Watery Lane

Looking West - deep and fast flowing water in winter sun

When I visited St. Leonard's church in Bulford at the weekend I wandered around the old part of the village.  The old village is centred on a splay of chalk streams which run either side of the church. Ancient houses appear among the trees, clustered around the church and nourished by the waters.  In the year 2001 some were flooded, particularly the ones along Watery Lane.  
I wonder how many times this has happened over the centuries.  The name is a bit of a clue.

Looking East - sun at my back

Shallow and serene - clear as glass

A Church Fair

The Parish Church of St. Leonard, Bulford

14th Century tower

For years I have driven past the little church in Bulford wondering what it was like inside.  Sometimes they hold a little fair to raise money for repairs, but I have never had the opportunity to go.  Yesterday, I made it. It was bustling with people, the centre of a community.  

The kind Church Warden left her raffle stall to find me a printed leaflet which is a copy of an architectural survey written in June 1900.  It tells that the church must be early 12th century and that it has been altered greatly over the years.

The tower was once much higher, but probably due to faulty foundations only the base remains.  Somehow it's much more endearing that way.

The little church fair was very busy and I couldn't stand still too long inside the building, or take photographs, but one feature stood out.  A partly exposed medieval wall painting, very faint.  So faint that I couldn't see what it represented and I was told that it had been covered up by the puritans, (them again).  The community cannot afford to have the whole piece restored, so it stays under the plaster.  One day.

Showing signs of  many alterations over the years

The main doorway is in the tower
Children's bikes outside - a much loved  building - still busy

Quote from the front of the little leaflet. 

"The care of this ancient sanctuary falls on the parishioners.  It is a 'labour of love' to preserve and beautify it for this and future generations".

Lulworth Cove

The Tortured and Folded Purbeck Stone

Once a year, if I'm lucky I am taken to 'see the sea'.  This time it was a grey gloomy day in late October and I was taken to Lulworth Cove.  The last time I came here, I must have been about eleven.  I'm still awestruck by the way the rock has been folded and turned on its side along this Jurassic coastline, then worked by the sea into tunnels and blow holes and pretty little coves.  There are fast flowing freshwater springs running down through the village to the sea, under and around the houses.  One has been dammed to make a peaceful little pond where mallard and moorhens feed and doze.

Highlight of the day was watching an excited labrador leap into the sea, heave out a big chunk of driftwood and drag it up the shore to drop expectantly at his master's feet.

The Cove

Corfe Castle

Corfe Castle

On a grey drizzling Friday we drove down to see Corfe Castle, high on its hill in Dorset.  It's a vast complex, much larger than I expected and must have been quite something in its day.  Ravens live in the castle now. Soay and Herdwick  sheep graze the steep hillsides.

Herdwicks grazing under the walls

First, long ago there was a Saxon hall and Edward the Martyr, King Edward the first of England died there in 978, murdered it is said by his stepmother Aelfthryth.  They say that on the anniversary of his death a cold north wind blows through the castle.

The typical herringbone pattern of a Saxon stone wall

William the Conqueror acquired Corfe in 1086 and built the first substantial castle there.  The very steep hill is a natural feature carved out from the landscape by two rivers and extremely defensible.

In the 12th century King Henry I  built a great stone keep.  This took nine years and as more kings took ownership over the centuries a small village grew up at the base of the hill to house the workforce.

Henry's tower

King John and King Henry III went on to add to the castle so that it became a very sophisticated royal residence.  Henry III ordered that the keep be whitewashed and it would have been seen for miles.  Over the years many royal and aristocratic unfortunates were imprisoned there as rebellion and royal struggles raged across the land.

Where the Ravens live

Queen Elizabeth I sold Corfe to Sir Christopher Hatton in 1572 and in 1635 it was bought by the Royalist supporter of King Charles I - Sir John Bankes.  During the Civil War Lady Mary Bankes defended it valiantly for six weeks.  

Watching Out for the Enemy

Finally the castle was betrayed when a force of Parliamentarians disguised as Royalist reinforcements were admitted.  The castle was attacked from inside and outside and defeated.  Lady Bankes was given safe passage to leave because of her gallant defense.  The story goes that she threw her jewelry down the well inside the castle, but it has never been found and it's now believed she smuggled it out in her underwear.

In 1643 the Parliamentarians voted that the castle be 'slighted', demolished so that it could not be made defensible again.  Huge chunks of masonry have been thrown and tilted, they were very good at 'slighting'.  Sad that there is someone in every generation who excels at tearing things down. 

Craftsmanship - the fancy stonework at the top is probably
conservation work to prevent further deterioration

Inspiration for embroidery

Inspiration for Embroidery?

Believe it or not this is a section of Roman wall painting seen at the British Museum.   It comes from Lullingstone Roman Villa (4th century AD).  The colours are subtle and shaded and while it looks like a naive painting, there is great skill in the way the colours and shapes are balanced.

When I think of Roman wall painting I think of static portraits of doe-eyed gents and ladies staring out of the wall, or of swirling frescoes of dancing people and leaping horses or dolphins and mermaids.  Some of those old Romans obviously felt that was all a bit overpowering and went for a more homely feel.

We've Been Out and About

One of our favourite cottages at Weald and Downland

We were out and about a bit last week and so not a lot of knitting has gone on.  We went down to the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum to take another look at our favourite cottages.

Very snug

There are always farm animals to be seen and this time an added bonus.  The piggy had piglets, two weeks old.

One much bigger than the other, but both very fit

Danebury Hill Fort

Fair Weather Cloud

There is a big sky at the top of Danebury Iron Age Hill Fort.  It sits just above the pretty little town of Stockbridge in Hampshire.  Thoroughly dug by archaeologists and well documented it has a lot to offer.  There are beautifully cleared gravel paths around the top and wooden steps where the going is steep.  It is a very Hampshire experience.

Lords and Ladies (Cuckoo Pint), growing in a  hollow tree stump

I enjoyed it, but for atmosphere nothing beats Sidbury Hill, my local fort where climbing can be tough and you almost need a machete to walk around the top.

Tough little Exmoor Ponies graze on Danebury Hill Fort

Wild Marjoram

Beaker Button

When this is finished it will be called the Autumnale Scarf
and I will try to take a better picture of it

On Friday I went to Beaker Button at the Weyhill Craft Centre near Andover. I've blogged about it before, but I don't go often enough.  What a lovely shop with lots going on. There is something for everyone with locally sourced (and some exotic) yarn in natural fibres as well as some acrylic for those who can’t do wool. Lovely atmosphere and lots of fresh ideas.

Check out the website for events and classes
Beaker Button

I am currently knitting a sort of jabot scarf thing with a fluffy end.  I bought the main yarn at Beaker Button last time I went and I'm knitting it up in double moss stitch.  It's Patons Colourworks and it goes through fiery red to plum.  The photo doesn't do it justice.  The fluffy bit is half a ball of Patons Softy that I found at the back of the cupboard and it picks up all the rusts and plums - amazing - two things in my stash actually work together.

Taking a little break

Swathes of  Viper's Bugloss
on  my last walk on the hill

Just taking a couple of days out to sort out the pickle I seem to have got into.  Major tidying and cleaning exercise under way.  Back to routine soon.

 Viper's Bugloss and Ox-eye Daisies

I love the blue of Viper's Bugloss, but I never can seem to pick it up properly with my camera.
Most of all I love its name - Viper's Bugloss.

6am on a Saturday

Setting out in the drizzle - red sunrise and a rainbow

Sun coming over the hills

Something about the air up there.  Something about the scent of the turf makes the spirit rise.

Wot I Did At the Weekend

Scaffolding and the gaps down through

I have spent the weekend up scaffolding painting barge boards.  I have never been good at heights and now know that I suffer from vertigo.  If I am not holding on to a ladder or scaffold pole, then I start to sway.  This has slight disadvantages when you are trying to paint woodwork.  I'm only 5ft 2 and so can't reach stuff without having to let go at some point.  I have spent more time this weekend whimpering quietly to myself than I have in the whole of my life.

Aerial view of the compost bin and the rhubarb - and the rubble
I used to grow sweet peas here

There was also the saga of the paint that turned out to be the wrong colour, so that we had to start again.  It was called Green Glade, but as the Man Who Can said, it was more like the colour that Eastern European countries paint their military vehicles.
And then there was the thunderstorm when I was up the scaffolding, for once feeling fairly safe sitting down, quietly painting.  Flash of lightening - rumble of thunder nearby - scramble to stand up without wrenching my tricksy knee -  retire down (wet) ladder holding pot of paint - trying not to panic and move more quickly than the vertigo allows.

There's only one more coat to go and then I am never, ever going up there again.

Close-up shot of the early eighteenth century traditional farmhouse style gable we didn't know we had

Just Playin' Around

It's gloomy outside, but lovely here

I'm in my sewing room playing with lots of pretty things at the moment.  So many ideas, just one pair of hands.

The Man Who Can set up my sewing room when we first moved in here on the strength that it would keep me quiet and I wouldn't ask for more.  He was pretty much right.

It'll get worse before it gets better.

It'd better be worth it

The house has been covered in tarpaulins for a week and a half now and all the windows are blacked out.  It gets hosed down daily so the render doesn't dry too quickly, even though it doesn't really stop raining.  The front garden is a foot deep in detritus and the back garden isn't much better.  The Man Who Can, is taking the opportunity while the scaffolding is in place to repair one of the chimneys.  It's extremely windy up there and as I sit at the dining table I can hear him quietly swearing down the chimney as the mortar blows off his trowel.

On the up side we have found out all sorts of things about our house as we have pared back the layers.  There is a man sitting on scaffolding for hours on end hammering away as he repairs our cherished timber and brick infill gable.  All the chaps speak about it lovingly and in hushed tones and I get  frequent lectures on bricks, their sizes, ages and colours.  And we have found medieval great bricks in the oddments used to build the garden wall.  Apparently there are also some up the chimney.  We might never have known.

'There's good news and there's bad news...'

Child's puzzle blocks bought at a jumble sale

I am surrounded by devastation.  The house is covered in tarpaulin which flaps all night in the wind.  All the windows have been blanked out with black polythene to prevent splashes of plaster on the glass so it's even more dark inside than usual and positively medieval.

It keeps raining so that wet chalk is spreading everywhere, the garden is a mass of trampled vegetation and I have never known so few people get through so much coffee and sugar.  Particularly sugar.  I wonder if they are using it as a building material.

Conversations start with 'There's good news and there's bad news...'.    They've gone away for a week now leaving instructions that we should spray the whole exterior of the house twice each day with a fine mist.  I'm on leave for a couple of weeks now and that's what I'll be doing.  Up a scaffold, wearing a sou'wester and  lugging a hosepipe.  Mind you, there's so much rain coming down at the moment that it doesn't really seem necessary.

On the upside, they have uncovered a traditional farmhouse half timbered gable dating from the early eighteenth century.  They were extremely excited about that and a bit disappointed that it had been very thoroughly chewed by a nineteenth century worm.  An 'honest repair' is in progress.

Not sure what age of child it's intended for, but I found it quite difficult

Unravel at Farnham, Surrey

Arriving for Unravel at Farnham, Surrey

It was that weekend in February when the wonderful Unravel show takes place at the Maltings in Farnham, Surrey, a pretty little town with a lot of history.  I knew Farnham throughout my childhood, we lived in a nearby village and it has many happy memories for me.  As I arrived for Unravel on Sunday the bells of St. Andrew's Church were ringing and the sky was a springtime blue.  I wandered the little cobble streets for a while listening to the bells and studying the little cottages clustered around the church.

In the car park and approaching the bridge to the Maltings, the clever Unravel people build up your anticipation by decorating the Victorian lamp posts with some rather fetching knits. 

Decorating the street furniture

Outside the Maltings the lovely people at Well Manor Farm had penned a Gotland ewe and her lambs to greet the visitors to the show.  The ewe was so tame and friendly that her lambs were completely unstressed by the whole experience.  They appeared to be rather enjoying all the attention.

Bright eyed and soooo pretty

All of this made me happy before I even got into the show.  More posts planned about what I saw inside.

Beaker Button

A new shop called Beaker Button has opened up near me - at The Fairground Craft and Design Centre at Weyhill.  You get a lovely welcome and Jen who runs it stocks some very nice yarn, with more coming in all the time.  I went to get Christmas presents and shouldn't have been looking at wool shops at all, but hey-ho.  What can I say?  

Absolutely scrummy mossy green 4 ply

Also in stock are kits for making Dorset buttons and some cards of buttons already made up.  I have always been fascinated by this craft which once provided a livelihood for many in the west country who would proudly say when asked, 'I do buttony'.  Sadly, the advent of machine made buttons took away their livelihood and they fell on hard times. 

Jen does workshops and here is her website.
Beakerbutton

Another Dorset connection is that Weyhill is the site of the famous Weyhill fair where thousands upon thousands of sheep were brought by drovers from all over the South of England.  Itinerant workers would go as well, to sell their labour or their expertise and it was at one of the Weyhill fairs that the Dorset novelist Thomas Hardy had the future Mayor of Casterbridge sell his wife.

I haven't read The Mayor of Casterbridge.  Thomas Hardy always makes me a bit depressed and having got through Far from the Madding Crowd, Tess of the D'urbervilles, The Woodlanders  (the last two are extremely sad), I'd need to be feeling particularly bouyant to tackle the Mayor of Casterbridge.

Martin Down

Man made ditches stretching down the hillside

Martin Down, ten miles from Salisbury is a site with a long history, a bronze age enclosure and enormous ditches acting as boundary markers.  The scale of these ditches is remarkable - it would be a huge undertaking even today with modern machinery.  It was all dug by hand.  It's all grassed over now, but when it was first dug the great white stripes across the down as the chalk was exposed would have demonstrated the power and dominance of the people who created it.

It's now a nature reserve providing a downland home for all the creatures who specialise in that kind of habitat.  We went at the end of October, so not much in the way of flowers and butterflies to be seen.  Lots of sheep though.

A Derbyshire Gritstone

The Derbyshire Gritstone is one of the oldest British breeds of sheep originating in the Derbyshire Peak District in the mid eighteenth century and is well able to survive on the top of a hill in the south of England.   I have two little books called 'Know Your Sheep' by Jack Byard and they tell me that the wool of  the Gritstone is used for high quality hosiery, knitted outerwear and underwear.

An ancient burial mound

On top of the hill an ancient burial mound lay among yew and holly trees.  The ancient druidic trees.  Very fitting for such a site and very atmospheric.

An October Walk

Walking below Ashdown Copse looking towards Sidbury Hill

On a walk in mid October I can begin to feel the grey part of the year approaching.  There are little accent snatches of bluest harebell and deep purple/pink ragged robin still to be seen all jostled roughly by a strong wind blowing across the hillside.

And then there was this little flower. 

The Common Rock Rose

The hillside was simply covered with this plant although only a few flowers remained and I can only imagine what it must be like when out in full flower, so I have to be sure to go back.  It's a form of helianthemum.  I grow a strong red variety in my garden.  It clearly likes chalky soil a lot.

The tussocky hillside smothered in helianthemum plants

On the top of this hill was an ancient field system and a burial mound.  The mound had been dug into and turned into an observation post during World War II, like so many around here.  There was something a little creepy up there and I don't know whether it was just the turn of the year or my mood, or my sadness about the burial mound, or the grey sky.  A jay flew into the woodland, a very shy bird and I noticed how very silent is their flight.  Ghostly.

I was cheered up by a flock of long tailed tits rushing through the bushes looking for berries.  Hard to be melancholy when you see their dapper little bodies busying about and all vying for the best pickings.

A late evening stroll

Twilight at the top of Sidbury Hill

On the first Sunday in October we walked Sidbury Hill at dusk.  The weather was fine and warm breezes wafted across the grass.

We saw an owl make a kill and surprised a badger out on his evening rounds.  And somewhere lower down the hill unearthly cries, something between a bark and a shout.  Whatever it was moved swiftly across the land.  A deer?  A fox?

Views

Pickpit Hill in the early morning from the base of Sidbury Hill
- it's the bit left of centre with the little clump of trees

Last Friday for my long walk I climbed to the top of Sidbury Hill to look across at Pickpit Hill.  

While I was up on Sidbury Hill walking the Iron Age ramparts I had a chat with the woolly highland cattle that wander the hill and look so at home there.  The burial mounds are clumped and scattered across the landscape below and ancient boundary lines roll out across the landscape.  Pickpit Hill called to me.

Walking back down the hill across the valley and up the other side I battled through some undergrowth to find my way to the top of Pickpit Hill so that I could look back at Sidbury.

Last bit of the ascent of Pickpit Hill - getting a bit tired now

At the top of Pickpit is an ancient burial mound, an Ordnance Survey triangulation point, the remains of a building put there in World War II.  And there are the views of Sidbury Hill across the valley and across Salisbury Plain.

Sidbury Hill from Pickpit Hill

This was an unexpectedly beautiful October morning.  I hadn't set out intending to do both hills but the skyline drew me on.  It took four hours, partly because I stopped on both hills to have an apple and just look at the world.  It was priceless and cost me nothing at all.