascent. The Assistant believed that she couldn’t make it and had got up late in a bad mood. The two were late starting and had limited days. Being experienced, they should never have started off, but they thought they would just go a little way. They arrived and parked on the opposite site to most other ascenders. There were loads of very serious looking walkers there with guides. The twosome left them all sorting out their masses of equipment. Some of them must have been back packing.

The day was good, the weather was perfect. The terrain was dreadful and undoubtedly contributed to the Photographers own boots wear and tear. The Airs, on the other hand, just shielded the foot enough. They were just amazing. The twosome were, however, still late and were easily overtaken by some members of the army on what looked like just a stroll to them! The Photographer felt that things were going well. They each had a pork pie and some water and were feeling in good spirits. They had ascended more of the foot of Corn Du than they had expected. They could see walkers ahead of them at some distance ascending the Brecon Beacons. Down below them was some really rough terrain, but there was nothing that they couldn’t just about handle. There were streams and rocks, however for a long way. The Photographer, an experienced Outward Bounder looked at his watch when the submitted Corn Du and discussed the situation with the Assistant. This would be slow walking. Even though it was summer he estimated the time of darkness to be very marginal to make Pen-y-Fan. The two decided to start on a descent, which would take them down through this terrain, then they would walk back the way they had come. They could see people in terrible footwear below, one man virtually carrying his female partner back to the track from whence they had came.The descent was punishing in the extreme. The two would have been in serious trouble if they had gone for an ascent, and were sad, but pleased with their day. The heat away from the peaks was almost intolerable by now. The Assistant was mortified that she had not got up that one hour earlier that would have made the difference. The Photographer, a keen achiever never said a word about his disappointment. It was twilight when the two reached a gate on the track about a half mile from the end of the relentless trek when they met the most extraordinary individual. This happens at twilight when you are walking. It appeared to be a man, with what seemed to be an unbearable load on his back. His head was adorned with a hippy head band, very brightly coloured. The Photographer got his camera out. This was undoubtedly a subject of interest. The man was, in fact brightly coloured all over and his skin was so red and burnt that he had to be the target of the next skin cancer campaign. The man had an ambition, which seemed to be unachievable. It was something like walking the entire United Kingdom with the odd break. He was unofficially wild camping everywhere he went to save money. He also appeared to have grown to hate walking, but was determined. He did have a family, and his wife used to accompany him, but had given up some years ago. His current objective in being on the road was to
avoid a family wedding. He wished us an agonised farewell and disappeared into the foothills. On return to the car, just for once, the Photographer had been so fascinated by the man that he had forgotten to take the picture! It had not been a good day for him. The two made their way to the sheep farm where they were ensconced. There was no internet and no telly, in fact, no communications at all, so it was only a week later, that they discovered that there had been a major incident on the mountain about the day after they had been there and some of the army group, which they had seen had died in the heat! The Photographer and the Assistant were shocked and dumbfounded.

2 other Ramblers on Corn Du

 

There had been some wonderful walks in Scotland too. One of the favourites had been the trek along the Caledonian Canal. This was a truly magnificent sight from beginning to end. This was a proper shipway. There was every type of craft, from large fishing boats, making their way to sea, to pleasure boats of all types. There were locks and there was a lock keeper, who was very aware of her responsibilities. Those walking the tow path included serious boat spotters, tourists, disabled in buggies and generally all types of people. You could find wild blackberries to eat along the way and it was a strange combination of rural setting and industrial heritage still in use. It was a wonderful flat walk full of excitement and towards the end, it produced a sunset beyond anyone’s dreams. What a wonderful day out with the boots.

A fishing Boat in the middle of the countryside. It even smelt of fish! (Caledonian Canal)

 

Caledonian Canal at evening

Now, looking down at her boots, the Assistant thought on so many happy memories that just flooded her mind. These boots had walked a fair proportion of the coasts of Wales and the Scottish islands. They had spent at least five weeks bird spotting in Norfolk. They had done outstanding service. The boots now appeared cheap for all those happy days around Britain with its varied terrain and weather and there were all those fantastic people they had met, some of whom still read this blog.

When you next chose those walking boots stroll down memory lane, ignore the price tag, get your credit card out and just for once imagine what you are purchasing. You could not be happier if you had gone on one of those expensive holidays that sometimes, feel like such a let down compared with this price ticket.

Footnote

 

 

If you would like to see some of the what the Photographer saw whilst the Assistant was struggling ever onwards and upwards, follow the link below and browse the Albums

https://www.flickr.com/photos/48646419@N05/sets/

It Might Be Spring

By “The Photographer’s Assistant”

The Photographer has been down in the garden stream inspecting winter damage when he is suddenly disturbed. Close to his face there is a whirling noise so intense that he feels dizzy. It all happens in seconds. The male duck has arrived. Suave and elegant in his colourful spring coat, he wishes no disturbance along the stream. The Photographer agrees and climbs out of what is now duck territory! The Photographer hastens to tell the Assistant. Tea is brewed in celebration. Surely, spring must be here.

It’s MY stream now………so go away!

The next sign of spring arrives in a white van. For some years now, there has been a great struggle both in the greenhouse and conservatory to grow seeds in time for the maximum benefit. Seeds have been thrown away and germination has been patchy. It has all led to a late start to the season. The answer to the unreliable spring weather has, after much debate, arrived. The Photographer disappears into the greenhouse for a period of time. He emerges in triumph. Neither he, nor the Assistant have ever seen one quite so big. It is a propagator. It is quite possible that they may have over specified. The Photographer spends the evening deep in plans. In the morning, amidst great excitement, the Assistant is despatched to the potting shed with the grand plan firmly fixed in her head. The Photographer has a pile of tomato seed packets, and orders. The Assistant spends the day carrying out the orders. The Assistant is a bit of a dreamer and is fully aware that in the past she has missed the odd seed in the odd pot, not told the Photographer, and not owned up. There is always disappointment. Today, she makes a special effort and ten days later, unbelievably, the seeds have all come up. Every day the Photographer visits his new machine, and is amazed. It is all wonderful! This year, there may be an even be a bigger batch of pesto.

The biggest propogator in the world!

Of course, this increase in production is not welcome by all of the family. The Daughter and The Boyfriend dread spring. Careful questions are asked over a supper. When will this years holidays be taken? Now there is no dog, there is bound to be more camping and what about that month in Scotland that the parents swear they are not taking, but always do? Will the bore hole really withstand the demand in a drought? And actually, they are not getting any younger for the tomato glut. They would really like not to fall asleep at work! Does Dad really mean he is getting a small poly tunnel or will it be enormous? You can see their point, but it is all inevitable. The Assistant leaves them all to it, as she pours herself another delicious glass of wine, its a shame to waste it!

Outside, members of the community are recognisable. They are no longer covered in huge coats and enormous fleeces. Projects can be started. While it is not exactly hot, it is not raining or sleeting. A number are increasing their exercise regime.Some lawns have been mown without the need to rescue the mower from the mud. A real Dartmoor wall needs rebuilding and a member with the knowledge, is rebuilding it properly. It will take him months, but he has started early enough to even complete the job by winter.
In the distance chain saws go to work, clearing up the winter debris and piling up logs for winter. The seasonal circle starts all over again.

A little bit of garden wall repairing…..Dartmoor style

In the gardens, birds are frantic to find sites and build nests. The Assistant must stop hedging now and wait for autumn. The most beautiful cat is climbing her tree, awaiting victims to fly, or pass by.

In the little town, the deli has delicious hot cross buns, Easter sweets are so tempting that you won’t keep them. Decorations of rabbits and eggs appear in the shops. The town is being spruced up. Soon the visitors will be welcomed as Easter tourists appear.

Even the Photographer and his Assistant have been painting the utility room with all the doors open, and the Assistant is making Easter plans to purchase a free range chicken or two. The white wine is already in the fridge. She does so love a party!

Somewhat early, but very much meant we would both like to wish you all a Happy Easter. Its ever so much better than Christmas. There is far more fun and far less cooking to do. You might actually get to sit in the sun! And whoever he is, may your God go with you!

Time to scrub up for the Spring visitors