Cotehele with company

Saturday was sunny and warm - hurrah! We actually put on shorts, and left our coats and even our jumpers at home! Back to Metherell with the family. It's different with children, holding hands over roads, getting dandelion clocks blown all over the place, hearing cries of disbelief at a huge pile of cow manure in a field...

So here are some pictures of Wayne and the children: in a field, on a bridge, near a waterfall, near a stream... This time we went up to Cotehele Mill, a National trust building. (Here we are in front of it, using the automatic shot). It wasn't open until 11 am however, and it was still half past ten so we wandered on to the quay.

Here we all are near the reconstructed sail boat. Time for a nice Cornish ice-cream before going up to Cotehele House, we thought, but we had to wait a few minutes until the kiosk, too, opened at 11. I guess everyone except keen Aussies sleep in on Saturday.

Here is Eleanor next to the especially abundant bluebells before getting to the historic home. Eleanor now became our guide, as she had come here as part of her Tudor studies. (The class all were dressed in appropriate gear when they got there, too - I wish I had a photo of them.) We entered through a garden gate, and walked past beautiful rhododendrons and a pigeon house before coming up to the manor.
So, here we are in front of the manor, the camera in a tree...

The great hall was full of weaponry. Here is some. And that suit of armour is NOT balancing some antlers on his sword, while standing on a bucket. (Wayne took the photo). There were about 8 different sets of horns, with or without stuffed head attached, also around the room. I liked the curved wooden insets on the ceiling.

What was most remarkable about the whole house was all the tapestries on the walls. They were there instead of wallpaper... there were even cuts through them for doors. You had to lift up a tapestry to get to the private chapel.

Anyway, we duly trooped through all the rooms. The children had another spot-the-bit-of-furniture-or-art card to keep them amused. And here we all are in the quadrangle, plus wisteria. (The camera was on a step.)

Off we went through the woods again. Here is Jack in a part thick with bluebells. It was uphill now, and the troops were tiring. Nevertheless, we got back to town without too many complaints. Here we are near those strange stuffed dolls I wrote about last time. And, here we are enjoying a well-earned drink at the inn we parked at, at the end of our endeavours. Cheers!

How I learnt to love Metherell

Friday, May 21. The sun was out for the first time in days, the house was already clean and tonight's meal was sorted. Time to go out! And it was WARM! I just had a t-shirt and jeans. The jacket was left in the car. For the first time, I began to think about summer.

With some trepidation, I took the pub walks book out again. It promised a lovely walk through fields, woods and near the Tamar river, starting in Metherell. Australian teachers of a certain age have a Pavlovian response to the name 'Metherell'- (not drooling with appetite) -after a certain bureaucratic unpleasantness in the early '90's. That, and my unpleasant experience with the book's directions in Blisland, made me approach the place with caution.

Well, my fears were groundless. For one, it was a glorious drive, including both high fields and beautiful over-arching trees thick with green growth. Metherell was delightful, pretty and unusual, all corners and crannies. There were life sized cloth dolls on some walls and window sills, for some reason. (A horse-riding girl, a policeman, and a soccer-playing boy.) I had walked only a few steps before someone in a car stopped and asked directions of me - again! I was wearing hiking boots and carrying a guide book!

The air was warm and full of flowery smells. Did I detect a hint of privet? I'll be sneezing in seconds, I thought, but somehow I wasn't. It must be Australian grasses that set me off - I'm usually a red-eyed mess in late spring. Off through a field, where you could almost see the grass growing. Dandelion clocks reached as high as my knees. Over two stiles, and a deep narrow lane springy with mulch. A rich, vigorous smell... then the most glorious wood. This was no plantation, although the path was very much tended. I saw my first huge oak tree, its leaves still just coming out. A historic mill stood over the water in a clearing - I will come back with my National Trust card. And there were bluebells!


This photo's with the automatic timer. You can't see the flowers so well. Another walker kindly took this next one.

The woods came out to the river Tamar opening if front of me. So beautiful! Definitely a place to retrun to with the children. There was a replica boat at the quay, unfortunately in the wrong light for a photo. Beautiful stone buildings everywhere... Cothele House, another National Trust place, was on my right. Tomorrow!

On I went, and the flowers were thicker and more beautiful. Here is a close-up, but it doesn't do them justice. I walked by an old chapel, built by a grateful knight on the spot where he successfully hid from the wrathful agents of Richard 3rd. Then there was a high spot overlooking fields, river and town below. Everything was just glorious!

The last leg of the trip went past old mine buildings, some converted into houses now. One was very odd, because it left quite a lot of outer buildings in ruins while the central three-story towering building had all modern, arched windows and straight steps. It looked very austere. There weren't even flowers among the broken walls. I wondered if it was some sort of comment on the fleeting nature of man's works, or something. The very lush woods all around softened it, but it must look a bit grim in winter.

More lovely fields, then back to the winding streets. I couldn't have asked for a better morning.

St Neot

Monday, May 17. Everyone else was at school, I went in search of bluebells again. The checkout operator in Morrisons at the weekend said that there were plenty on the road to St. Neot. I knew that was down near Trago Mills, so I got a shopping list together and set off.

Well, I did see bluebells up a slope to my right as I approached the town. However, there was nowhere to stop and have a good look at them. These Cornish roads do not have road shoulders, and the small ones that lead to villages are often only wide enough for one car.

St Neot itself was a very bright and trim village. Lots of well-tended gardens, and all- it seems they won village of the decade or some such a couple of years back. There was a beautiful parish church dominating the landscape, as they so often do around here. I saw a priest in full fig - black frock down to his toes - scurry off somewhere. Anyway, I had a wander around the town. I found this statue of St Neot in a community gardens... some story of his having a pond with fish in it that would never run out as long as he only got one a day.

I struck out along a path near a stream for a bit, looking for bluebells. There weren't any, but there was this lovely red-leaved tree. I had another go of the automatic camera - here's me on the shady path.

I was a bit unnerved on the way back. My way lay along a farm track, and there was a sheepdog lying on a wall with his head on his paws, looking intently at me. The road ran straight up to him.

I couldn't walk up to him! Too confrontational. I veered off into a field near the stream, which was quite boggy, and had to do a bit of tricky climbing along a brambly fence over running water to cut the corner. Curse my dog nerves! I'm all right if they are just ambling along on a walk, but when they are on their own territory I daren't go near them.

Back to the car and the shops without incident after that.

Cardinham Woods

On Thursday I thought I would go in search of a bluebell wood. The internet suggested Cardinham Woods near Bodmin as a likely contender. So into the trusty Rover and off I went.

It wasn't exactly the wilderness. There was a large carpark, that I had to pay for, a cafe and a toilet block. There was also a rack on which to leave mountain bikes. (Lots of mountain bikes did indeed turn up, but they didn't use the track that I used.)

No bluebells near the car park. I set off on a 4 1/2 k track that looked pleasant. It started off very shady and dark, under pines near a stream. A spaniel that had slipped its leash came bounding down. Soon after, a man with SIX dogs wandered by. Then someone with two. Quite a long way up the hill, three large dogs bounced around me, soon joined by their puffing and apologetic owner. It seems Cardinham Woods is dogwalkers' central for the good people of Bodmin. In fact, every other person I encountered had at least one dog with them, except for the group of disabled people I saw on a picnic near the car park. Park visitors are generally different from the sort of people who go walking along the coastal paths, I decided.

I walked along, looking closely at the vegetation. Lots of pines... in suspiciously straight lines, although pleasant and shady and all that. It wasn't until I was about three quarters of the way around the walk that I noticed any bluebells, up the hill under some deciduous trees. They weren't in full flower, but I pulled the camera out anyway. Alas, the battery had run down. Never mind, I will take the family out to see bluebells soon, and get pictures then. (This picture of the park is from the internet.)

I had a cup of coffee at the cafe, then went for a gentler walk up and down the stream. Such a green and wet country! I hope I don't start taking rushing streams for granted. I mused that in a country where so many buildings and standing stones and stiles are so old, the trees are so new. I looked up 'Old Growth Forests' on the net, and found out a few things. The English call them 'Ancient Woodlands', for one thing. Then, they are pretty generous in their definitions. If there has always been a wood around the area, it is counted as Ancient Woodland; even if it has been coppiced and thinned and grazed around and replaced. Also, old trees are so rare, that if you think you know about one, there are websites and people to record it with.

England is a garden, I thought, with a few exceptions around the moors and coasts. Anyway, it was a very pleasant morning out.

Singing at St Germans

This weekend, The East Cornwall Bach Choir was singing at St Germans. I had had to audition to get into this choir, and it was a very near thing I think, as my sight reading skills are not as strong as they could be. However, in I was, and we had been rehearsing since February for this music festival.

We sang at the 12th century church in St Germans that we had visited earlier, with the enormous door. There was a rehearsal there on Wednesday, to get the feel of the place. The acoustics were fine, but the temperature was sub-zero - or so it seemed. It took me hours to get the chill out of my bones when I got home!

So, Friday we were singing the Brahms Requiem. Fellow choristers Richard and Jacqui, who live in the same group of farm cottages as we do, picked me up as usual. We had a rehearsal at 3, followed by the performance at 7:30. It was a bit of a damp afternoon, but the hedges were bright with flowers on the way. The bluebells are out, now. We drove through the village, and then into the Eliot estate, ignoring all the 'please do not intrude' signs this time. We parked in a field near the Eliot mansion, which used to be the monastry attached to the church back in the 1100's. Here is a picture of it, with the children near it. (They came to listen on Saturday and Sunday.)

We finished the rehearsal a little after five. I went for a walk around the estate with Catherine, a fellow alto. It backs onto the river, and has some nice views. There were swathes of wild garlic. We found rhododendrons and azaleas around a corner- and then, very strangely, a sculpture of what seems to be a giant rat's head! (Wayne took this picture of the children near it on Sunday.) It did look out of place in these austere grounds.

It was still early, and too damp for me to sit down with my humble sandwich. My feet hurt in my 'dress' shoes, not meant for walking. All things considered, the pub was looking good! Several other choristers had gone there for a drink and a meal. I sampled the local ale, and surreptitiously ate my sandwich amongst the pub-fooders. I think the Eliot Arms did very well out of the choir, all things considered.

Back we went to sing the Brahms. For me it had been a challenging piece, being totally unfamiliar with German. However I managed to get through it with a minimum of lip-synching... I think it was well received. There were some soloists and a piano duet as well.

On Saturday we had our main meal at lunch. I went off to another afternoon rehearsal, but this time got a lift back to have a snack and drive in with the family. This time we were singing a selection of South American choir pieces, accompanied by some specialist instrumentalists. It was a lively selection, and I thought the children would enjoy it.

On my advice, they were rugged up to the teeth. They admired the port-a-loo, which was actually inside the large church. Someone said it looked like a Tardis. I hoped that the statues nearby would not suddenly get 'weeping angel' ideas from Doctor Who... A large portrait frowned down upon the scene in seeming disapproval.

It went well. Jack liked the drums and chanting bit.

One more day, in which some of the choir would join with other singers in the church for evensong. Wayne cooked up a roast beef of Old England for lunch, with all the trimmings. Yum! Well fed, I went off to yet another afternoon rehearsal. Wayne and the children came along at six .

The service was very lovely. Jack's music teacher from school was there, and came over to say hello. I think the children were most pleased that we got home in time for Doctor Who, though. A very full weekend.

Looe to Lansallos walk

The long weekend was over. We had all driven down to Wayne's school in Looe the evening before to drop in his school clothes to be ready for him after cycling in to school. However, Wayne's school keys could no longer get him past the alarms. (This school does not encourage teachers coming in after hours.) Foiled, we had a little look at the sea and a stroll around the rocks before driving home. Wayne would need the car in the morning after all.

Since the weather continued so fine, I got Wayne to drop me off in Looe the next morning so I could walk along the coastal path. I arranged for Wayne to pick me up in a village called Lansallos after school, and off I went. This time I had an ordnance map with me. It served me in good stead almost immediately after I had left Looe for the fields and cliffs beyond. I knew there was a celtic chapel site nearby, but the sign just vaguely pointed up an extremely steep hill with no path. Ha! The faithful map indicated a gentler climb to the northwest, and sure enough I soon came upon the site. It was very high up, with a good view over Looe Island straight ahead, and the town to the left. It was a shimmering, still day and the water was very blue. The priest must have felt very close to God here.

I had bought along a little tripod, clingy thing for the camera. Unfortunately, the sun and the slope made a photo of the chapel site impossible. Indeed, the lack of trees or fences made it hard to find somewhere to attach the camera. I did find a fence for this one though! Jumper and windcheater were already stuffed in my pack. It was supposed to be 14 degrees, but it was very warm walking. I suppose I could have broken out the shorts, but since there were a lot of stinging nettles and gorse bushes close to the path in many places, I was happy to stick to my jeans.

From Looe to Talland Bay I had the path to myself for these few miles. Talland Bay to Polperro was a different story. Wayne and I had walked along here before. It is only a little over a mile, and extremely beautiful. Quite a few people were walking along here, mostly the leisured retired. "Go ahead, you have youth on your side," said one lady. Ha! Not often I feel young nowadays!

Bluebells are out now, joining the mouse-ear and celandine and gorse that dominated the walk. There was also plenty of three-cornered leek, and a strong smell of garlic where someone had trimmed the verges. The gorse flowers smelt like coconut oil, but instead of that background tinge of sweat you associate with summer there was the lightest hint of honey. Lovely!

This time I stopped for a photo at the war memorial cross. I got a retired gent to take these photos, and then I did the honours for his walking party. We had a little chat. Further on another couple commented on the summer house someone had somehow built halfway up a cliff. A talkative lot of walkers today! Soon I was in pretty Polperro.

I pottered around the town a while before seeking out some lunch. I went into a place called something like 'The house on props', because indeed several large dark beams held up a portion of the place over a stream. I had to sit at a table over this bit, and hoped that it wouldn't all collapse. I had mussel chowder, piled high with many mussels in their shells. It took ages to winkle them all out and actually get to the soup. That, and home-made bread, was delicious.

Much refreshed, I headed off on the last stretch. A guide-book had said this bit was 'strenuous', and indeed it was down one steep slope and up another in several parts. What the book didn't say was 'dangerous'. The paths were narrow, and there were very steep drops down to the rocks and sea, with no fences. I was glad the children weren't here. (Jack seems to have about 3 left feet at the moment. Ugh.) My nastiest moment was when my right hand, outstretched for balance, brushed a gorse bush and got prickled badly at a very steep place. Thank goodness I not only kept my feet but kept my exclamations to a few sharp 'ouches' (there were some people right behind me). In between tricky stretches, I admired the field forget-me-nots.

Eventually I reached Lantivet Bay. I then headed inland to Lansallos. I had walked 13 kilometres, and the last kilometre stretch was all uphill. Groan! But it was very pretty, with trees arching overhead. These have finally got leaves, a lace mantle of light green. The path ended at an old church. I wasn't too sorry to have to sit on a bench for a while and wait for Wayne to come and pick me up.

Obby Oss at Padstow

Now is the month of Maying, when merry lads are playing! Fa la la la la!
Each with his bonny lass, a-dancing on the grass, fa la la la la!
The Spring, clad all in gladness, doth laugh at Winter's sadness! Fa la la la la!
And to the bagpipes’ sound, the nymphs tread out the ground! Fa la la la la!

Fie! Then why sit we musing, youth’s sweet delight refusing? Fa la la la la!
Say, dainty nymphs and speak! Shall we play barley break? Fa la la la la!

- Sir Thomas Morley

It is the 1st of May in Cornwall - May poles, fertility festivals, the return of Bel the sun God, spring in the air, ancient celebrations of being Cornish.

We travelled to Padstow for Obby Oss - one of the oldest and continuing pagan celebrations in Britain. Padstow is is a small and very pretty fishing village on the north coast of cornwall. These days it is famous for Rick Stein and his seafood restaurants. Thousands of people packed into Padstow for Obby Oss 2010 and it was a spectacular sight with the town draped in flags and streamers intertwined with greenery and flowers.

Nobody is too sure about the origins of the Obby Oss ritual. Obby Oss is dialect for Hobby Horse and dancing the Obby Oss is linked with fertility and new life (enough said). Originally there was one Oss (the red one - the Old Oss) and people used to drink a lot and dance the Oss with a traditional folk tune on accordion and drums. The Temperance Movement didn't like all the drinking so they created the Peace Oss (the blue one) as an alternative. In the end good old drinking won and now both Osses are danced through the streets of Padstow with much wassailing. The Osses are released from their stable (the Golden Lion Inn) an hour apart and people can choose whether they want to side with the Old Oss or the Peace Oss. Revellers dress in white with sashes appropriate to the colour of their chosen Oss. Where I say choose, it is more like that you follow the Oss that your family has been aligned to for the past 1000 years or so. Loyalties are well established but it is a wonderful celebration not a competition and all of it is very great fun.

We celebrated with the throng and managed to find a good spot to watch the Oss and the dancers go past. We smiled at the little toddler being carried on his Dad's shoulders. They were supporting the Blue Oss and the little boy had his white and blue costume on with the words 'Oss Oss Wee Oss' emblazoned on his jumper. We were priveleged to be in a spot where the hypnotic dancing and music paused and the revellers voices were raised as one in a May Day song which sounded like a lament followed by the lively tune of the May Day dance (mourningful death followed by the new life of spring). We followed the Oss with the crowd for a bit and then turned to the left to take a look at the beautiful harbour and town we were in. Lovely! Fishing boats and pleasure yachts in the small harbour. Little stone buildings and shops. We followed a path up and out of the town and along the river-estuary. The sun came out and it was quite warm and muggy (I mean it - it was!). The river sparkled and coastline stretched away in rolling hills. Massive grassy sand dunes were on the other side of the river. We sat on one of the many park benches overlooking the river for a while and enjoyed the sun and the view. Stef got a little sneezy with hayfever, a sure sign that spring is here.

Back into Padstow and we found a nice terrace cafe overlooking the river and the town. Here we had our first proper cream tea with clotted cream. Earl Grey tea (tea bag much to the disgust of us tea puritans) with two large scone halves smothered in strawberry jam and Cornish clotted cream. YUM! Can you believe that we have been here 4 months and this was our first proper cream tea? Can you believe we have been here 4 months? Where does the time go?

There was a plan to have fish and chips for lunch at Rick Stein's but we weren't very hungry after our scones and Padstow was just too crowded on this day. We walked back through the town and looked in at Rick Stein's restaurants just so we could say that we have. I'm sure we will get back to Padstow and surrounds another time as there are walks to be done and views to be seen in this part of Cornwall.