Pilgrimage

This post is inspired by the February theme of ‘Pilgrimage’ on  Carpe Diem

Seeking solitude
I journey into my soul
A Prayerful Pilgrim

I have written about my idea of pilgrimage before and have posted links to these posts so you can read them again if you wish. I am aware that a number of my readers have no faith or a different faith from myself. I respect that and hope you will read with an open heart and mind, and enjoy the photographs

Inner Journey http://wp.me/p2gGsd-Lv
Pilgrimage to Lourdes ~ http://wp.me/p2gGsd-i

PICKING HIBISCUS FLOWERS AT DAWN

What an amazing blog I discovered this morning. The post is so beautiful that I just had to pass it on to you x Enjoy~

“And so our mothers and grandmothers have, more often than not anonymously, handed on the creative spark, the seed of the flower they themselves never hoped to see – or like a sealed letter they could not plainly read.”

Alice Walker

via PICKING HIBISCUS FLOWERS AT DAWN.

Snowdrops

Thanks to reading one of my favourite blogs I remembered that the flower of the day is the snowdrop. I already have snowdrops and hellebores appearing in my garden as the weather is so mild here so I thought I would repost some of the photos I have taken of these flowers in the past. I live near the Rococo gardens at Painswick, a place I have blogged about several times. According to The Independent Newspaper in 2008,

The Rococo Garden has one of the largest naturalistic plantings of snowdrops in the country and is in many ways the spiritual home of Galanthus Atkinsii.

Although many believe the Romans introduced snowdrops they are more likely to have been brought to England in the early 16th Century. Galanthus nivalis is native to a large tract of mainland Europe from the Pyrenees in the west, through France and Germany to Poland in the north, Italy, Northern Greece and European Turkey.

Most of the other species Galanthus come from the eastern Mediterranean, though several are found in South Russia, Georgia and Azerbaijan. Galanthus fosteri comes from Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, Turkey and Israel.
More photos are at the following links:
Springtime http://wp.me/p2gGsd-MW
Snowdrops and Hellebores http://wp.me/p2gGsd-ET

The Winter Olympics in Sochi and Krasnayapolyana

The Winter Olympics in Sochi and Krasnayapolyana

As the Winter Olympics in our twin town of Sochi gets underway, I am totally glued to the TV to see how much this beautiful area has changed. I remember the many exciting journeys I made to Sochi, and Krasnayapolyana in particular almost 20 years ago. Russia was a totally different place the first time I visited. It was not long after Perestroika and there was still a gloomy rather austere atmosphere reminiscent of Stalinist times. I have written many blogs about my visits to Russia and if you would like to read them you can click on the links below. But I really feel driven to write about one particularly magical place again. This is Krasnayapolyana which is where many of the Olympic events will be held. If you went there today you could never imagine that only 20 years ago it was officially recognised as a totally unspoilt area of outstanding natural beauty. I was lucky enough to spend some time there with my Russian friends and a work colleague, Liz.
Liz and I got up very early one morning at the Hotel Moscow in Sochi. We were being taken on a trip to the Caucasus Mountains for the day. We skipped breakfast and went out to meet Igor, his young daughter Anna, the 2 Natalya’s, both Headteachers, Irena, our interpreter, and another couple. We were driven out of Sochi along the airport road in two Ladas. We followed the Black Sea coastline until we reached the ‘new’ airport which was being built by construction workers from Yugoslavia, as it was then. Apparently they never have enough money for materials so the job is taking years to complete. However, what they have built looked very modern, even futuristic, and very impressive.
At this point we turned inland towards the mountains. We could not go straight on as this was the road to Georgia and there were still Russian tanks along the border to stop refugees from the Abkhazia/Georgia conflict from coming into Russia.
From here on, the journey took two or three hours, passing some of the most spectacular scenery I have ever seen. It reminded me of the best of the Pyrenees with shades of Canada. The colours of the ancient forests of broadleaf trees were indescribably beautiful: Reds, yellows, oranges and all shades of green glinted in the glorious early morning sunshine. Above these trees were the alpine forests of evergreen trees, and beyond those, the everlasting snows. This was the home of the Russian bear, the mountain cat, the black Ousel, the wolf and much more.
All the time we were driving along the course of the Mzymta or ‘wild river’, as its name translates. This river is icy cold, deep and treacherous, coming straight from the snow-capped mountains. I was told that there are 1 metre long red fish (presumably salmon) in this river. The road got steeper, and narrower, and more winding as it climbed higher into the mountains. There were many interesting stops; the Men’s Tears Waterfall, the Ladies’ Tears Waterfall, the ancient cave where Neolithic tools have been found, the memorial to the Red Army soldiers from Krasnapolyana who were butchered and thrown into the ravine in 1927 during the civil war, to name just a few. The road was so dangerous that we could not get out and take many photographs unfortunately.
Eventually we arrived at the village of Krasnapolyana where Igor was born. It was like going back to medieval times in England. There were very few cars, and ours had to drive dead slow to avoid the pigs, hens, cows and dogs wandering at will through the main (and only) street of the village. There were very few people around but one or two slowly plodded by. The pace of life in this village is so slow that it seems as if at some point time stopped, stood still, and then started to go slowly backwards. All around there were little Hansel and Gretel cottages with tiny barns packed to the rafters with the harvest produce. Not a shop or a pub to be seen ~ just little old people living on whatever they could grow or rear, in little houses with little gardens.
We were told that the air and water is so pure here that people have been known to live to 130 or even 140 years old. Some years ago the world’s top biologists got together to stop a bid to hold the winter Olympics in the area.

They considered Krasnapolyana to have the purest and cleanest environment in the whole world.

I can believe it and I am so thrilled that I got to see it in this unspoilt state. It looked and smelled like Paradise to me.
At last we drove the last few bumpy metres through the forest to a clearing by the river. Here we stooped and got out of the cars. The sun was very hot by now and the air was soft, warm, and full of sweet perfume. It was explained to me that much of the greenery growing in the forest could be used for herbal remedies. Every bit of ‘grass’ I picked seemed to have an exotic smell and curative properties according to Natalya. As Liz and I wandered round in raptures at the scenery, the women in our group set about laying out a picnic area.
They emptied the two Ladas and laid out blankets, mattresses, sheets of cardboard, dishes, bowls, cups and saucepans. Then, out came flasks of tea and coffee, bottles of Russian Vodka and an amazing array of green salad, huge tomatoes, freshly made Georgian Lava bread and homemade cheese. Meanwhile the men returned from the forest with twigs, sticks and small branches. They set about building a fire with great precision. Apparently building a fire for cooking food is an exact science, and Russian men take great pride in it. Once the fire was lit, it was fussed over like a new baby until it was ready to put the meat over. Igor skewered three whole chickens which had travelled with us in a huge pan marinating in a batter flavoured with herbs and spices. The men collected water from the river and splashed the fire and the chickens regularly. They told me that this helps stop the chicken’s skin from burning and keeps it moist as it cooks right through. The smell coming from this outdoor barbecue was mouth-watering and I couldn’t wait to eat the food. Liz, being vegetarian, had been horrified by the whole process, but was glad to see a vegetarian selection cooking on a skewer at the edge of the fire.
As the men cooked, animals wandered by to take a look: a family of wild pigs complete with babies, cows of all sizes and shades, dogs and butterflies. It really was quite primitive and biblical and I was totally relaxed just watching and anticipating. When we did sit down on the ground to eat, the meal was superb. Every sense was alive with the sight, the feel, the smell and the taste of the food was complemented by the sounds of the fire spitting and the river rushing by. It was an amazing experience. At the end of the meal we wandered round with 10 year old Anna, writing our names on stones with stones, and drawing the animals we could see, rather as Neolithic man must have done in those caves we had seen. Finishing up, we cleared everything away and set off again to go further along the mountain track.
Liz and I were told that we were going to touch the everlasting snows. I had a dreadful feeling that we were going up the mountain on horseback. But then to our amazement we saw an old ski lift! Before we had time to panic we were sitting on this thing which climbed as far as the eye could see up into the snow-capped mountains.
I was not in the slightest bit bothered by it. I thought this totally untypical relaxed state might have been due to the environment, but Liz reckoned it was due to all the vodkas I had consumed at lunchtime! Either way I loved the splendid views from the top of the ski lift.
After this we set off on the homeward journey. We took detours to give messages to grandmothers, to buy curative honey from the bee farm, to drink coffee, and to see the hydro-electric station and reservoir that supplies these remote and fortunate people with their power. They seem to have everything they need in abundance and all naturally produced. It was a most unusual, thought provoking, pleasurable, and satisfying day. I was very sad to leave Krasnapolyana.
The views on the way down the mountain were even more spectacular than on the way up. The setting sun gave the already beautifully coloured autumn leaves a shimmering golden glow. The only hiccup occurred when I dropped my jar of medicinal honey from this wonderful place. The beekeeper had gone to so much trouble to find me a small jar and filled it for me to take home. But, it smashed to bits right outside our hotel. It seemed almost as if I was not supposed to take anything away from Krasnapolyana.
I have been back to Krasnapolyana several times since then and it has changed out of all recognition. There are new roads, helicopter pads, tourist hotels, new ski lifts and lots of palatial new houses. Mr Putin has a beautiful summer home there and skis regularly on the mountain. And, I am afraid that the 2014 Winter Olympics will bring masses of people and vehicles to this fragile but still beautiful area. I have mixed feelings about the mountain events in Krasnayapolyana, as my daughter is joint owner of USElite Ski camps which has helped train some outstanding skiers. However, I fear that the environment will be ruined. But I feel privileged to have seen it when it was still in pristine condition.

Russian Odyssey part 1
Russian Odyssey Part 2
Russian Odyssey Part 3
The Tree of Friendship

Ravine at the side of the road from Sochi to Krasnayapolyana

Ravine at the side of the road from Sochi to Krasnayapolyana

Everlasting snows at Krasnayapolyana

Everlasting snows at Krasnayapolyana

Colleagues and friends in Krasnayapolyana in 1995

Colleagues and friends in Krasnayapolyana in 1995

Wild pigs wandered by as we prepared our picnic

Wild pigs wandered by as we prepared our picnic

A fresh picnic in the beautiful and still unspoilt Krasnayapolyana 1995

A fresh picnic in the beautiful and still unspoilt Krasnayapolyana 1995

Silver

Inspired by Haiku-heights’ September Challenge Day 3 ~ Silver

Each night I take my little dachshund Dayna out to wander in the garden before she goes to bed.  I love to sit at the end of the garden under the gazebo, where it is very dark and totally quiet, to watch the sky and enjoy the last few minutes of the day.  Recently I have been enjoying the tail end of the Perseid shower of shooting stars.  Last night I saw a beauty which seemed much higher than the others I have seen.

Silver arrows pierce

The depths of distant darkness,

And faraway fall

~

Meteorites make

Momentary magic, leave

Lasting memories

~

Shooting stars shatter

The celestial stillness

With their final show

~

I can’t resist reposting a haiku I wrote when my grandson was just a few weeks old!

On a soft white cloud

As silver stars surround him

He silently sleeps

photo (7)

Look at him now just 9 months old!

299

 

 

Guardian

Inspired by haiku heights September Challenge day 2 ~ Guardian

When I am troubled
Take me to a quiet place
To rest with angels

Frogs in Torun

Through towering trees

Strange sounds are carried from a

Bog seething with frogs

Sunday’s prompt for Haiku Heights’ September challenge is the word ‘Frog’.  My mind works in mysterious ways and the prompt instantly took me back to 2004 when I travelled with a group of friends from Global Footsteps, to take part in a conference in Torun, which is in Poland.  I’ve written about it before but I think it is worth revisiting.

Frog in Torun

There is a wonderful fountain in the centre of Torun with several statues of frogs in it.  It is called the Flisakiem fountain.  Flisak was a raftsman in Torun who played the violin very well.  According to an old legend, the city of Torun was overrun by a plague of frogs and no-one knew how to get rid of them.  The Mayor promised the hand of his daughter in marriage  to any person who could clear the city of the frogs.  Of course, rather like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, Flisak played so well that all the frogs followed him and left the city of Torun.    He claimed his reward and married his beloved and they lived happily ever after.

It was on a chilly June morning in London that we caught the ‘Orbis’ coach for the 36 hour journey to Torun.  The bus was not full so there was plenty of room and it was very comfortable.  The friendly hostess, Isabella, served tea and coffee and we had a pleasant journey to Dover where we caught the Ferry to Calais.  The weather was very pleasant and we had an enjoyable crossing.  The channel was unusually busy because it was the 60th Anniversary of the D Day Landings.  Old soldiers were gathering for a memorial service.

We got back onto the coach and set off northwards through France, Belgium, Netherlands and Germany, crossing the River Oder at the Polish border town of Slubice.  We were expecting long delays at the border but were astonished to be met by smiling customs officers who briefly checked our passports and waved us through with no problems.  This is a very encouraging development since Poland joined the European Union this year.  Already the scenery was fascinating to me and the weather was beautiful.   I noticed the narrow cobbled roads in the towns, the many shrines by the roadside in the country and lots of churches.  There was an abundance of pine tree forests and masses of poppies on the verges.  I was thrilled to spot a stag and a hare and then amazed to see storks in the fields and a flock of herons.  We were travelling on Route 22 towards the city of Gdansk.  We saw flats along the way that reminded me of Russia, and a huge river with men fishing.  Petrol stations were Statoil and fuel was 4.0 zl, about 60p, I guessed for a litre.  We saw agriculture everywhere – endless fields of crops with no fences; allotments with dachas like grand sheds; orchards; lakes and picnic spots; and miles of greenhouses and garden centres.  We saw timber-framed houses and lots of new buildings, but we saw very little livestock.  In Belgium and Germany we had seen herds of very healthy looking cattle but none at all yet in Poland.  We saw big churches with round towers, Rapunzel-style, and the remains of old city walls were evident in many towns.

At Bydgostcz we stopped for coffee and met a Polish-Canadian-Scot who reminisced about D-Day, when he was 15 years old.  He told us how he had been taken away from his village in Poland by the German occupying forces.  They had forced him to fight for them.  He was saved by the US troops who eventually offered to take him to the USA to start a new life. He had opted for Canada and eventually married a Scottish lady and went back with her to Scotland.  He has now retired to Vancouver Island in Canada but visits Poland as often as he can.

On entering Torun we saw storks on huge nests on top of telegraph poles.  When the coach stopped a friend was there to meet us.  He took us to the TTCA building to rest and unpack before we met our group leader who treated us to a meal at Damroki restaurant.  The food was delicious and we were entertained by an impromptu folk concert performed by groups from all over Eastern Europe, who had attended the Folk Festival in Torun earlier in the day.

stork

On Monday, Ula (or Ursula), who is a professional guide, met us at the TTCA.  Thankfully she speaks English very well, self-taught we later found out.  She is going to give us a 5-hour tour of Torun.  She was a mine of information and she showed us everything of interest in the old and new town.  We walked miles until we were ready to mutiny so she took us to her favourite coffee shop.  This was wonderful so all was forgiven.  We drank a special coffee like Cappuccino with Pierniki sprinkled on top.  Pierniki is gingerbread, which is the local speciality.  Later Ula took us to a restaurant, which served pancakes and dumplings with exquisite fillings and lashings of strawberries and cream on top.  We were a little puzzled, as they seemed to put savoury and sweet fillings all together and the portions were way too big, however it was very enjoyable.  After our marathon walking tour we went back for a well-earned rest and shower before dinner.

We were amazed at the low prices of meals in Torun.  It varies of course but it was possible to get a very good meal and a drink for less than £2.  Coffee and delicious pastries with fruit and cream cost less than £1.40.  Kodak films for my camera (pre-digital cameras!), which cost £4 in the UK cost £1 here and a loaf of freshly baked bread from the bakers cost about 23p.  We just cannot imagine how the shopkeepers manage to sell their goods at these prices and still make a profit.  We are worried that the cost of living may rise dramatically now that Poland has joined the EU.

Public transport is very reasonable here and accommodation is good.  Rents seem very cheap at £75 a month for a 1 bed roomed, central flat.  Big US hotel chains are moving in with high priced rooms but there are still bargains to be had for the traveller or tourist.  We stayed at the Twin Town Association building, which is in the restored Burgher House and Tower of the ruined Teutonic Castle.  The large rooms have been refurbished to a very high standard and we shared bathrooms and a kitchen as in a Youth Hostel in UK.  It was comfortable and cheap and, with fabulous views of the River Vistula from our windows it suited us very well.

On Tuesday our guide met us at 8 am and rushed us off to catch the bus to the railway station where we caught a train for the 90-minute journey to Gniezno.  The city is known as the cradle of the Polish state as it was in the Cathedral here that the first King of Poland, Boleslaw Chrobry, was crowned in 1025.  We rushed to the Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary and St Adalbert, founded 1000 years ago by King Boleslaw the Brave.  Here we saw the famous bronze doors from 1175, which show 18 scenes from the life of St Adalbert.  We also saw the statue of Our Lady of Gniezno and the sarcophagus of St Adalbert.  St Adalbert was a Bohemian Bishop from Prague who passed through Gniezno in 997 on a missionary trip to convert the Prussians, a heathen Baltic tribe who lived in N E Poland.  Sadly they didn’t want to be converted so they chopped his head off.  King Boleslaw paid a ransom of his weight in gold for the body then brought it back to Gniezno and buried it in the Cathedral in 999.  Pope Sylvester then canonised the martyr.

After this very short visit we rushed off to catch a narrow gauge train to Biskupin.  This trip was organised as a treat and was a major highlight of the trip for me.  Gorgeous weather and fabulous countryside edged with poppies, and white and purple wildflowers.  Biskupin was besieged by children on school trips but was very interesting.  It was a sort of Baltic Blists Hill, with characters in costume minting coins, chopping wood, firing crossbows and riding horses etc.  The ‘iron age’ fortified town was built entirely of wood some 2730 years ago on the shore of a beautiful lake.  It was subsequently disappeared under a peat bog where it was perfectly preserved until 1933 when it was discovered by accident.  It is now a fascinating archaeological reserve and one time film set.

Wednesday was another gorgeous day arranged for us by a local friend, Anya.  We started with a bus ride to the bike shop where we hired bikes.  It took an age to organise this because the shop appeared to only have huge mountain bikes, which were fine for the men but not for we 3 delicate and very fussy ladies!  We ended up a very motley selection with one on an ancient ‘sit up and beg’ shopper complete with basket, dodgy gears and a mudguard, another on a man’s bike with sticky red handles, and me on a junior BMX!  After lots of giggles and false starts we set off for a 23 km round trip to Anya’s home for a barbecue.  We cycled through the forest and past vast poppy fields and a bog seething with very vocal frogs.  When we reached Anya’s home village of Lysomice we saw stork families on top of telegraph poles.  Then we were treated to a super barbecue and lots of homemade blackcurrant drinks, some alcoholic and some not!  We also met Killer the guard dog, who eats cucumbers, and had a guided tour of garden and greenhouses where Anya’s family grow tomatoes, cucumbers, fir trees and flowers to sell at the local Farmers’ Markets.  The whole day was absolutely wonderful and we really enjoyed the cycle ride home to Torun.  I was very proud of myself since I hadn’t been on a bicycle for 25 years!

Thursday saw the Feast of Corpus Christe and being a Catholic country, the celebrations were massive so we had a free day in Torun.  After the 9am Mass in the churches and 2 Cathedrals, the entire congregation left to process through the streets to the square where decorated altars had been set up.  There were columns of nuns, altar servers, guides, scouts, priests, and rows of young girls in long white dresses and veils.  They carried baskets of flower petals, which they scattered on the ground in front of the canopy covering the Priest and the Monstrance containing the sacred host.  There was a military band leading the procession and a vehicle at the rear with loudspeakers amplifying traditional hymns.  The processions came from all quarters to meet near Copernicus’ statue.  There was a huge poster showing Pope John Paul 11 who visited Torun in 1999.  A service was held here before the whole procession moved on to another square for another service.  The crowd was huge and everyone was dressed in their ‘Sunday Best’.  The windows and balconies of many houses and businesses were hung with posters, tapestries, candles, statues and mini shrines to celebrate the Feast Day.  The Priests and altar servers wore white cassocks with embroidered or lacework chalice and host decorations.  It was a grand occasion and a privilege to watch.  It reminded me of May processions in the North of England when I was a child.

In the evening we visited the Fort and saw a huge fire on the horizon.  We never did find out what building was on fire.

On Friday we had a very early start again for the 7.45am bus to the railway station to catch the train to Malbork.  The journey took just 2 hours so we arrived in time for a lovely cup of coffee in the shopping centre.  Sadly when we came out the heavens had opened so we had to buy umbrellas.  The rain was torrential but nevertheless we set off for Mary’s castle.  This is reputed to be Europe’s largest Gothic castle and Poland’s oldest castle.  It is so important that in 1997 it was included in UNESCO’s World Heritage List.  It is situated on the Nogat River, an eastern arm of the Vistula River, which flows through Torun.  It is a truly impressive and huge reconstruction.  The castle was built in three parts (higher, middle and lower castle) by the Teutonic Knights, who called it Marienburg (Mary’s Fortress).  The Teutonic Knights, a German order, were also called Knights of the Cross.  Their commander in chief was called a Grand Master.  They were crusaders who wore white robes with a black cross.  The castle was started in 1276 and finished within 30 years.  The Knights ruled from here for 150 years.  It was the largest fortress in the middle ages, but the castle, like Poland, had a very stormy history being in the hands of various conquering armies then largely destroyed in World War Two.  It is now in danger from subsidence.  Inside the castle there are several notable exhibitions.  There is a room full of tapestries and a room full of exquisite jewellery boxes, altars, crucifixes, artwork and jewellery all made purely from amber.  There is also a bombed out church which has not been renovated due to lack of funds.  This is breathtakingly poignant with its battered walls and statues, and the miraculously undamaged boss of the Mother and Child.  The memory of the broken crucifix will stay with me always.  This empty shell of a church was the most moving thing I saw in Poland and for me it illustrates the total pointlessness of war.

Saturday was a very special day and we had to get up very early for a bus and train journey to Gdansk.  The area was referred to a Gyddanyzc (Gdaniesk) or wetness in 999 in “The Life of St Adalbert”.  There was a settlement here as early as 2500BC and by the 13th century when the Teutonic Knights seized the city it was a major port and municipal centre.  In 1454 the city broke free from the Knights and became a part of Poland.  Over the next century there was incredible economic development in the city, which had a monopoly of trade in Polish grain.  The city also became the largest town in Poland and a great centre for shipbuilding.  1580 to 1650 was a ‘Golden Age’ when artists and craftsmen settled here and the city became a centre of artistic and cultural style.  In 1793 during the second partition of Poland the city was annexed to the Prussian state and underwent a long period of Germanisation, briefly interrupted by a period of French rule in 1807 to 1814.  After 1850 there was another economic boom due mainly to the railways, the port and shipbuilding.  In 1920 after WW1 due to the influence of the Britain the free city of Gdansk was created under the patronage of the League of Nations.  However it then fell to the Germans in WW2 during which the Polish citizens of Gdansk were exterminated in concentration camps.  Allied forces carried out air raids then the Soviet Russian troops almost destroyed the city and ruined its industrial base.  After WW2 the Germans were expelled and thousands of new inhabitants set about rebuilding the city.  I think they did a wonderful job as the city is incredibly beautiful.  Peace did not last long though, because between 1970 and 1980 workers’ protests turned violent and prompted great social and political changes in Poland.  In 1997 the city ceremoniously celebrated the millennium of the visit of St Adalbert Slawnikowic, the Bishop of Prague who left Gdansk in 997 on a Christian mission to then still pagan Prussia.  In 1992 and 1999 Pope John Paul 2 visited Gdansk.

We explored as much as it was possible to see in a day.  We saw the shops, the churches and cathedrals, the memorial to the fallen shipyard workers and then caught a tram to the beach and paddled in the Baltic.  It was a wonderful day and Gdansk is a place that everyone should visit.  It is a city with everything in my opinion.  It has history, culture, spirituality, beautiful buildings, wonderful people and a golden sandy beach.  What more could anyone want.

 

Tin and China Clay Mines in Cornwall

This post is for Alice who wanted to see my photos of mines in Cornwall.

I was very excited to see the remains of mines scattering the skyline during our recent holiday in Cornwall.

I’ve always been interested in industrial buildings.  I guess this is mainly due to my father’s influence as he was a steel man from the age of 13 and he developed in me a passion for ships, bridges and buildings.  The other reason could be because of where I grew up.  I lived in the Felling, a shipbuilding and mining area in the North of England.  I skipped past the railway station and shipyard every day on my way to school and there was a derelict engine house complete with winding gear at the end of our street of 2 up and 2 down back to back miners’ cottages.  These were our adventure playgrounds.  Children were never allowed to play on the grass or ride bikes in the municipal parks in those days!  Parks were for floral displays and grown ups to walk in and the park warden was fierce.

Being a traditional and romantic sort of person I accept that industrialisation almost wiped out the jobs for blacksmiths, weavers, spinners, millers and grinders. But I find there is great beauty in the  machinery that drove the mines and  the mills, and in the engines that turned their wheels and moved their goods.

The Redruth and Camborne area was the central tin and copper mining district of Cornwall.   The area is now part of the Cornish Mining World Heritage Site and has made the most of it’s heritage by opening up the old tramways and railways as trails for walking, biking or horse-riding.  Along the trails there are the remains of the historic mines.  And along the way there are spectacular views of the coast or  gorgeous countryside.  I was amazed to learn that Gwennap and the mines around it was once the richest copper producing area in the world.

One or two of the mines are now restored.  For example Geevor Tin Mine, Gwennap Pit and King Edward Mine are open as visitor attractions but we avoided those preferring to walk around and discover the remains of derelict mines.

We did however visit Wheal Martyn.  This place is amazing being almost a complete Victorian China Clay works.  Thousands of people made their living here in its day.  It is brilliantly preserved with its huge waterwheel, tools, machinery, vintage vehicles, pits and tunnels all in working order.  Walking round, it feels as if the workers have just left their labours for the day.

There is still a great china clay industry in Cornwall but it is not just used for ceramics now.  Mostly it is used in the production of paper, cosmetics and toothpaste, as well as in the farming, building, medical and chemical industries.

Lost Gardens of Heligan

Original George V postbox at Lost Gardens of Heligan. Original George V postbox at Lost Gardens of Heligan.

Seeing this old post box at Heligan reminded me that the prompt word for haiku-heights this week is  “time”.  The postbox is from the first world war period and is marked with the plain G R indicating it was from the time of King George V, who reigned for 26 years from 6 May 1910 to 20 January 1936.   It seemed fitting to link it with the sad fate of the gardeners who worked on the gardens

Garden abandoned

Young men posted like letters

To fight at the front

I recently wrote about the mysterious Church of Ampney St Mary which had been covered in ivy and lost for years until it was rediscovered in 1913.

Today I visited an equally mysterious garden in Cornwall which had been lost in undergrowth and weed for over 75 years until it was rediscovered quite by accident in  1990.  Heligan had been the seat of the Tremayne family since the 16th Century and was surrounded by fabulous gardens which had been designed and added to by successive members of the family.  At the beginning of the 20th century there were 22 full time gardeners looking after the estate.  But in 1914 when war broke out they all had to go away to fight.  Before leaving one of the gardeners scratched a puzzling message into a wall saying, “Don’t come here to sleep or slumber…”.  Under the message were the names of the workers and the date August 1914.

W Durnsford
W Guy
William Robins
R Barron
Chaeles Dyer
Charles Ball
Albert Rowe
W Rose
3 Paynters – initials illegible
Vercoe
Vickery
Leonard Warne
D Hocking
Percy Carhart
Others were illegible

16 of the 22 gardeners were killed in the war and the fortunes of the Tremayne family home were altered for ever.  During the First World War Britain suffered a terrible decline in its social and economic structures.  Many large estates were broken up including Heligan.  The house itself was rented out and the gardens became overgrown through neglect until they all but disappeared.

That could have been the end of the story but John Willis, who is a descendent of the Tremayne family who lived in the area visited Heligan with some friends.  While exploring he found a tiny room buried under fallen masonry and there on a wall he found the gardener’s sad message.  It captured his imagination and along with his friends he decided to restore the gardens to their former glory in memory, not of the great people who had owned the estate, but of the great gardeners who had worked on it.

And so the amazing restoration of the Lost Gardens of Heligan began.  It is an ongoing project but the gardens today were magnificent.  My favourite bits are the Crystal Grotto, the flower garden and the jungle.  My favourite plant was the tree fern.  But the whole place is enchanting, atmospheric, mysterious and inspirational.  I  saw lots of wildlife and half expected to see fairies dancing in the woods!

Do enjoy the photos I took today in the flower garden and take a look at the website for the Lost Gardens of Heligan.

All the world’s a stage

As I drove around the park area of Cheltenham today I noticed a road called Rowena Cade Avenue. I wondered how many residents of our lovely town know who she was, so I thought I would blog about her connection with the town and her amazing legacy. As this year is the centenary of the start of WW1 I thought this was appropriate.  Rowena spent her formative years living in Cheltenham where her uncle was Head of the Junior school at Cheltenham College.  Rowena herself went to Cheltenham Ladies College for a while. Rowena lived with her father James, and her mother, in a house called Ellerslie, which backed onto Pittville Pump Rooms. When the First World War started she was given the heartbreaking job of selecting and breaking in horses to be sent to the front.  Readers may have seen the play or film of Michael Morpurgo’s book,  War Horse.  This perfectly illustrates the horrors those poor horses were sent to.

After the war Rowena’s father had died and the rest of her family had dispersed, so she moved to Cornwall.  It was here she developed her talent for designing and making costume, putting on shows, and ultimately developing the unique and iconic Minack Theatre.  The theatre was entirely planned and financed in the 1920s and 30s by this inspirational woman, Rowena Cade.  The Minack was her passion and she literally worked on it until she died at almost 90 years of age.

We visited the Minack Theatre while we were on holiday in Cornwall. The weather was spectacularly good which made the setting all the more wondrous.  The stage is made of stone set against a backdrop of the cliffs and sea.  There is a stone balcony, stone pillars, stone boxes and all the terraced seating is tiered into the cliff face and made of stone.  Many of the seats have the year carved into them as well as the title of plays performed in that year.  The first play to be performed there was The Tempest in 1932.   There is a seat with 1939 carved into it and the next one says “Break for the war”!  Some of the stone seats have huge cockle shells carved into them.

Around the theatre is a spectacular garden with plants from all around the globe.  The plants were chosen by Rowena to withstand the salty winds coming off the sea, as well as the very wet winters and often hot, dry summers.

Minack theatre is open all year round to visitors.  If you are lucky and you visit between in spring or summer months you may see a play, concert or opera.  You would be advised to take a cushion and have something warm to wear as the seats are solid stone and it can get very cold.

While we were there, the performance was the Marriage of Figaro.  This year there is surely something for everyone, including:

Pygmalion, Tosca, Far From the Madding Crowd, The Producers, Oh What A Lovely War, A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  The full programme can be found on the website http://www.minack.com/

I took lots of photos as the weather was so good.  I hope they give you an insight into the wonderful achievements of Rowena Cade.

Cotswold Colours Today

Gracious today has been a visual feast in the Cotswolds.  I had to drive from Cheltenham to the market town of Moreton in Marsh along the A429.  There can be no more beautiful stretch of road in the world than this.   It is part of the ancient Roman Fosse Way.  Unfortunately, it is a single carriageway, rural road and there are very few opportunities to stop and just stare at the views.  But I managed to find a farm track where I could park to take some photos on my phone.  As I drove along, I saw fields of blue Linseed, green crops, yellow rapeseed, red poppies and golden earth.  At one point I looked over the wildflower strewn hedgerow to see 3 fields of soft blue Linseed; in the near distance there were fields of vivid yellow rapeseed; and in the far distance a startlingly red field of poppies.  The colours took my breath away.

I saw a dry stone waller at work and a thatcher and  arrived in Moreton to find the market in full flow.

Firefly

Earthborn stars glimmer
In lustful luminescence
Along twinkling tracks

In the UK we don’t see fireflies, or at least we only see the wingless female which we call the ‘glowworm’. She is in the same family as the firefly and she glows with a yellow lime green light.
Near where I live there is a disused railway track with a colony of glowworms which is protected by the council. When the old track was converted into a cycle track a few years ago, the council paid £150,000 to install special dim, red lighting which turns off at 11pm, so that the glowworm colony could thrive.
Glowworms have fascinated writers and poets such as Dryden, Tennyson, Wordsworth, Thomas hardy and even Shakespeare who eveoked their ‘ineffectual fire’ in Hamlet. They also get a mention in Roald Dahl’s ‘James and the Giant Peach’, when they end up serving as the light in the Statue of Liberty!
Did you know that during the Great War , Allied soldiers used the light from glowworms to read their maps at night?
Fascinating facts I would never have known if I hadn’t been inspired by haiku Heights this week!

http://www.firefly.org/

Lampyris_noctiluca

Open gardens for the NGS

 

Although the weather was cool and cloudy today, we visited Sandywell barn House in Whittington, which was open as part of the National garden Scheme (NGS). There are over 3700 gardens in the UK which open for one or more days a year to raise money for charity. Most of them are privately owned and a labour of love ~ and it shows. Sandywell was a lovely garden, the work of a lovely ‘plantaholic’ designer lady and her husband. The garden was set in 2.5 acres and totally walled in with some brick wall and some old Cotswold stone. Their lovely house was converted from an old cow shed but is now really settled in the landscape near to the beautiful Sandywell Manor House, which itself is now apartments.

Originally the money raised all went to Nursing charities. Today there are many medical charities supported including; Macmillan Cancer Relief, Marie Curie Cancer Care, Help the Hospices and Crossroads Caring for Carers.

NGS gives away more than £2.5 million each year to nursing, caring and gardening charities and over the last 15 years they have given more than £25 million in total. Most of the work is done by volunteers so the charity’s overheads are small. Consequently more than 80p in every pound raised goes directly to the charities. A wonderful result I think.

As I said the weather was not brilliant and I am not a great nature photographer but I will let me photos show you some of the highlights of this gorgeous garden.

The Ivy Church at Ampney St Mary in the Cotswolds

This ancient little church is a little gem which I normally drive right past on my way to pick up the grandchildren from school.  It sits off the busy A417 which goes from Cirencester to Fairford.  Today I decided to stop and have a look around.  It was a bit drizzly but I still managed to get some photographs which I will put in a gallery for you to enjoy.

It is very ancient with the remains of a stone cross in the grounds where travelling monks would have given sermons originally.  The church itself was built of local limestone rubble around 1250 and it has a very simple interior.  Unusually it has a stone screen separating the nave from the chancel, or the people from the altar.  It probably had a wooden screen over this with a crucifix on it in the early days.  Originally there would have been no furniture or pews, just rushes on the stone floor where the people stood to hear Mass.  Most of the windows looked leaded to me and one is particularly unusual as it is set in a single piece of carved stone.  There is a very pretty bell tower which has a Sanctus Bell in it made about 1747 in Gloucester by Abel Rudhall.  It carries the motto, “Peace and Good Neighbourhood”.

Above there is a very rugged looking wagon vault roof of oak beams.

The oldest things in the church are probably the original stone entrance archway which is now sealed up.  On the outside, above this arch there is an ancient carving of a lion stamping on a two-headed serpent, representing good conquering evil. There is a griffon looking on.  Apparently it is the only one of its kind in England.  Inside the church there is a Norman stone font which is complete.  Then there is the beautiful arched door which is ancient and solid made from elm or oak.  It has the original metal hinges and handles.

Best of all inside are the remnants of wall paintings which were defaced then plastered over after the reformation.  There are intriguing bits of these paintings gradually being revealed but you have to look very hard to make them out.  I saw a face which I am sure is the Virgin Mary.  I saw a number of saints including St Christopher with the infant Jesus.  But try as I might I could not find St George and the dragon who is supposed to be depicted somewhere on the walls.

The history of this simple rural church is like a Disney story.  The parish in common with much of England was hit by the Black Death in medieval times.  So after 1350 the entire village with its remaining inhabitants was moved to higher ground in a nearby village.  Any cottages left fell into ruins.  The church was used less and less until eventually it was abandoned.  Ivy grew over it until it was entirely covered, disappeared, and was forgotten.  Doesn’t it have shades of Sleeping Beauty?   A century ago in 1913 it was discovered again and all the ivy removed to reveal this lovely little gem of history.  Since then it has been restored but with all its original features preserved.

The churchyard has a little stream running around it and a stone bridge which leads to a little wooded area.  Beyond this there is Ampney Brook which was in full flow today.  The ancient dry stone walls leading to the church from the brook are still there and I felt strange thinking of all those villagers of long ago who had trodden this same path to get to their little church.  Some had maybe lived through the Black Death and floods which were the ruin of their way of life.  Today there is a deep peace about the place and I am so glad I stopped to visit the Ivy Church.

Eccentric ~ Haiku

This post is for Haiku heights prompt word ‘Eccentric’

Everything about Warwick Castle was eccentric when we visited at the weekend.  The theme was ‘Horrible Histories’ so there were knights in armour and princesses, dragons and wizards in the towers as well as scarily lifelike waxwork models of kings, queens and nobility.

But the most eccentric things were the peacocks which seemed intent on stealing the show with their courtship and flying displays.  I have never seen a peacock perch so high in a tree before!

He shows no restraint

With his flamboyant display

Attracting a mate

I missed the deadline for the Stone Haiku in which I posted lots of pictures of Warwick castle so please do click on the link and read it! http://wp.me/p2gGsd-U4

Meanwhile here are some more photos for you to enjoy

Cotswold Stone

dry stone wall in the cotswolds

dry stone wall in the cotswolds

This post is inspired by the Haiku heights prompt word “Stone”

Golden meadows bound

With dry stone walling.  Built by

Cotswold craftsmen

The Cotswolds, where I live, is a very beautiful area in the heart of England, which covers the counties of Gloucestershire, Oxfordshire, Wiltshire, Worcestershire and Warwickshire.

Beyond the hedgerows

As far as the eye can see

Yellow rapeseed glows

Rapeseed field

Rapeseed field

There are gentle hills and wolds, meandering rivers rich with salmon, trout, roach, bream and eels, a coastline along the Severn Valley, ancient woodland in the Forest of Dean complete with wild boar and roaming deer, beautiful market towns and unspoilt villages,  gorgeous thatched cottages, magnificent country houses, fertile farms, and even several castles!

One of the outstanding features of the Cotswolds is the beautiful stone which is used for building.  During the time of the enclosures act in Britain it was cheaper for farmers to enclose their land with dry-stone walls than to plant hedges, and to this day one of the special features of the Cotswolds is the golden dry-stone walls about a metre in height which border country lanes and lush farmland

The limestone found in the Cotswolds is from the Jurassic period about 150 million years ago, a time when dinosaurs roamed over the earth and the area was once below the sea.  It is still possible to find fossils in the rocky cliffs and quarries.  In fact Huntsman’s Quarry has a superb collection of large fossils that were unearthed during quarrying.

Fossilised features

Of prehistoric creatures

In limestone preserved

You can download a fascinating fact sheet about the quarry here

Quarrying has been carried out in the Cotswolds for many years, for sand, gravel and clay as well as stone.  Some of the old quarries have been turned into the Cotswold Water park which covers an area of  40 square miles and has 150 lakes.  All sorts ofwater sports go on here and it is a beautiful area to walk around enjoying the nature and wildlife.  You can read all about it here

At the weekend I took my grandchildren to Warwick castle to enjoy the Horrible Histories.  It was a great day out in wonderful weather.  The castle was sold by the Greville family in 1978 and is now owned by the business group that owns Madame Tussauds.  This has enhanced the visitor’s experience as every room is filled with models of the famous people who lived in or visited the castle.  It must cost millions to maintain the structure of this impressive building.  The walls are so think and the building so huge, that the bedrock is groaning under the strain.  But there is 1000 years of history oozing out of every stone.

Stone steeped in stories

Of secrets and scandals in

High society

Bedrock is cracking

Sinking under centuries

Of blood-soaked conflict

Enjoy my pictures from the weekend…

Eggs ~ Haiku

This post is nspired by Haiku Heights prompt word which is Egg.

Fast food for fledgelings

Nesting under bleeding heart

Five healthy chicks hatched

robin gathering mealworms to feed its young

robin gathering mealworms to feed its young

Naturally at this time of year there are birds nesting and I am lucky enough to have a variety of birds in my garden.  We have watched fascinated as a pair of robins burrowed a nest into a large plant pot where they successfully reared 5 chicks.  We have also seen Blue Tits nesting in one of our bird boxes.  I am very lucky to have a variety of bird boxes all hand made by my clever daughter.  She adapts them to different species of birds and they seem very popular!

Vacant possession

A luxury detached home

Built for a blue tit

My Blue Tit's Bird House

My Blue Tit’s Bird House

The first thing that popped into my head was not the birds nesting in my garden!  It was the Russian Christmas at Chatsworth House that I went to a couple of years ago.  Chatsworth is a gorgeous stately home set in beautiful Derbyshire countryside.  It is beautiful to see at any time of year, but especially so at Christmas when every room is transformed according to a theme.  The Russian Christmas appealed to me as I love Russian culture and crafts.  The photo shows a room filled with hanging eggs decorated by local school children.  It is a Russian tradition to decorate eggs, usually at Easter, as a celebration of life and a promise for the future. The eggs are called, ” Pisanki”

In coldest winter

Celebrating life and hope

Pretty pisanki

Decorated eggs at Chatsworth

I Decorated eggs at Chatsworth

Lily of the Valley

May has got to be one of the most beautiful times of the year here in the Cotswolds.  In my garden at the moment there is such a variety of blossom.  We have several varieties of apple, two kinds of pear, a cherry tree and a quince all covered in blossom.  The hellebores are almost over but there are still a few tulips and primroses.  The blue bush, whose name I can never remember, is covered in flowers and the orange azalea is amazing.  But the piece de resistance has got to be the Lily of the Valley.  I did not plant these, they were already naturalised when we moved in ~ but they are superb.  They are prolific under my pear trees.  The perfume that surrounds them is just beautiful.  There are so many in our garden that I picked a couple of bunches on Sunday.  I brought one indoors where the perfume fills the room.  I gave the other bunch to a lovely local lady when I took her some rhubarb I had just picked.  The rhubarb is another thing that seems to love our soil as it grows really well.  Unfortunately my husband is not allowed to eat it now that he is on dialysis so I tend to give it away.

Lily of the Valley is a native of Britain. The 16th century Gerard’s Herbal decries it as “growing on hampstead Heath, four miles from London, in great abundance@”  I must remember to check if it still grows there.   It used to be a tradition here to give bunches of Lily of the Valley on May 1st.  It still is in France I believe, where the flowers are called Muguet.

In 1851 Queen Victoria commissioned a special painting to commemorate 1st May.  It was a very special year for her as it was Prince Arthur’s first birthday, the 82nd birthday of the Duke of Wellington who was the Prince’s grandfather, and the opening day of the Great Exhibition.  Of course Lily of the Valley featured prominently in the painting with the Duke of Wellington presenting a posy to the Queen, Prince Albert and the young prince Arthur.  The painting was completed by Franz Xaver Winterhalter and is in the style of the adoration of the Magi which seems rather irreverent to me but was a sign of the times I guess.

Queen Victoria wearing the George III Tiara (T...

Splashes of sunshine

Golden rapeseed spread
Thickly on the countryside
Fields splashed with sunshine

On a coach trip to London yesterday for one of Gerry’s hospital appointments it was a joy to see fields of Rapeseed bursting into bloom. I know lots of people find that rapeseed gives them headaches or breathing problems, but it made my heart sing to see the countryside spread thickly with golden sunshine.

Rapeseed fields high up in the Cotswolds