Tag Archive | Sunday stroll

Sunday stroll: Portland Bill

Today we went for a walk at Portland Bill, the most southerly point on the Isle of Portland. The Isle of Portland is a strange place, hanging off the bottom of Chesil Beach like a stony teardrop. The island is an outcrop of Jurassic limestone which has been valued as a building stone for centuries. If you know the Tower of London: that’s Portland Stone. And St Paul’s Cathedral. And Buckingham Palace. And the United Nations headquarters building in New York City. And the Auckland War Memorial Museum in New Zealand. I could go on …

The Isle of Portland seen from Ringstead Bay on a sunny summer's day. To the right of the photo is Weymouth.

The Isle of Portland seen from Ringstead Bay on a sunny summer’s day in 2012. To the right of the photo is Wyke Regis, near Weymouth. Chesil Beach – a narrow spit of land, or tombolo – joins the two.

Quarrying has created a weird and atmospheric landscape on the island, with worked-out quarries and others that are still in use, and piles of discarded, sub-standard stone and workings piled in heaps and dumped over the edges of the high cliffs.

At the southerly end of the island is Portland Bill, with its two lighthouses to warn ships of the rocks and the deadly currents – the Race – where the water of the English Channel churns around the tip of the island in a furious boiling wash of water. Pulpit Rock is all that remains of a stone arch that was cut away by quarrymen.

Portland Bill lighthouse, and the other lighthouse (once the home of Marie Stopes) visible in the mid distance.

The Trinity House Obelisk, a daymarker to warn shipping off the coast during the day. All the land in the foreground is made ground, waste dumped by the quarrymen in centuries past.

Pulpit Rock.

It was a mild and windy day, and we scrambled down to a sea ledge to have a look at the stone and the seascape better.

Fossiliferous limestone exposed on the ledge by Pulpit Rock.

Dumped rejected stone near Pulpit Rock. The black dot on the water is a cormorant - we watched it repeatedly dive for food.

Dumped, rejected stone on a waste heap near Pulpit Rock. The black dot on the water is a cormorant (Phalacrocorax carbo) – we watched it repeatedly dive for food.

Earlier in the day we had been in Weymouth looking for jewellery goodies for my Etsy shop, and met this fellow in the car park:

Herring gull on the bonnet of our car in Weymouth.

Herring gull (Larus argentatus) on the bonnet of our car in Weymouth.

Tuesday stroll: Glastonbury Tor

Dec29

Today we went for a walk up Glastonbury Tor: it seemed like half of Somerset had the same idea as it was such a beautifully sunny day compared to the mostly soggy grey ones we’ve been having recently. (Click on all photos to embiggen/bigify/largeificate).

Glastonbury Tor in the distance with the ruins of the church of St Michael’s Church on top, the tor rising prominently out of the Somerset Levels that surround it.

Glastonbury Tor is a small, isolated hill which stands out from the flat expanse of the Somerset Levels around it. It is formed from layers dating from the Jurassic period: the tor itself is Bridport Sandstone, overlying Blue Lias and clay. Only the tower of the church of St Michael that formerly stood there now remains. This dates from the 14th century. Local lore says that Glastonbury Tor is the Isle of Avalon of legend, and is reputedly the burial place of King Arthur.

The tower of the Church of St Michael on top of Glastonbury Tor.

South-west face of the tower.

South-east face of the tower.

Lovely graffiti on the tower by J H Burgess, who visited on 21 May 1864, and revisited in 1869 and 1874.

Panorama from the tor, looking from the north-east (in the first photo) clockwise round to the south-west (sixth photo). The village at the foot of the hill in the middle distance in the second photo is Pilton, and nearby is Worthy Farm, of the famed Glastonbury Festival.

On the top of the hill is a lovely engraved plaque showing directions and distances to other notable places and features in the area.

The tor cast a wonderful shadow over the surrounding lower land (view looking north).

The low-lying Somerset Levels are very prone to flooding and drainage is a very important part of the land management there, with many straight drainage ditches (rhynes, pronounced reens) cutting across the landscape.

Waterlogged fields after the heavy rains of the past few weeks.

The countryside is looking unnaturally green for the time of year, a result of the very mild and wet weather we have been having. We’ve barely had a frost this winter, let alone a prolonged cold spell: compare with photos I took on 16 January 2015 on a walk in Wiltshire, almost exactly a year ago.

Sunday stroll: Down through Dorset

Sep14

Not really so much a stroll as a bimble in the car with a short walk at the end of it. Chap and I headed for the seaside yesterday, taking a long and slow route through Somerset and Dorset’s winding country lanes.

We stopped off at several places en route. First stop was the church of St Andrews in Yetminster. Here we admired the 15th-century painted decoration still surviving on the stonework and woodwork and a reminder of how our mostly now-plain parish churches would have looked in the past. There was a splendid brass monument to John Horsey (died 1531) and his wife on one wall, and another, stone this time, to Bridgett Minterne, who died in 1649. While we were there we were surprised by the church bells, which rang out ‘God Save the Queen’ – very unexpected. Apparently this happens every three hours to remind the villagers of Queen Victoria’s Jubilee in 1897. I wonder if it happens through the night? There are some fantastic gargoyles on the tower, and a beautiful golden weathercock, but my photos of these haven’t come out very well and so don’t do them justice.

15th-century painted decoration at St Andrew’s, Yetminster.

Brass monument to John Horsey (died 1531) and his wife, St Andrew’s, Yetminster.

Monument to Bridgett Minterne (died 1649), St Andrew’s, Yetminster.

The tower with gargoyles and golden weathercock, St Andrew’s, Yetminster.

Next stop was the reservoir at Sutton Bingham. We went for a short walk along the edge of the reservoir through the wildflower hay meadow that is managed by Wessex Water, but as it had been given its annual cut not too long ago there wasn’t much to see. On the water there were mainly gulls and a few ducks, and a heron perched on the opposite shore. Sadly we didn’t see the osprey that are summer visitors here. A few dinghies and sailboats from the yacht club were pootling up and down the water, all very Swallows and Amazons.

A Mirror dinghy on Sutton Bingham Reservoir.

Then down into deepest Dorset and the Marshwood Vale. We stopped at the village of Stoke Abbott, parking near a lovely lion’s-head fountain of spring water with a spring-fed stone trough for horses nearby, both under a mighty oak planted in 1901 to celebrate the accession of Edward VII to the throne following the death of Victoria. We wandered off to look at the church of St Mary the Virgin. There had been a wedding there recently, as the fresh and dried flower confetti lay on the path and the church was still adorned with the wedding flowers. The church is in such a pretty setting, and has a 12th-century font with wonderful carvings.

Lion-headed fountain for spring water at Stoke Abbott.

Spring-fed water trough for horses, Stoke Abbott.

St Mary the Virgin, Stoke Abbott.

Wedding flowers at the porch, St Mary the Virgin, Stoke Abbott.

The 12th-century font, St Mary the Virgin, Stoke Abbott.

Wedding flowers and the simple lectern, St Mary the Virgin, Stoke Abbott. The flowers included agapanthus and Mollucella laevis (Bells of Ireland).

Notice in the porch, St Mary the Virgin, Stoke Abbott.

The sadly sheep-free graveyard, set in the most beautiful countryside, St Mary the Virgin, Stoke Abbott.

A lovely thatched house near the church in Stoke Abbott.

When we got back to the car a family (grandparents and wee granddaughter, we guessed) were filling up a car boot-load with numerous bottles and containers of the spring water, so I assume it’s safe to drink.

After a fruitless search for the cottage in Ryall where my family had spent several summer holidays in the late 60s (Mr and Mrs Kinchin’s B&B), we headed for the sea at nearby Charmouth. The weather was wild and windy, and we had a chuckle over the couple braving it out with their windbreak and deck chairs. We watched a kestrel quartering the top of the landslip cliffs, searched in vain for fossils, walked a short way up the beach and then decided to head home, via Bridport, Dorchester and Shaftesbury. We are so lucky to live in such a beautiful part of the world.

A blustery afternoon at Charmouth.

No-one in the water, unsuprisingly.

The well-named Golden Cap on the right.

Sunday stroll: Larmer Tree Gardens

Aug17

Yesterday we headed out to visit the Larmer Tree Gardens, near Tollard Royal in south Wiltshire. These beautiful Victorian gardens have the distinction of being the first privately owned gardens in the UK that were opened for the enjoyment of the general public.

The Larmer Tree Gardens: the Temple on the left and the General’s Room on the right.

The gardens are on the Rushmore Estate, which is in the ownership of the Pitt Rivers family. In 1880 Augustus Pitt Rivers inherited the estate, and started work almost immediately on the gardens, the development of which continued over the entire 20 years that the gardens were open.

Bust of Augusts Pitt Rivers in the Temple at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

Bust of Augustus Pitt Rivers in the Temple at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

The gardens became a massive attraction, at one point entertaining 44,000 visitors a year. Thomas Hardy visited, and even wrote a poem celebrating an evening spent there. The gardens closed with the death of Pitt Rivers in 1900, and gradually fell into disrepair.

The Lower Indian Room (left) and the Singing Theatre (right) at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

The central lawn area is surrounded by various structures and buildings; others are set further back in the gardens, linked to the central lawn by wide grass paths flanked by cherry laurel hedges. These hedges also enclose several small picnicking areas, all part of Pitt Rivers’ design to allow the maximum enjoyment of the gardens by his estate workers and the general public. Around the edges of the garden are woodland areas and a few herbaceous beds. However, it is the buildings around the lawn that characterise this extraordinary garden, though the free-roaming peacocks and macaws are pretty iconic too.

Free-roaming peacock at the Larmer Tree Gardens. In the background are the Singing Theatre (left) and the Lodge (right).

By the entrance gate at the southern edge of the gardens is the Lodge, which now houses the cafe and a private residence. Next to this around the lawn is the magnificent Singing Theatre, with its wooden structure and painted backdrop. The paintwork is peeling and faded, and mercifully the theatre hasn’t been restored from its gently and elegantly ageing state.

The Singing Theatre at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

The Funeral of Phocion by Nicolas Poussin (1648), the painting on which the Singing Theatre painted backdrop is based.

Detail of the painted backdrop: you can clearly see the curved boards onto which the painting has been made.

Detail of the painted backdrop: you can clearly see the boards onto which the painting has been made.

Detail of the painted backdrop. There are three doors hidden in the painting: one at the back and one at either side.

Next is the Lower Indian Room, and then the General’s Room. Both of these are traditional Indian buildings transposed to a bucolic English setting.

The Lower Indian Room at the Larmer Tree Gardens, with peahen resting on the front verandah.

The General’s Room at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

Detail of an intricately carved window of the General’s Room at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

The final building around the lawn is the Temple, a beautiful small stone building in the Palladian style. It has a fireplace and a beautiful floor (including a maze mosaic) and decorative ceiling, and I can so easily picture Augustus sitting there with his pipe, reading a tome or working on his archaeological notes.

The Temple at the Larmer Tree Gardens. The reddish hue on some of the stonework is due to lichen.

The white marble fireplace in the temple at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

The maze mosaic in the floor of the Temple at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

Domed stone ceiling with carved sun-ray motif in the Temple at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

A steep flight of steps lead down from the Temple to a series of ornamental ponds with small waterfalls, with a small grotto complete with statue of Neptune complete with trident.

The Temple at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

View of the Temple across the ornamental ponds at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

Neptune in his flint nodule-lined grotto at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

Further behind the central lawn are two small thatched wooden shelters, Band View and Stag’s Arbour, and the corrugated iron-clad Jubilee Hall, built to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the reign of Queen Victoria.

Following Augustus Pitt Rivers’ death, the gardens were neglected, with the cherry laurels gradually taking over and swamping the carefully-maintained paths and small picnic gardens, and the buildings slowly falling into disrepair, with some rotting away all together: the octagonal base of the bandstand is still visible by the lawn, and another building base on the opposite side near the Singing Theatre. The restoration was started in 1991, and the gardens reopened in 1995.

The gardens have a wonderful atmosphere. There are deck chairs available for visitors’ use, as well as a croquet set, apparently. Peacocks roam freely throughout the gardens: the lady in the cafe told us that one of the peahens had two chicks, but we didn’t spot them. The males have lost their glorious tail feathers in their annual moult, but were still very spectacular.

A canny peacock lurking at the cafe garden at the Larmer Tree Gardens. Lovely bark on the Acer griseum tree in the foreground.

My haul of shed peacock feathers.

And we loved seeing the pair of macaws sitting in an ash tree: such an unexpected sight for an English country garden!

Macaws in an ash tree at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

They are totally free to come and go as they please, and apparently are often seen at the nearby Rushmore Golf Course.

An extra treat for children (and the young at heart) visiting the gardens are the eleven fairy doors hidden in the base of trees the gardens. We found three:

Peacock fairy door at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

Peacock fairy door at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

Scottish fairy door in a Western Red Cedar at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

Red fairy door in a yew tree at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

Luckily there’s a fairy door trail leaflet to help you find them all.

A little way away from the gardens is a massive and very strange Indian-style folly. We walked over to it: it is in the middle of a field, surrounded by quite a deep ditch, and there is a ride cut through the trees to allow a vista of the folly from King John’s House in Tollard Royal. Pitt Rivers owned King John’s House, a 13th century manor house.

The Indian-style folly near the Larmer Tree Gardens.

The gardens are open at a small charge (currently £4 for an adult). Unsurprisingly they are a favourite venue for weddings, and there are also a couple of festivals held there each year (the Larmer Tree Festival and the End of the Road Festival). Consequently there are often times when the gardens are closed: I have driven to it quite a few times now only to be disappointed. Needless to say it’s highly recommended to check opening days and times online first!

I always think of the gardens being in Dorset rather than Wiltshire, possibly because Pitt Rivers is so inextricably linked with his groundbreaking archaeological work in Cranborne Chase in Dorset; looking at the 1:25,000 OS map of the area I see that the county boundary between Wiltshire and Dorset actually runs along the southern edge of the gardens. Unusual to park our car in Dorset to visit a garden in Wiltshire!

Timeline of the development of the garden buildings:

* 1880 The Temple

* 1881 The Lodge

* 1882 Stag’s Arbour

* 1886 Band View

* 1895 The Singing Theatre; The Larmer Tree studio attached to the Lodge

* 1896 Jubilee Hall

* 1897 Lower Indian Room

* 1899 The General’s Room

Can't resist it: I'm not a grily girl by any strecth of the imagination (I wear a dress about twice a year), but look at this gorgeous dress on a bride at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

Can’t resist it: I’m not a girly girl by any stretch of the imagination (I wear a dress about once a year), but look at this gorgeous gown on a bride at the Larmer Tree Gardens.

Larmer Tree Gardens website.

Sunday stroll: Fontmell Down

Jun22

Yesterday Chap and I headed off to the main part of Fontmell Down Nature Reserve, which is run by Dorset Wildlife Trust and situated about 5 km south of Shaftesbury in Dorset. Fontmell Down is a spur of chalk downland jutting out above the Blackmore Vale. The spur is bisected by two cross dykes, landscape features that are likely to date from the Middle Bronze Age. We visit this reserve often, but it is at its beautiful best this time of the year, we reckon. Click on all photos to embigggen/bigify.

The spur of Fontmell Down, part of the chalk downland above the Blackmore Vale in Dorset. The northern cross dyke is clearly visible, just in front of the woodland on the spur. The southern one is obscured by the wood.

The orchids are out and within a few minutes of being on the reserve we’d seen five different species: bee, common spotted, fragrant, pyramidal and the greater butterfly orchid.

Fragrant orchid (Gymnadenia conopsea).

Greater butterfly orchid (Platanthera chlorantha).

Common spotted orchid (Dactylorhiza fuchsii).

Viper’s bugloss (Echium vulgare) is such a pretty flower. It is a glorious blue, and beloved of moths and butterflies and bees. It doesn’t grow very high on the thin soil of the chalk downland, but I have seen it growing up to about 80 cm tall.

Viper’s bugloss (Echium vulgare).

We also saw milkworts (Polygala sp.) in pink and in blue, and the wonderfully vibrant flowers of birdsfoot trefoil (Lotus corniculatus). We always called this ‘the eggs and bacon plant’ when we were kids, for obvious reasons!

Birdsfoot trefoil (Lotus corniculatus).

There were also the enormous seedheads of goatsbeard (Tragopogon pratensis), like dandelion clocks on steroids. Goatsbeard flowers only open on sunny mornings, so the flower gained the charming folk name of Jack-go-to-bed-at-noon.

Goatsbeard (Tragopogon pratensis).

It was a rather blustery day, so we didn’t see too many butterflies, but we did see some fritillaries and a rather tatty painted lady (Vanessa cardui), as well as various blues and skippers.

A fritillary. I’m not very good on butterflies, but think this might be a dark green fritillary (Argynnis aglaja).

We also saw this chap – isn’t he wonderful? No idea what he is.

Mystery beetle with the most dashing striped antennae.

The beautiful down has a deep coombe on its southern side, Longcombe Bottom, with ravens flying over, cronking their atmospheric calls

Longcombe Bottom.

and there are stunning views to the south-west across the Blackmore Vale:

View looking south-east into Blackmore Vale, with the village of Fontmell Magna in the foreground of the vale.

We also walked on down to a chalk pit hollow nearby, where there was the best show of orchids. Just common spotted and pyramidal, but so beautiful.

The orchids in the chalk pit hollow: pyramidal orchids (Anacamptis pyramidalis) and common spotted orchids (Dactylorhiza fuchsii). Definitely click on this one to embiggen/bigify – it’s worth it, I promise!

A water pipeline has recently been built across the reserve, and it was interesting to see the different flowers that have popped up in the disturbed area: lots of oilseed rape and common poppies and thistles, whereas the undisturbed land was mainly cow parsley and nettles.

The different flora marks the recent pipeline disturbance.

The northern cross dyke had more orchids than on the other parts of the down, because the ditch provides a sheltered microclimate.

Looking north-westwards down the northern cross dyke, with Melbury Hill in the background.

A beautiful thistle. Not sure which kind, but what a gorgeous colour.

A beautiful thistle on Fontmell Down Nature Reserve.

Sunday stroll: Tyneham and Worbarrow Bay

May25

Yesterday Chap and I headed south, to Tyneham and Worbarrow Bay in the Purbeck Hills of Dorset.

Tyneham has a fascinating and rather sad history. For centuries it was a small, isolated village near the Dorset coast, its inhabitants subsisting mainly by agriculture and fishing. In 1943, the Army took over the area for training and preparations for the D-Day invasions, and this required the evacuation of the 225 inhabitants of Tyneham. They were given just 28 days’ notice. The villagers left, believing they would return after the war, but 72 years on they have not been allowed back to Tyneham, nor are they ever likely to be. The area is still used as an Army Firing Range, and access is limited.

The road down into Tyneham.

We have previously visited Imber, a similar deserted village on the Salisbury Plain Training Area, where the houses are closed up but well preserved. Tyneham is very different. All the buildings apart from the church and the school house are dilapidated, with roofs missing, no floors, no windows and generally in a really ruinous state: the once-beautiful family homes are now just shells.

The approach to the village. Army ‘keep out’ sign to the right of the road.

Row of four cottages. The village has been 'prettified' for the visitors: the pavement and kerbing postdate the village's abandonment.

Row of four cottages, and an old phone box. The village has been ‘prettified’ for the visitors: the pavement and kerbing postdate the village’s abandonment.

Fireplaces inside one of the cottages.

Another ruined cottage. The tie bars are holding the walls upright – without the roof they have started to spread quite markedly.

The Rectory.

Noticeboard at the Rectory. The photo shows that it was once a beautiful Georgian building.

A picturesuw ruin now. Since the village's abandonment, trees have grown where would once have been beautifully-tended gardens.

A picturesque ruin now. Since the village’s abandonment, trees have grown where would once have been beautifully-tended gardens.

It really brings it home to you on a visit to Tyneham how much a community is about the place as well as the people. And when the people were moved away from the place they loved, and settled in different locations, their community died.

The last villagers to leave pinned a poignant note to the door of the church:

Sadly the houses were not treated with care. I don’t know whether Tyneham itself was used for target practice, as were and are the surrounding hills, or quite how they came to be so ruinous in such a short period. Certainly the Army is trying to keep them from further decay, but in general their repairs are very unsympathetic to the fabric of the old buildings, with hard Portland cement being used rather than lime mortar, and infills and repairs made with engineering bricks and cement. I know the Army is not a conservation body, but it is so sad to see the buildings as they are.

View on the way down to Worbarrow Bay.

Worbarrow Bay. Lots of landslips round here.

Thrift or Sea pink (Armeria maritima).

Bulbarrow Tout, and a party of kayakers who pulled up on the beach.

Worbarrow Tout, and a party of kayakers who pulled up on the beach.

May blossom. The hawthorn flowers certainly look nicer than they smell! (Crataegus monogyna).

A pretty small area of meadow planted at Tyneham Farm barn.

Another abandoned farm on the way out of Tyneham.

We drove past this on our (circuitous) way home: the Osmington White Horse, a hill figure created in 1808, and 85 m (280 feet) long and 98 m (323 feet) high.

Tyneham and Worbarrow Bay are open to visitors at certain times: check the visitors page on the Tyneham PC website for details.

Sunday stroll: Cold Kitchen Hill

Jan11

It was a chilly and blustery day today, and we went on a lunchtime walk up on Cold Kitchen Hill, which rises above the Deverills in southern Wiltshire. The Deverills are a set of villages in the Deverill River valley which wends its way between between chalk downs, and there are five of them: Longbridge Deverill, Hill Deverill, Brixton Deverill, Monkton Deverill, and Kingston Deverill. We parked by Kingston Deverill Church, where we saw our first flowering snowdrops of the season in the churchyard.

Scattered snowdrops in the strangely headstone-free churchyard of Kingston Deverill church.

Spring is definitely on its way—the birds are twittering and the buds are fattening. The cow parsley is starting to grow—it always strikes me how early in the season it gets going, but then again it has to be at full height and flowering by late April, so that’s not such a surprise really, I suppose. A raven cronked overhead as we walked away from the church.

As we walked along the road two racehorses were being unloaded from a horsebox and were ridden off. We followed the road to one of the many footpaths and bridleways that cross the hill, meeting the racehorses and their riders. Later, as we climbed the grassy slope, we could see them being ridden at a fair lick over the hill in the distance.

Looking south towards Kingston Deverill.

Looking south from the lower slopes of Cold Kitchen Hill, towards Kingston Deverill.

Looking eastwards from the lower slopes of Cold Kitchen Hill, looking up the valley towards Monkton Deverill.

From the same spot, looking eastwards up the valley towards Monkton Deverill.

A lovely flock of fieldfare, maybe fifty or so, flew over us, and reminded us of our lone visitor (he was still there this morning patrolling the lost garden—I check every day to see if he is still with us). We met a lady, flushed of face and runny of nose, with two serious looking walking sticks, and we stopped and had a natter. She hadn’t seen the fieldfare or the raven but introduced us to a wonderful new term—crookdaws—for flocks of indeterminate black corvids/mixtures of crows, rooks and jackdaws.

Lovely chalk downland from Cold Kitchen Hill.

Then onwards and upwards. We startled a hare and it hared off, making a wide circle around us. We wandered over to the trig point on the summit (a mighty 257 metres above sea level). The trig points are built on high points around the country by the Ordnance Survey, the veritable surveying and mapping agency for the UK. The trig point (or trigonometry point, to give it its proper name) is a concrete obelisk with a flat upper surface, into which are set the fittings to accommodate the base of a theodolite.

The top of the trig point, showing attachment fittings for a theodolite. In the blurry middle distance is the beacon, a metal basket atop a high pole.

On the site of the trig point is a bench mark, the height of the top of the horizontal line of which is established in metres above sea level (m ASL). They are invaluable not only for map makers, but for archaeologists and architects and builders and surveyors—in fact, anyone who needs to know the absolute height of where they are. In our archaeologising days Chap and I frequently had to go hunting for bench marks. Their location is marked on OS 1:2,500 maps, along with their value in m ASL, and they are usually on buildings like churches or other structures that are assumed likely always to be there, and unlikely to be demolished.

The bench mark on the trig point on Cold Kitchen Hill.

Anyhow, one of the basic features of a bench mark that it has to be level and unlikely to move, as of course this will alter its height and thus make any readings taken from it inaccurate. So we were somewhat amused by the appearance of the one on Cold Kitchen Hill. The ground at one side has been poached out into a hollow, presumably by cattle or sheep trampling there and resting against it, and so the whole thing leans at a drunken angle, making both the theodolite base and the bench mark, both of which need to be level to be of any use, rather useless.

Chap and the drunken trig point on Cold Kitchen Hill.

In the distance we could see the beacon which had held the ceremonial bonfires that were last lit across the country in 2012 to celebrate the queen’s diamond jubilee, a rekindled (sorry, couldn’t help it) tradition that harks back to the days when the fastest method of transport was by horse, and so lighting fires in beacons on prominent hills was a far quicker way of relaying a message. Beacon Hill is a very common hill name in the UK, for just this reason. Beyond that, on the horizon, is Alfred’s Tower, a fantastic folly near Stourhead. In another direction we could see Duncliffe Hill and the escarpment on which Shaftesbury sits. And to the north-east was Salisbury Plain. Gliders were flying from the nearby Bath, Wilts and North Dorset Gliding Club.

Beautiful skyscape, looking north from Cold Kitchen Hill towards Salisbury Plain.

Beautiful skyscape, looking NNE from Cold Kitchen Hill towards Warminster.

It was very windy and pretty cold—the kind of keen wind that makes your mandibles/ears ache, for some reason, so we headed back down the hill. We scared a lark from its roost in the grass, but it settled nearby very quickly. On the way we noticed an abandoned ranging rod in the fenceline by the Mid Wilts Way, the sort we have used many times on archaeological sites, for surveying and to serve as 2 metre scales in photographs. I assume it was left by a surveyor, possibly an archaeologist, and forgotten. It was a wooden one, which dates it—most are metal and come in two parts these days.

The abandoned ranging rod. Note the bottom hinge on the gate made of the farmer’s best friend, baler twine.

When we got back to the car we decided to have a look around the church—but that’s for another post, I think.

Sunday stroll: Cherhill

Sep29

Yesterday Chap and I headed north—most unusual for us (our hearts are in the south and west, and best of all the south-west). We visited the beautiful town of Malmesbury with its glorious abbey, founded in 675 AD, and then went on to Cherhill, a chalk downland hill near Calne. You can’t miss Cherhill: atop it sits the Lansdowne Monument, a 38 m (125 feet) high obelisk, and carved into the side of the hill is the famous Cherhill White Horse, one of several in the region. Cherhill is in the ownership of the National Trust, and is managed as part of the Avebury Estate.

Cherhill. Photo by MacFodder.

Cherhill packs in an awful lot of history into its not-so-great size. On top of the hill sits the two thousand year old plus Iron Age hillfort of Oldbury. The massive earthworks enclose an area of 10.1 hectares (25 acres). The northern part of the fort has no bank and ditch as the steep slope of the side of the downland provides natural defence.

Aerial photo of Oldbury. The Lansdowne Monumnet is visible within the north-western part of the Iron Age hillfort. Photo by Google.

Aerial photo of Oldbury. The Lansdowne Monument is visible within the north-western part of the Iron Age hillfort. The White Horse is just out of shot at the top of the image area. Photo by Google.

The earthworks of the Iron Age hillfort.

The entrance to the interior of the hillfort through the earthworks, in the south-east part of the hillfort.

The entrance to the interior of the hillfort through the earthworks, in the east part of the hillfort.

On the north-facing slopes of the downland, and clearly visible from the A4, an old coaching road, is the Cherhill White Horse. This was constructed in 1780, the brainchild of Dr Christopher Alsop of Calne. Alsop was known as ‘The Mad Doctor’, and is reputed to have instructed the workers by shouting through a megaphone from the wonderfully-named Labour-in-Vain Hill. The horse was originally 50 m by 67 m (165 feet by 220 feet).

The construction method for a white horse is very simple—the thin turf and soil is removed from the underlying chalk bedrock. When first exposed, the chalk is a brilliant white, and so contrasts well with the surrounding turf. However, the chalk soon weathers, turning a greyish colour, sometimes a greeny-grey if algae grows on it, and weeds take hold. For this reason, hill-cut chalk figures (of which there are a good number in southern England) have to be regularly re-scoured or re-dressed with fresh chalk. As far as I can make out, it was last re-dressed in 2002.

View of a rather grubby looking Cherhill White Horse from just below the Lansdowne Monument.

Close to, it is so large that you can barely make it out as a horse. Needs a good clean!

Close to, it is so large and becomes so abstract that you can barely make it out as a horse. Needs a good clean!

Here it is in brighter days. Photo by Dan Gabor.

The Lansdowne Monument was designed by Sir Charles Barry (he of the Houses of Parliament), and built in 1845 by Henry Petty-Fitzmaurice, the 3rd Marquess of Lansdowne in memory of his ancestor Sir William Petty (1623-1687). Sir William was an economist, scientist and philosopher, and held the position of Surveyor General of Ireland in the 1660s. The Monument is 38 metres (125 feet) high, and is a Grade II* listed building.

The Lansdowne Monument. Photo by Lisa Hillier in 2002.

The Monument is currently boarded up at its base for public safety: the Bath Stone quoins have been eroding away in the bad winter weather and large fragments of rock have dropped from it.

Slightly skewiff photo, but it shows the boarding at the base well.

Close to the Lansdowne Monument.

A sad sign of the times: on the boarding was a notice by the National Trust saying it is not known when funding will be available to repair the Monument.

Even though it was an overcast day, the views from the hill to the north are wonderful.

Sunday stroll: south-western Wiltshire

Aug18

Chap and I did a short (c. 2 mile) circuit around our village yesterday lunchtime. We went through the village allotments, and saw a clouded yellow butterfly (Colias croceus) in the wildflower/conservation area there, the first we have seen this year, as well as a beautiful bright green beetle on some mint (the imaginatively named mint leaf beetle).

Mint leaf beetle, Chrysolina herbacea.

We startled a small flock of starlings out of a dense thicket of blackberries in the conservation area. I assume they were feeding there as 1 pm seems a bit early to roost!

Out of the village there is the Ox Drove, an old drovers’ road that is a haven for butterflies and other insects. (It was here, many years ago, we saw our first and so-far only glow worm (Lampyris noctiluca) on a summer’s evening).

The Ox Drove.

Here there were butterflies aplenty: we saw a brimstone, plenty of small whites, small tortoiseshells, speckled woods, peacocks, red admirals and some rather tatty holly blues.

Speckled wood butterfly (Pararge aegeria).

Holly blue butterfly (Celastrina argiolus).

We also saw a southern hawker dragonfly (Aeshna cyanea) to which I was able to get very close to photograph. I love their folk name of ‘Devil’s knitting needles’, even though there is nothing devilish about them (their larvae however are another matter when it comes to the stuff of nightmares …).

Southern hawker dragonfly (Aeshna cyanea).

The berries and fruits are splendid this year. The elderberries are positively dripping off the trees, the haws are colouring up, wayfarers and guelder roses have their bright red berries, there are loads of blackberries and best of all a pretty good sloe crop—not the best there’s ever been, but enough to pick a load for sloe gin and sloe vodka without damaging the birds’ winter larder.

Elderberries (Sambucus nigra).

Haws ripening on a hawthorn bush (Crataegus monogyna).

Wayfarer berries (Viburnum lantana).

Sloes (Prunus spinosa).

We walked through lovely countryside of low rolling chalk downland. Our part of south-western Wiltshire is given mostly to arable farming, often in very large fields (often made out of several smaller ones by ripping out the ancient hedgerows, sadly). Most of the crops have been harvested, but nearer to home there were still a couple of fields of wheat, barley and flax waiting to be brought in.

Chap doing his Maximus Decimus Meridius impression in a barley field on the way home.

Sunday stroll: Fonthill Lake

May25

Chap (my better half) and I went for a walk this afternoon around Fonthill Lake, in south Wiltshire, near the small village of Fonthill Bishop. Here the eccentric and phenomenally rich William Beckford (1760—1844) built his famous (or perhaps that should be infamous) Fonthill Abbey—while it still stood one of the great tourist attractions of the country. Construction on the Abbey, which despite its name was never a religious house, was started in 1796 and after its 300-foot high tower fell for the third time in 1825, the Abbey was demolished. The Fonthill Estate is now owned by Lord Margadale.

Fonthill Abbey, before it fell down. A modest little pile, wasn’t it?

As well as building the Abbey, Beckford landscaped the estate grounds. He dammed a small stream to form the long, sinuous Fonthill Lake, and built an impressive gateway into his estate on the Fonthill Bishop to Hindon road. He scattered grottoes and statuary around the estate. Money was no object.

We parked up near the village cricket ground, where a match was in progress. Neither Chap nor I follow cricket so we had no idea what was going on. It looked very picturesque though.

Sunday cricket match at Fonthill Bishop.

We walked past sheep and lambs grazing on the lush green pastures to the gateway with its fabulous green men keystones—talk about making an entrance!

Fonthill Estate gateway near Fonthill Bishop

Green men on both sides of the two archway keystones.

View from the other side. They look a bit grumpy, don’t they?

The lake might look familiar—all the river scenes in the Johnny Depp and Juliette Binoche film Chocolat were filmed here.

Fonthill Lake.

The estate parkland is beautifully planted, with some wonderful mature trees, including pink-flowered horse chestnuts. I love this time of year—the green of the grass is almost unreal it’s so zingy. May is definitely my favourite month.

Parkland in Fonthill Estate.

The may blossom (hawthorn) is just starting to go over, and the cow parsley is too—together they make such a beautiful white froth of blossom.

Cow parsley (Anthriscus sylvestris).

Looking northwards up the lake.

At the head of the lake by the dam is a hydropower unit installed in 2011 that generates enough electricity from the dam outflow to power 11 typical houses. Yay for green power!

Beyond the dam once stood a massive woollen mill, long-since demolished.

Where the little building is now, in 1820 stood a 105-foot long, six storey woollen mill, powered by three water wheels and employing 200 people. It wasn’t a financial success and so was removed in 1830 by the new owner (Beckford had sold up by then) to restore the aesthetics of the lake.

Yellow flag iris (Iris pseudacorus)

Pretty yellow flag irises grow around the lake edge.

On the way back we saw a fresh, newly-hatched lacewing fluttering about, and it settled on Chap for a bit. They have the most beautiful coppery coloured eyes.

Lacewing (Chrysoperla carnea) on Chap’s finger. (For the benefit of readers of a nervous disposition, I’ve cropped out his hairy knuckles!)

We stopped to investigate one of the grottoes—this one was built out of tufa blocks and had the most massive ivy plant (more like a tree, really) growing atop it. Someone had been having a fun evening there: there were the remains of a bonfire and an empty glass perched on the grotto (bonus points if you can spot it!)

One of the many grottoes at Fonthill Estate. This is a wee one compared to most of them!

As we walked back to the car the cricket match was finishing to the sound of clapping—and then tea and cakes in the pavilion, no doubt.

Inglenookery

West Country witterings