There’s always an upside

It has been a very strange spring. Nothing is really behaving as it usually does, but, if we think back, weird springs have become almost normal. When Peter and I lived in West Sussex, this trend began to appear there. We had droughts that were dreadful. It had become too hot very often. Peter installed a watering system on our local allotments. I spent most mornings in our allotment watering while the children were at school or sixth form. One February, it became so hot that I was able to dig the whole allotment in very little time. When Peter came home from Brazil, he would not believe how hot it was! (or that Sue had dug the allotment for me! Peter) Well! That was then, but what about now? As gardening types, we couldn’t wish for better. Why? Rather selfishly, since we are not in our first youth, we are able, because of the lack of heat, to just get on with our vegetable planting. During the last few Springs, it has, simply just been too hot to really enjoy the gardening.

2 Silly Geese in a Cedar Tree

We are returning to where we were at this time of year. Of course, it would be nice to sit outside with a glass of wine or beer. If you sit indoors, it all feels unseasonal and sad, but we are not going to do that. We are going to have our boiled egg for breakfast and get out there. The minute that we see the buzzards being chased by the crows and the really silly geese flying fussily across the sky, we feel better. John and Jane have an enormous flat topped Cedar of Lebanon which the geese are constantly fighting over. They are probably the silliest birds you could wish to see. They spend the day arguing and the chances of a nest being created are really small! They appear to think that the flat top is a field!

We are lucky enough to have built a new greenhouse last year. We mixed a concrete base and assembled the whole thing ready for spring. What a godsend this has turned out to be. Peter has been advised not to work out doors when it is so cold. He loves the greenhouse. He has been able to plant and sow all the seeds that we will need. Here, on a shelf, are Josie’s seeds, ready for when the weather improves. She has tomatoes, sweet peas, and some larger plants in progress.

Chagford Swimming Pool welcomes everyone

Josie is our daughter and she and Wes, her husband moved to a large village across the Moor. It is quite a trip for her and Wes to make across the Moor, but they often return to the Little Town, where they used to live. Wesley and Josie are passionate about the community swimming pool, which is one of the only fresh water pools in the country. The team have a huge amount of community support. Whatever the weather, enthusiasm for keeping the pool going is amazing. For the past three to four weeks many local people have come to prepare for its opening. No-one has said that it is just too cold to get together. That really says it all about the community. Outside Catherine and Chris’s food emporium, locals sit in big coats and jumpers drinking coffee and socialising. It must be done, or the weather will kill this vibrant community.

Even in December they sit outside Black’s

We set off on a Friday evening for Josie and Wes’s place. We are a little worried as they have been ill and we wonder if they have fought the bug off. On the way, we pass the reservoirs that are near Christow. These stretches of water are truly beautiful and we often stop and take a look at the view. This evening, despite the terrible weather, some members of the fishing club are out there. Amazing!

The Angler

We have reached this small tidy street where Josie and Wes live. It must be said that although the houses do not have large gardens, they are beautifully kept and clearly treasured. Josie and Wes have been hard at work trimming and planting. Wes has been to Bowdens and bought a hand mower, which trims a beautiful lawn. It has no battery and no fuel just Wes power! We are pleased to see the two of them looking much better. They have painted a couple of rooms with two beautiful colours. Josie’s study has been painted and has a lovely calm atmosphere for when she is working from home. Peter and I are bristling with pride at how well they are doing after a life in expensive rentals, where everything had to be kept just as it always had been for the landlord.

To top it all off, after a hard days work, Wes had made a delicious supper. What more could you want. We are just plain lucky! At the end of a restful evening, Peter drives us home past the local farm land, where, even here, up on the Moor, where life is not easy in this terrible wet weather, some farmers are having a go at planting and just about managing it.

When the weather gives you a break….go for it.

We love the Moor. There is literally nowhere else we would rather live, not even beautiful West Wales! People are great. They are helpful and smart. The wildlife is beyond imagining. Whatever the weather, when you open that window in the morning you know that you are in for a fascinating day. Sometimes, it will be beyond your wildest imagining! Give it ago, but bring some nice warm, wet weather clothing. Just at the moment anyway!

A small fact for those of you who wonder at how awful TV is at the moment. In the 1980’s, about forty years ago, we used to watch Auf Wiedersehen Pet, which was about some British Builders working in Germany. Our children were really tiny. It was that long ago. A recent article in my newspaper said that the series held a steady 14 million viewers. It was on a Friday night, when most people were in the pub. The pubs emptied out when it came on. It was made by ITV. Makes you think about the license fee.That we still pay the fee, to the BBC, I would say, is questionable when today, 4 million viewers is exceptional.

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 All The Photographer’s photographs for this blog can be seen on     Dartmoor Diary Flickr Album in date order, and many of his other images are on  Flickr (follow link)           The serious stuff is currently only available directly from The Photographer (aka Peter).

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dartmoordiary.co.uk and dartmoordiary.com

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Breakfast in the Woods

Peter is up with the lark and on his way towards the camping gear. He is going to check it all out for the new season, but he has also got breakfast on his mind. Susan is in the kitchen busily sort out the bacon and eggs. She is buttering one of Blacks rosemary rolls. The bacon smells wonderful. the eggs are large and they look amazing. Peter has arrived with his rucksack. He has a bottle of water and Columbian Coffee. Two enormous apples are being tucked away. A teaspoon and some banana cake follow. Now, the bacon and egg are being tucked into the rolls. The two pile out into the conservatory. Their walking shoes are old, but still good. Their walking coats are old RABs, but Peter reproofs them every winter. They may not be posh, but they do the job. Mugs and their Jetboil are already there. On the seat, where they have been for all of this rainy winter, are some flat soft plastic covered seat pads, so small that they are the last item to be packed.

The iconic bacon roll

The two have locked up and Peter has checked the greenhouse, which is not really needed as the weather is so bad. The propagator has replaced spring sunshine. This year’s vegetables will be hand reared and very precious. Peter hoists the rucksack onto his back and so, ready prepared, the two step off. They are not ambitious for a high Moorland walk today. They are just aiming for The Woodland Trust site, which is quite near. The potholes in the drive are so bad that they are hopping from one side to the other. Peter has maintained this private drive for some years, but he will not be able to do this again and he is worried about it, but there is nothing he can do. Like many roads, it will just have to deteriorate till the rain stops.

Out and onto this familiar highway. They pass a couple of houses and heading towards a huge magnificent view. The green hills dominate our view and for the farmers amongst us, they are their living. This terrific greenness is a super green. It will feed cattle and sheep alike. It will provide many of us with that feeling of being very small pins in the environment. Whatever is going on in life, be it strictly personal or the wars that are taking place, it will all be made very small beside this view of the world. Nature is totally dominant out here.

Past hedges, full of insects and birds, all chattering away. Past fences and ditches. Two or three sheep hide under a hedge and here, where nobody has walked for a while, Before our eyes and entirely unworried, is the tawny owl. Well settled, he just stares us out and eventually shuffles off into the distance. Our own private Springwatch!

Sadly, to our left, a field owned by someone from away. This field was once occupied by a horse, which would spend its days in idle content feeding on the rich grass, so loved that it occupied a well built stable. All empty now.

Now, we pass the back entrance to an up market hotel, where very few locals could afford afternoon tea, let alone a meal. There is a gate with non welcoming signs for those of us who walk by. There are so few of us, the signs seem silly and pointless.

Is it decay or recycling of nutrients?

Now, there is a broken down entrance to a patch of land where the river runs by. It is partly wild with broken down trees, a hut with a makeshift table outside and no person apparent for some long while now. How sad! Many, many years ago, and long before we arrived, this patch of land belonged to our house. We have reason to believe that it was used. Grain bags used to be kept under our stairs and old mice families sometimes try to inhabit the area, just as they used to.
Recently, opposite this area, in such bad weather, a tree fell across the road and it took some time to find out whose this tree was. Decay is a feature of this area. It is both worrying and interesting at the same time. Is this Dartmoor in decay, or Dartmoor, becoming the wild area it once was, full of nature’s own ideas of what it should become?

Too strong for a dog or man

Now, we reach the bridge that is our destination. The wild wild river flows beneath it. In winter, if you let your dog in the river here, you must be strong, have your dog on a sturdy rope and really know what you are both doing. Opposite, there it is. It is one of our favourite spots. It is a Woodland Trust area, Here, is a wooded area of wonderful interest. The trees behave naturally. They are many different shapes and inhabitants. The atmosphere is one of complete peace and harmony. Nature is being allowed to run itself. The shapes and forms are a gift to Peter’s camera. Many happy shots are taken. Peter loves the woods. He was brought up near some woods, where he could play every day. Here, in this wood, there are even some rough paths to help you through.Some kind people have left the odd commemorative seat, but not too many. Peter and I happily arrange ourselves and enjoy our breakfast, content with the sound of the river and the shelter of the trees. If you are here in their season, there are salmon here, but not as many as we used to see twenty years ago.

Simple but effective bridge

Having finished our breakfast, we loop our way back through the lane at the end of the wood. Here, and opposite another bridge and in a large domestic garden stands the heron. This strange, prehistoric looking creature, is quite sure that we can’t see him, but, just in case, he stands on one leg trying to look invisible. There is a stand off, so we move on. We follow a small lane, and up onto the main road. Here, we are in Yarnapits, which is a road junction with a terrible reputation. In winter, it is just an ice rink in ice or snow. It has a mythical reputation, which you really don’t want to be part of. So, on through this area. Water can run down part of this road, but it is not too bad today. On, past fields, sheep, trees and past open common, where there is evidence of a deer run.
In front of us there is a huge communication aerial, which is next to yet another sheep field. So we crest the hill, on our way home. Peter pauses to speak to Mr. Davis and his wife. They have such beautiful sheep that Peter cannot resist getting his camera out. Boosted by this meeting, we are nearly home to a log fire and a hot cup of tea. A day off, well spent!

Well you didn’t think you were going to get away without some spring lambs and a working sheepdog did you?

Readers who travel through on the road to or from Whiddon Down should be aware that deer wonder across this road and they do this in gangs. Please be careful. We were quite shocked when it happened to us, but, fortunately , we were slowing down for a junction.

Words by Sue

Pictures by Peter.

Beware of the deer!

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).

After Rain there must be Sun

It’s 12 degrees Centigrade today. I can actually see parts of my body. Not good one has to say. A great deal of work will be required to get rid of this state of winter tubbiness.

I first enjoyed spring in 1979. I was 29 and had a baby in a pram. Those were the days, when having a baby at 29 was virtually unheard of. I was called an elderly primate. They used to call this out at all my prenatal clinics. I judged my self to be perfectly healthy and stopped attending. I hadn’t got time for that! Spring was here for goodness sake. I had a coffee instead. There was more to life than this sort of carry on. When I got home Peter’s mother gave me another coffee. Peter had disappeared. He was engaged on some top secret agricultural project abroad. We had agreed that as he couldn’t have a baby, this work allocation would be so.

If not lunch then a choccie biscuit

Having now had the baby, I was out. Straight out! I hadn’t got a shed yet. Peter was going to build it. We were a team. I had given up teaching and gone to do stuff for ICI. All the people that I worked with kept on about my return. Nobody got that this was not happening. It was spring. Gardening was happening on time for once. The strawberries had been planted and laced with fertiliser. They had to be covered now that it was February to protect the flowers from frost. Peter had managed to construct something that looked like cloches. They were all the go. They were a new idea for gardeners!

tete a tete. The reliable early daffodil

The baby was singing away to itself. It kept reaching up to the sky. I collected the fork from the garage and laid it across the pram. Peter’s mother was getting on with lunch. Thank God that I had persuaded her to give up smoking. I must get up the garden, or I would miss a chat with the old boy next door. He was a walking veg. Garden encyclopaedia. He knew all about when to plant stuff .He was really pleased about the broad beans. The baby and I had planted them in the greenhouse in late January and they were actually coming on well. The baby loved the garden. She loved the birds, the trees, all of nature. She was miserable when we had to go indoors. Now, the baby has worked for the Environment Agency for many years. The lesson is to watch what you involve a baby in. It could take to it for good. Choose carefully.

Every winter up to now this camelia has been frosted in the bud, but this warm wet winter we see it in its full beauty

Here, on the Moor, it is just the most perfect spring. Yes! We have had deluges of rain, but we are going to need it. We have filled as many water butts as we can, but they still won’t be enough. Things are always a bit of a challenge here at he start of the gardening season, especially as we are getting older, but we are lucky up here at a thousand feet. During November we visited some friends in Norfolk. Believe us, they will be pleased to see the rain stop. On the Moor, we have difficulties. There is no doubt about that, but on the fens of Norfolk, your life would be a constant worry. This land lost its hedges and much of its natural life during periods of national need.

Reading a book by Charles Moseley, a knowledgable Norfolk inhabitant, who has lived on the fens for a long period, much change is taking place in far too short a time. The production of sugar beet alone destroys the land. Driving about on near flooded roads is just a warning of what may come. No! Whatever is going on up here at 1000 feet is nothing like as worrying. However, let’s get back to our countryside.

Waiting for the start of the 2024 F1 season….look out Red Bull!

Peter is only too aware that our ride on mower is feeling and complaining about its age. He has been and looked at it several times and it is on charge in a ramshackle shed. Indeed, last year it actually had some money spent on it. It had a small holiday at the local agricultural dealers, where Steve gave it some attention. We think that the engine will start, but when will it all dry out in the big garden enough to use it? We must be patient. Meanwhile, the garden is doing its best. After twenty three years of loving care, it has trees and specialist plants. There are bluebells, snowdrops, daffodils and many other pretty flowers. What a glory! What a place of quiet and cheer. If you sit in the garden and don’t move, you will have many visitors. It has to be said that the buzzard is the most outstanding and the most proud. It spends much of its day thinking and hunting. It is very crafty and proud. It sits on the fence posts, waiting for something to casually walk by. It has given us quite a snooty look from time to time, aware that the sycamore tree is its home. This year, we have not heard so many tawny owls. Sadly this could be due to the damp weather, which makes it almost impossible for them to hunt.

Naturalising crocus, just waiting for the sun to emerge from behind the rainclouds

A hopefully warm welcome to Spring. Enjoy! Get that bag of sandwiches out and walk to the woods by the river. There are seats in our local Woodland Trust, just waiting for a bottom to sit on them. We will. It will be peaceful and undisturbed. You don’t have to spend ALL day sowing seeds and mending the lawn mower.

A HAPPY SPRING TIME TO US ALL. IT ONLY COMES ONCE A YEAR, SO LETS MAKE THE MOST OF IT.

DAMN! Where did I leave my binoculars!

A victorian cast iron line. Still keeping our seeds in a straight line after all this time.

Recommended reading: “To Everything a Season” by Charles Moseley ISBN 978-1-913159-36-8

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).

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).

Gertie Caplen’s Scrap Book

At Christmas we wanted to give our blog a special story, so here we go.

Gertie Caplen 1966

Strangely, the story starts with a funeral of a very old spinster called Gertie. Gertie was Peter’s aunt. She was the eldest of three children. Two of the children left home, but Gertie stayed home to look after her elderly parents. She lived in Petersfield, Hampshire all of her life. Petersfield was a wonderful, well structured country town.

It is 1992, and today, Petersfield is holding the funeral of one of its own. We, Gertie’s family, are feeling awkward. Our two girls are well behaved, sitting together and taking in the atmosphere. It is the first funeral that they have attended . My family funerals are not attended by the women, let alone the children, but that is for another day. Meanwhile, Peter has had to go outside and help his cousin David with the car parking. It has now become apparent that are barely enough places for the mourners. The family solicitor is standing by his fellow leading members of the community. Shops are shut and even though the Post Office might look as if it’s open, it’s not. It is evident that this is a big occasion, but why? If you had had a military ceremony, this number of attendees would have still been huge. The ceremony continued. The whole choir were in attendance. Gertie had been a member of the choir for her whole life. It would not have been surprising if she had sung from her pram. The whole service was at a high level, the vicar being particular in every detail. At the end came the farewell. In Peter’s family, the coffin is adorned by a single small bunch of flowers and it is taken by the funeral director to the crematorium. No member of the family will go with it. There is a lot of waving and shouting of good wishes as it gradually picks up speed and is gone.

All taken care of, there is a tea at Flora Twort’s tea shop next to the church. Josie is tucking into an iced bun, which has been specially reserved for her. This is the right place for her. Gertie adored her. The thing is that even a small Josie, looks exactly like Gertie. She has all that bubbly bouncy hair, the same eyes. If you see her about, she is Gertie There really is no difference. As an adult, she will do anything to help people. Just like Gertie. Josie had just spent some weeks with her mother and grandmother sorting out Gertie’s stuff. She had particularly taken to a rag doll, which was really wonderfully dressed. It was held in the other hand being given the same status as the iced bun. Her sister was busy with an orange juice and another tasty snack. Peter and the family solicitor were enjoying some banter. The solicitor was frank with Peter. Gertie had been his favourite person when he was a child. There was no-one to beat her as far as all his friends were concerned either. Here, you must remember that during the 1950s, whilst there was a universal dentistry in place, it was in its infancy and could be quite painful. Gertie had been the dentist’s assistant and receptionist. She was skilled with the children, helping them through painful moments and being extra kind. She was also involved in the Petersfield Music Festival and was well known to Sir Malcolm Sargant. She was also a leading light in the Ramblers. For fifty weeks of the year, she looked after any needs that her parents had. Peter’s mother replaced her for those two weeks. Although Petersfield was proud of Peter’s mother for becoming a senior nurse and of her brother for being a war hero, Gertie was the most useful to the community and this appreciation had been shown by giving this humble woman a good send off.

Some years after this event, when Josie was older, Peter’s mother made a decision. Josie was given Gertie’s scrap book. The scrap book had been Gertie’s mother’s (Clara Caplen) and is a great treasure. We have been given access to it as it is being kept in a safe place.There are several interesting aspects to it.

The book consists of postcards written to Gertie’s mother before the First World War. You may think that this will mean that these cards reflect a bygone age and to a certain extent they do. On the other hand, they have made us reflect on what is missing from the modern age. For some period we found the cards difficult to read. They are written in an older more antiquated script, but you can adjust to it. It may be in time that the style of writing in the early twentieth century is no longer quite clear to us. We hope not. Also, at a time when you would have thought that it was difficult to get about without a car, it seems to have been easier than it is now. From Petersfield, you could get about easily by public transport, both by train and by bus. People were also fitter in many ways. Peter’s grandfather would push a wheelbarrow from Petersfield to Uppark in order to do some building work or carpentry. The poet Edward Thomas was so fit that he cycled from Steep to Herefordshire to meet his fellow poets. This saved him money. In fact, he rarely caught a train and cycled to as many places as possible. If you were fit or you had money, you could easily get to where you needed to be. Currently, there is no public transport at all where we live. Unless you are fit enough to walk, or you have a car, it’s difficult. We constantly meet cyclists who can’t manage the steep Moor. For people without transport, it is difficult, especially if you are old.

The postcard was the email of its day. Local postcards would often announce that you were to visit someone on the afternoon that the postcard was sent. Postcards were the fast way to let people know about visits and events.

See below a few of the postcards of interest, which we think you might find interesting. Of course, we too, wish you a happy and content Christmas.

Words by Sue

Pictures edited and by permission of Peter

Recommended reading, “Now All Roads Lead To France The Last Years of Edward Thomas” by Mathew Hollis published by faber and faber This was of particular interest as Thomas lived for a time in the village of Steep, which was where Peter’s grandfather owned fields and loved to go into the countryside.

Visit our Facebook Page at Dartmoor Diary Facebook Page The Photographer’s snapshots for this blog can be seen on     Dartmoor Diary Flickr Album or all his snapshots on  Flickr (follow link)          

Pre WW1 Christmas postcards

Pre WW1 romantic Christmas postcard

Pre WW1 colourised photograph Christamas postcard

Pre WW1 humourous Christmas postcard

The Ryde Lifeboat Disaster 1907

Ryde Lifeboat Disaster: The funeral

Ryde Lifeboat disaster the wreck of the Selina

Hayling Island Lifeboat

Volunteer soldiers annual camps.

These cards were photographed, printed and sent back to Clara Caplen during the camp, as daily news.

1906 Volunteers annual camp

1907 Volunteers annual camp

1907 Volunteers annual camp

1908 Volunteers annual camp

1908 Volunteers annual camp

1908 Volunteers annual camp

1908 Volunteers annual camp

And finally….The Heath pond (sorry) Lake in 1907

The Lake , Petersfield circa 1907

The Power of Gardening

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

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

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

Peter and his dad in the 1950s

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

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

Yes, it was a good party

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

The author with an abundant onion crop way back in 1979

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

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

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

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

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

Words by Sue

Pictures by, or edited by Peter.

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

When Thomas Hardy made a Brief Appearance on the Moor.

Jacob

It was tea time up here on the Moor. One neighbour had been to collect her children from school and the other had gone to collect a small child from play school. Ivy, our dear neighbours English Pointer, was stretching her legs ready for a walk, Peter had a crisis in his workshop, which sounded kind of terminal. Susan was lifting the kettle onto the hob and wondering whether there were any biscuits left for Peter. Susan’s eyes strayed to the bird feeder. The scruffy woodpecker was just taking too many peanuts. Things were getting out of hand. Birds were fighting over the bird seed. A patch of white caught her eye. She had another look. A small boy was standing outside her window and he was looking lost. He was very worried too. She opened the front door and he looked relieved. An extraordinary conversation followed. Susan asked him why he looked puzzled and he spoke. He told Susan “ I am the son of ———-and my father is the son of his father, who is ———. I live in the farm close to Murchington, not in Murchington but close to Murchington”. It was an extraordinary frame of speech. The young man was so neatly dressed in a wonderful white shirt and such a tidy outfit that Susan was quite taken aback. He explained that he had lost one of his sheep and had been sent to every turning in the hamlet to check it out. At this stage Peter, Susan’s patient Gabriel Oak appeared. She was relieved to see him appearing in the distance. Peter knew the boy and his father. The boy had his own sheep, but it was one of his father’s that was missing. Peter knew that the sheep had appeared in another neighbour’s front hall, actually inside her farmhouse! Peter went straight up the road to a farm barn, where the boy’s father was looking both mystified and cross. The farmer explained that the mother sheep had taken her daughter on a three day holiday. The mother had an unusual freedom loving background and was used to running her own life. The farmer had not realised that she was not a conventional mother and he regretted the purchase. It turned out that the sheeps’ tour had included much of the hamlet. It is not clear how long their weekend break was, but it was certainly unusual. They had, for instance, wondered into Susan’s neighbours house, where outside their front door, they had taken up quite an acquaintance with Ivy, the dog, always a friendly creature, and the neighbour’s cat, who was always interested in unusual happenings. The four animals were getting on really well, when our neighbours were disturbed by the “goings on’. Fortunately, the neighbours had some experience of farm animals and were immediately on the case. The animals were taken to the field next door, and left there with some other sheep. However, these were not sheep of their acquaintance, so they left the field and wondered off elsewhere, which is how our neighbour found them. The whole incident would have so appealed to Thomas Hardy and surely would have arisen in one of his books! To live on the Moor gives a different dimension to life. The every day here is becoming different from that of many other places.

A trouble maker if ever I saw one

It is July and John is bringing us our winter wood. This is the 23rd time that he has done this. When we arrived here, John came to help us. The far end of the garden was as wild as any garden gets and John and his team set to with a will. They chopped and tidied and John told us of the garden’s history. There had been some walnut trees here, but, over the years, they had deteriorated, died and fallen down. Now, we hoped to plant and tidy and make something of it. John has his roots in this place and he can tell you much about it. He tells of the little town, when even we can’t remember it. He tells of how you could park your tractor in the main street with no hindrance. Life was simpler. Even we remember how, at Christmas, men, who you may never have seen before, arrived in all sorts of farm vehicles. They would alight and every single one of them would be trying to buy gifts for their loved ones. It was a touching scene of sheer desperation! Now, you have to look out for the traffic warden!

In the distance, we can hear the rumble of the tractor and it’s long trailer. It appears, with its load safely stacked. John’s manoeuvre of this load is safe and skilled. He has diseased ash on board. It is all cut to size and the best wood that you could possibly wish for. We feel fortunate, able now to face winter with a warm supply and no incremental CO2 emissions. We have an approved wood burner and dry wood. Out here, where there is no gas supply, expensive oil and in last winter, an unreliable electricity supply, we feel beyond lucky! We haven’t seen John for a while, so we have a cup of tea together and catch up on the little town’s news.

Robbie

We will miss Robbie. She came to the little town and lived at Cranley Gardens. She has decided to move on. She is going to Northumberland, which is a place that she would like to explore. She always had a cheery smile. We hope that she has a wonderful adventure.
We have a lively interest in cricket in the town with cricketing facilities at the Recreation Club. We could not resist mentioning the joy that the English Cricket team have brought. As a child Susan and her father watched the likes of Fred Truman, with a huge tea pot to hand. Not a single over was missed. When Susan had children and they were at school, Brian Johnson and his team accompanied her everywhere. Her father had bought her a transistor radio so she didn’t miss anything. Good old Dad! He must have been up above enjoying all of the Test Match series. What a gutsy performance! That’s more like it! England and the people on the Moor, many about their work with their phone attached, have had some cheer. Well! It’s 6 o’clock. It’s time for The Hundred!

We’re off to watch the cricket. This is not cricket to go to sleep to.

When we are recovered from the rigours of much of life, we will be seen moving wood and watching the sheep over the fence. We are well acquainted with them. Their antics are forever amusing, especially the near boxing matches. A man dared to enter their field on a walk the other day and the most territorial of the sheep actually went to get his boxing gloves out! They are bemused but very rarely amused!

Rampant Ram

Words by Sue

Pictures by Peter

Recommended this month ; Chris Packham’s new series, which is not at all the same as the Watches. It is called, Earth. We are still hoping that some of you will read The Sheep’s Tale by John Lewis-Stempel. The story of our most misunderstood farmyard animal.

Peter’s recommendations are Bearskins by Annie Proulx to understand why Americans don’t understand the European concept of the managed mixed forest, and if you watched “Oppenheimer” then Cormac McCarthy’s last novels (The Passenger and Stella Maris) which deal with the effect on his imagined family.

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

More pictures of sheep that emerged in the search for this blog

Man and sheep in perfect harmony??

“We three sheep from Hereford are” Christmas carol sheep

Explanation: This is a flock of sheep on the Brecon Beacons, being driven back to the mountain grazing. The ewes have been shorn and marked by the farmer, while the yearling lambs still unshorn, accompany their mothers.

To Christow with a Clematis

Clematis “Josephine”

The little red mini is parked up with the boot open. Peter is very busy in the greenhouse. He has three tomato plants, some large pots and a bag of compost. Susan has a bag with 4 home made scones and, of course, a bottle of Peter’s best white wine. They are a bit muddled, but decide that it would be an insult to give Wes any of their beer, which is really not good enough. The last item to be added is a very tall clematis, especially chosen by Peter at Castle Drogo, where, as it is Friday, they also enjoyed a wonderful bacon and egg sandwich. The clematis is carefully placed between Susan’s feet.

Castle Drogo after the 2022 restoration

The little mini does its best to sweep out, in a dignified manner, down the drive and out onto the road. The mini is in a show off mood, as Chagford’s Andy has just declared it safe to continue into next year. As the most reliable vehicle in any of the family, it takes its responsibility very seriously. This evening, Susan and Peter are off to foreign parts. The journey to Christow is one, which they take very seriously. They have only just learnt the way there. This is a cracker. It is a real adventure. Peter has his peaked hat on and is missing all of the pot holes up as far as Monks Withecombe. Around the corner to the main road. There is always a hold up at Sandy Park. The road can become blocked for a very long time here. This is the main A382, and is a test of any lorry driver’s skill, especially if he meets a tanker. It’s best to heed that urgent call of nature before you reach here. Peter is lucky. There is just a large Thompsons truck weaving its way home to Moretonhampstead. Heading up the road towards Moretonhampstead, we are beginning to lose all those fields of new lambs and sheep. The fields are changing a little. Many of the fields are sadly, empty. We have crossed the roundabout at the small town of Moreton and are hammering on up the streets towards the Art Gallery ( huge temptations lie within), a visit will not leave you empty handed. Susan has only just bought a lamp shade with a lovely illustration of wheat ears, which doesn’t fit a single lamp in the house, but it is really pretty!

And still stands the clock at half past ten…….

Peter has business in Moreton. He is going to see the retired local blacksmith. I should explain that Peter has recently retired from all business activity. Many women will know that this is something of a novelty. Peter has spent his life, since he was fourteen, working. He has never stopped. Susan and Peter totted up all of his mostly dangerous trips abroad to seven years in their 52 year marriage. There is an atmosphere in the car. Susan is trapped by the clematis and can’t even pop along to the Co-op. Peter is on a mission. He has always enjoyed working on the restoration of their home. They have always worked on everything together. Things are changing. He is insisting on having a new kitchen built by a local firm. All the materials will be natural. Being an engineer, Peter wants everything to be as it should be. Even the kitchen door, will have the correct fitting. Susan has just spent all of winter holding the bits of the new greenhouse together. It was a family event, so when Wes turned up to help, Susan stopped freezing and provided hot drinks. Wes, if you know him, is a tough chap with heaps of energy. The greenhouse project reduced him to a frozen block of ice. He couldn’t move at the end of the project, but Peter was fine. Susan is thinking about this as she observes the clock on the church. Well! That was interesting! Having only just had Charle’s Coronation, here was an interesting clock. It commemorated the coronation of George VI and Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, but the clock had stopped. It seemed strange and significant. Susan shivered. How long she wondered before Charles III Coronation memorials are forgotten. Going back in time is always interesting, but it can feel strange too. Susan was now surveying the building site next to the car. This was too bad. They had promised Josie they would be there in time for supper. She loved the journey. Christow was so different and the scenery was interesting. Now, there wouldn’t be time to linger. Peter emerged in sight just as she had begun to get really fed up. She gave him that stare that no man likes, and they resumed the journey. Peter said that the blacksmith had taken up fishing. Fishing had been Peter’s interest once. Susan had enjoyed the fishing. She caught up with her reading while Peter was fishing. It turned out that, when Peter had filled the freezer, he had only been fishing to help with the housekeeping. His real love was riding his motor bike!

Kennick Reservoir Pier from the Dam

Peter was now following the B3212 towards Exeter, driving up the never ending curves, past the high bank where the overhanging trees had been removed and replaced with saplings. Now, we change our route and must be careful not to miss the turning right at Cossick Cross towards Bridford. We are now surrounded by the beautiful white waving crowds of cow parsley. We rise past hidden Didworthy cottages, and come upon Blackingston junction, taking a hard right towards the reservoirs and Christow. We drive through the Cathedral nave of beech trees, leaving the farm and aerial mast on our right. The country opens up and we have flat fields on either side. Here, you will meet very few, if any other vehicles, which is fortunate as the road is straight, but narrow. On all sides, and everywhere, there is a display of beautiful verdant green wilderness, worthy of close inspection for the wild life enthusiast. Passing the turning to Smithacott, we descend past two farmsteads and a fine selection of deep pot holes. We now enter the plantation around the reservoir. Spiralling down, past the angling centre, and victorian sheds before crossing the dam between Kennick and Tottiford reservoirs. At this stage, we are now deep into the dark plantations around the reservoir. If you are someone, who visits reservoirs regularly, perhaps, when you are on holiday, you may be stunned. These reservoirs are not neglected, do not appear to have destroyed villages, and are beautiful to the eye. You could have the most beautiful day out here, which would be relaxing and far from modern problems. From the reservoirs, we rise up through the more open Clampitt plantation. Here, when walking the family dog, we were caught in a rain storm and sheltered under the umbrella branches of the conifers.

Tottiford Reservoir

Ignoring the signs to Christow, we turn left towards Bridford, keeping open fields on our right.Dropping down to Heckland turning, we ignore Bridford and drive straight on to Christow Soon, the road steepens spectacularly down Commons Hill, becoming a long and winding road into the heart of Christow with wonderful views across to Haldon Forest. We, however, have reached our destination. We are late, as usual. Susan is now stiff as a board and the family help her and the clematis out of the mini, which heaves a sigh of relief at delivering safely to their destination. The dog brings Peter it’s ball, being relentless in pursuit of pleasure

We are delighted that the little family have moved to such a beautiful place that we now have the opportunity to visit. The place has a wild beauty of its own.

Words by Sue

Pictures (and navigation) 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

Has Anyone Seen Spring?

Have you seen Spring? Spring must be about somewhere. It’s as if your favourite friend or relative simply didn’t visit. I’m asking the questions. They used to be that one person you wanted to see all year. You would get a special meal for them. You have the meal in the garden. You would have wine, even sparkling wine to celebrate. You must now call upon their partner to see if they are well. We none of us know what the answer will be.

A spring garden meal

This morning, on the 24th of April, I got up to get tea and gently tucked poor Peter back under the warm winter duvet. He feels the cold terribly. In the past, he has had an illness, which makes him just a little weaker when he is cold. He hates it. He is a strong person, but all winter he has worn a Tee shirt, a thick winter shirt and two fleeces, so I am making him a really hot cup of tea. I ask Alexa what the temperature will be and the answer is always below what you expect. Shall I turn on the oil heating, or shall we go without. I don’t know, so I make the decision. I turn it on. The kitchen has a storage heater, which is ineffective and the most expensive to run. Today, I put the Dyson heater on and set its temperature at 18. I have bought a kettle for the cooker, which by fortune has a suitable hob. It is much faster than the plug in kettle. I have a huge old fashioned woolly cardigan on. While the kettle boils, I watch the birds at the bird feeder. I laugh a lot at their antics. This small bird is a regular. It is very artful. At first, I thought that, it had died on the feeder perch. It was completely stationary. No! Of course not. It is sitting on the perch having a good rest and occasionally feeding! It will move on when it is rested and satisfied! Ah! The heating has come on in the hall and in the bedroom. It is getting warmer than it would usually because Peter has lined walls, where he can, with insulation under wood. It works remarkably well.

The splendid new kettle complete with photographer

Peter is sitting up when I return with his tea and sometimes, a breakfast of porridge and fruit or wholemeal toast. It is better to eat it in bed under that big old duvet. Over breakfast which is taken with Times Radio, our Josie rings to make sure that we are behaving ourselves and are not over ambitious as the morning rain is terrible and she is having difficulty getting to work as her village is awash with water. This is a useful call as it means that the lounge fire must be lit as soon as possible. When Peter gets up, he lights the fire that will keep us warm until we go to bed. Hurrah!!

Still, on the 24th of April, I am dressing in a cunning pre made up outfit . It is thick, thick socks and a mountaineering vest topped by an extra fleece. Thus prepared, we embark on the day. Peter is checking for e-mail. I am getting on with household tasks. It is suddenly dry, so I am cleaning a few outside windows. A brand new window, which had to be made in its previous style, has suffered. It has been constantly steamed up and is flaking. When the weather is better, Peter will repair and paint it.

Just a bit of frost…..

Peter and Susan are worried about the garden today. There has been a warning on the previous evenings news. There could be a frost. Terror! The new greenhouse will be fine. It’s plants have survived up to now. The new potatoes were hit over the weekend. They are not too bad, but they must be protected tonight. Peter is off to cover them. The weather has been so wet and cold that Peter has had to help Susan. She normally gets out all winter weeding and sorting her top garden plot, but this year, she could only work on it for a few hours. This treasured garden was virtually destroyed by the dreadful conditions, but thanks to a real determined effort, it has been saved.

We have quite a lot to do as older people. The BMW has just had a service. It has very low mileage, due to Covid, so the battery has been playing up, but its trip to Plymouth has boosted it. While this work is taking place, Susan is having an aimless wonder through the BMW showroom armed with that big customer gift which is a small Cadbury Cream egg. This is fascinating. Is this meant to be a goodwill gesture? She is thinking of Shirley, a dear lady who makes woollen cream egg covers. Wes, Susan’s son in law, loves a cream egg, but Susan doubts that a single Cadburys cream egg could persuade him to buy a BMW. He is more of a 4 x 4 fan in the English sense. A Land Rover is more his style. When you live virtually off grid in deepest Devon you can get out of touch. Susan is quite a tiny person, particularly height wise. These days this can lead to her being completely unrecognised at tall counters and in queues at the pub. This is usually quite amusing, but even more so today. The cars are so large that no-one can see her. This is amazing. When she and Peter had a 3 series Touring, she could actually drive it. These cars are so large that she thinks that she might have trouble climbing into the driving seat. All of the cars are huge and a lot of them are electric. Well, living off the grid rules that one out. The supply to the house is too low to charge a standard electric car battery. No salesman has approached Susan and she assumes that is because she is so small, this could be a difficult situation. She is feeling a warm glow about her 12 reg. mini, which is under the tender care of the local garage and has never let her down. She is assuming that these prices must be fiction. She knows a lot of reasonably well off people, who could not afford any of these cars. She and Peter have a wonderful tour of motor bikes before they leave. Peter is happy that he wouldn’t want to ride any of those. At his age dropping a bike this heavy could be very difficult.

The obligatory spring lamb picture

There was a sign of Spring a couple of weeks ago and it may gladden your hearts as it did Susan and Peter’s. Susan went through the usual getting up procedure. When she came to the kitchen and looked out of the window, she could see a black moving speck in the distance. Surely not. Could this be the ultimate sign of spring? There, in the distance. It was there. It was a very small lamb! There were quite a few of them. They were prancing and dancing about and their mothers were following on. Since then, Susan and Peter have walked their garden to see this wonderful picture. They have even had an outside, sitting on a bench, type of glass of wine.

When the grid turns off

The sad state that many of country people live in has, recently been compounded by a letter informing us that we will not ever be receiving proper broadband out here ever. We were getting excited. Loops of cable had been attached to local posts, but it is not to be. The cables are a reminder that it won’t be happening. No-one has even been to collect them. Many of us have TV sets that can’t receive a basic 4K signal. Last night, as usual, we lost the picture and had to fiddle about to get it back. We cannot receive the alternative signal as the trees are in the way. Of, course, you are quite right. We needn’t live out here, but wouldn’t that be sad. There would be no-one to take care of the countryside that so attracts visitors. More to the point, who would know, then, how to light a fire without a fire lighter or keep warm without a gas supply or cook when the electricity fails as it did for four days this winter. Who would care for the 250 Woodland Trust trees that we have planted in the bottom garden?

Words by Sue

Postscript: It’s official. Coldest Spring since 1986.

Pictures by Peter

Goodnight

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

The Famous Blue Rucksack

Peter and Sue were standing beside a large display in the Norwich branch of the Cotswold Company. They liked Norfolk, but had not been here for many years. Cotswold was usually beyond their scope. Susan was puzzled and wondered what Peter was going to do, let alone what he was going to buy. They were standing in front of a very expensive rucksack display. Peter was looking at the rucksack with the Osprey emblem on. “ What do you think of that one?’ Susan was puzzled. Could it be that they were going to have a rucksack? “This,” Peter said decisively, “is what retirement is all about. Do you like that one?” Susan did like it and Peter bought it. Next, there was a woolly hat with ear flaps, also purchased. That was it, apparently, retirement was taking place. Peter was very certain that Susan should not get cold. Nursing Susan was not on his agenda. Watching Spring Watch had been on Susan’s agenda. She never missed an episode. Peter tuned up his camera. When he was satisfied, they went off to a bird sanctuary, where they had a thoroughly enjoyable day. They determined that they would not be the sort of bird watchers, who turned up with huge binoculars on sticks or lenses so long they missed what was right in front of them. They still had the girls to look after and Josie had only just started at Uni. They had a nice place to self cater in and they were staying for a month. They visited the British Trust For Ornithology several times. The weather was chilly and it was not only a good place to see birds, but to have a meal as well. They saw lots and really enjoyed their walks and seeing seals.

Watch the Birdie! Hey, mister, I think you’ve missed something….

Having started to adventure, the rucksack began to have lots of trips. Now, Susan and Peter walked a huge amount. On Mondays and some other days, the rucksack took up residence outside Blacks, leaning nonchalantly against the outside wall, listening to all the chat at the Monday Club. The rucksack visited Pam and Bowdens for the weekly shop. It was joined by a larger rucksack from Bowdens. This one was Peter’s, which had been bought to help Susan with shopping. Susan never used a handbag unless it was really necessary.

The Monday morning Breakfast Club meeting on Mar 16th 2020. Little did we know what was to come. No wonder the rucksack hid under the table.

There were a lot of adventures. There were more trips to Norfolk and, of course, to Wales. Having now been given a set of binoculars, the Lifeboat Station and its surrounds, in St. Davids, Pembrokeshire had become a favourite destination. There was lots going on. There were ferries to Ramsey Island and seals to see during the autumn. They took their dog on most of these adventures. Together, the three of them took a difficult route up Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon). The dog was getting on in age, but he managed it with triumph! The rucksack carried water for the burner and a hot cup of tea. The binoculars enjoyed all of the views. They were huge.

The famous Blue Rucksack on duty in Achnasheen (look it up) with its friend the Black Camera Bag

Next, came Scotland and a long camping trip. The two rucksacks carried the most delicate and precious equipment. Without the Osprey rucksack, everything would have been more difficult. The rucksack stoped off in the Lake District. Here, when the campsite was left, the rucksack carried cameras and purchases. William and Dorothy Wordsworth were followed on their adventures, not to mention a wonderful visit to Beatrix Potter’s old home and a restaurant selling the wonderful Herdwick lamb which Beatrix had supported on her own farm. It was the best lamb that Susan and Peter had ever tasted. Wow! On to Scotland, which was the real destination. Here, the rucksack camped on a foot ball site with showers and a beautiful view of the sea. They embarked on their own whisky tour. They visited all the major whisky sites on Islay. Susan was very fond of whisky and had saved up for the occasion. Every whisky was sampled and none were found wanting. The rucksack had a hard time with the weight of product on the way back to the camp site. Peter had been quite worried but the rucksack didn’t miss a beat.

The famous Blue Rucksack having just climbed Yr Wydddfa (Snowdon) takes a break with its mistress and dear Marcus the spaniel

Between trips, dear Marcus, the dog, became ill and had to be put to sleep. The rucksack carried his possessions home. The rucksack was sad about the demise of its rival, but it had outlasted the mistresses other constant companion, the dog. And, although the dog was 14 years old, the rucksack was still going strong!

The years continued and the rucksack was a trusty companion. After Josie and Wes got married Susan and Peter discovered Herefordshire and Angel Barn, where they had a lovely holiday. In fact, they liked it so much that they still go there. They got to know Sharon and Mike and their children well and Hope Stores in Longtown know them so well that they always put their newspapers up. Of course, the rucksack comes in handy there. On arrival, Susan studied the hill known as The Cat’s Back and thought about conquering it with Peter for three or four years. She would definitely have to be fit to climb it. She kept on with her walks. She wondered if she could do it or whether her chest would stop her, Eventually, with the rucksack and Peter she did climb it and hopes to climb it again this year. It was such a good exercise to conquer it.

Striding along the Cat’s Back

Sadly, at the end of last year, and under the strain of half a dozen books, the rucksack began to pause a little under the weighty load. It had to be admitted that retirement was near. The material was finally feeling thin. Now, still here, and on light duties, the old Osprey rucksack has been replaced by a new Osprey, which is undergoing training in it’s shadow. The old rucksack will never be let go. After all, it has been a good and trusty servant and you can’t throw one of those away. This is something that all good mistresses know!

Words by Sue

Pictures by Peter

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