Category Archives: 2022

“If Only… If Only…”

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What is it in human nature that always makes us long for the exact opposite of what we are getting at that moment?  I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’m constantly wishing for something different for I’m pretty easy-going – well I think so, anyway 😊   But over the last few days I’ve heard myself saying “if only…” a lot more often than is usual. 

Until Brexit changed our outlook somewhat, as a nation we were brought up to believe that talking politics (or religion) was taboo, it wasn’t something to discuss even amongst close friends or family. It was always said that the reason for not doing so was to avoid offending anyone.  I think that may just have been an assumption and that the real reason for not talking about these things is because we Brits are always taking about the weather.  There’s no time left to discuss anything else. One of the certainties in an uncertain world is that in the UK the weather will never be the same two days running.  Now even that certainty has been take away from us for we have been suffering from high temperatures and prolonged drought.

Parched earth
Wildfire – a little too close to home for comfort. (We’re ok!)

I have extended family scattered all over the world and as a child lived in a house where foreign accents and languages were frequently heard for not all of our visitors spoke English.  One of the phrases that was a constant, for we lived in the countryside, was how green our landscape was.  Those that came from more tropical climes couldn’t believe how cool our summers were either.  This year they would feel more at home for our fields and woods are tinder dry and our grass parched and brown.  It is for this reason that I have been saying “if only…”   As a relief from the arid conditions, I have decided to write about cooler, wetter times not because I really want it to snow in August but so that we had some images to look at to remind us that, unlike many other places, our drought and oppressive heat is unlikely to last very long in comparison.  If it helps to make me feel slightly less grumpy about our present state, then so much the better.

View from our garden in a normal year – nice and green!

“If only it was colder” – to wake up at the break of day to cloudless skies and sunshine is, to put it frankly, un-British.  There’s nothing worse than to lie in bed overheating only to find no relief when you get up.  Give me a crisp, frosty morning any day, when the sky is blue, the air cold and our little river shimmering, not in a heat-haze but a cold-haze.  Of course, in reality, our winters aren’t like that very often.  Far too often the days are grey and gloomy but I’m highly unlikely to say “if only…” about one of those.

A rare day when it’s bitterly cold but sunny – just how I like it!

“If only it would snow” – I love the white stuff even though it does make life more difficult.  Whether the drifts are across the road or not, we have to be out in it to attend to our horses for they need feeding and watering whatever the weather.  Snow in southern England is a very hit or miss affair and we have had none for the last few years.  Only once in the past twenty years of living in the secret valley have I had snow deep enough to ski on and it is a great source of pride and pleasure that I managed it even once.  There is nothing like clipping on a pair of skis and swishing through a landscape that has been silenced by snow.  The photos below were taken some years ago – just looking at them makes me feel pleasantly cool.

Wintry view from our house
The road leading out of the valley

“If only it would rain” – these words are almost never spoken in this island nation for rain is constantly being blown inland on a south-westerly from off the Atlantic Ocean.  However, at the moment, it is rain we need more than anything.  Our garden plants are shrivelling, the winter corn cannot be sown for the ground is rock hard.  And as inferred to earlier, we miss our green grass, our wildflowers and the verdancy of our woodlands.  The last couple of days the forecasters have been telling us that rain is on its way and that it will be torrential when it arrives.  So far, we have had three light showers lasting just a couple of minutes.  What we need is two weeks or more of gentle, refreshing rain.  Whether we get it we shall have to wait and see.  Our valley looks rather splendid when it is flood but I don’t really think we should wish for that. 

Our little house sits high above the river so flooding isn’t a problem
It’s sometimes hard to imagine that the little river can flood so much

There is one more “if only…” that I know I shall be saying before long and that is “if only it would go back to that lovely summer weather we were having.”  Some people are just never satisfied!

A glorious sunrise over the valley
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A Walk With Dinosaurs and Romans

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One of the perks of getting older is retirement or, in my case, semi-retirement.  Suddenly, I no longer need to keep checking my watch to see if I have enough time to do things without racing onto something or somewhere else.  It has given me time to re-visit some of the pleasures that I enjoyed in the past. One of these is walking.  When I was much younger I used to walk the long-distance footpaths and trails that were then just beginning to be created.  Now there are literally dozens of them to be enjoyed varying in length from a few dozen miles to several hundred.  I’m not up to the lengthy walks of my youth yet – the longest took a fortnight to complete.  At present, I’m content to be out for a few hours and, hopefully, the mileage will increase over time. 

England is criss-crossed by public footpaths and longer trails

The other day my partner and I decided to visit the Roman villa at North Leigh not far from the small, Cotswold town of Woodstock.  Unlike the Roman villa where you rarely see anyone, Woodstock is visited by thousands of international visitors every year, for it is where Blenheim Palace, a World Heritage Site, is located.  The two houses, six miles apart in distance but fifteen hundred years apart in their building, are very different.  Whereas the Palace is full of priceless treasures, all that is left of the villa are the foundations and a single mosaic floor.  At its peak in 300AD, the villa was one of the largest in Britain with suites of rooms, many mosaics and several baths.  Now it is quiet, wildflowers scramble over the walls and it is set in glorious countryside close to the River Evenlode.  With parking close-by, this was the starting point for the walk.

The Roman Villa, once busy – now a haven of peace and quiet
Wildflowers scramble over the ruins of the Roman villa

The path to the villa and those leading away from it are well maintained and marked, making the trail easy to follow.  Most of the route we took was on the network of public footpaths that criss-cross England, most of them dating from the time when all travel was either on foot or horse.  At one point, the paths joined the Oxfordshire Way, a path of 66 miles in length.  This in turn links to other long-distance paths so how long you walk for is entirely up to you!  After ten minutes or so, the Evenlode was reached and crossed.  Originally known as the Blade, its present name is relatively modern, first being recorded in use in the 1880s.  It meanders through the Cotswolds for nearly fifty miles before entering the River Thames. Crossing the river, the path turns to the west and the country changes in character with steep grassy banks rich in wildflowers rising high to our right, the river to our left.  Here we’re walking along Akeman Street, an ancient Roman road, once busy but now a quiet, grassy track.

The paths cross meadows until the river is reached

“The tender Evenlode that makes her meadows hush to hear the sound of water…”

Before long, the character of the path changes once more.  The Evenlode changes in character too for there is a wide ford – perfect for wild swimming.  Various paths meet here but we walked the steep path towards the village of Stonesfield, known locally for its history of making the stone rooftiles that are a feature of old Cotswold properties.  In pre-history, the Cotswold Hills were submerged by a warm sea and now fossils can be found quite easily; they can even be seen occasionally in the stones that have been used to build the houses.  It was in the Stonesfield loose and flaky rock that the very first dinosaur fossil to be found anywhere in the world was discovered.  Close to where it was found, a steel bench inscribed with the words of the French poet Hilaire Belloc has recently been placed – welcome indeed, after clambering up the steep path that leads from the ford to the village.

The view of the river from the ford
The rocks around the village of Stonesfield yielded the world’s first dinosaur fossil
The steel bench engraved with the words of Hilaire Belloc

After a short walk along the edge of the village, our path left the Oxfordshire Way to descend steeply through meadows before reaching a strip of woodland, Stockey Plantation.  Although there are firs planted there, there are also many native beech trees which are, arguably, at there most glorious at this time of year.  The newly unfurled leaves are of the most intense green which, along with the deep blue of bluebells and the yellows of other spring flowers are almost too bright for the eyes to bear.

The descent to the woods becomes more gentle as it crosses the meadow
The path through the beechwood
The intense colours of the beech leaves and bluebells almost hurt the eyes

Leaving the woodland we reach the Evenlode ford once more but this time cross it – there is a footbridge, so no need to get wet – before striking off across the fields again to return by an alternative route to the Roman villa and the car beyond.  The walk probably took no more than a couple of hours and is relatively easy.  The weather, this April has been very dry.  At other times, the paths can be muddy and so sensible, walking shoes or boots are recommended.  The route we chose does have some steep hills to climb but these can be avoided for there are many paths that keep to the level ground.  An Ordnance Survey map of the area is handy to work out routes – I used the app on my phone but paper maps covering all parts of the UK are readily available. 

The sun seemed to shine brighter in the water than overhead
In the damper woodlands Ramsons, the wild garlic, carpeted the floor

To see more photos of the Roman villa and read of its history take a look at one of my earlier posts by clicking on the link here.

To read the full text of Hilaire Beloc’s poem of the Evenlode river click here

Not So Mad After All

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“ As mad as a March hare” so the old saying goes and at this time of year they certainly seem to be a little bonkers with their racing around, boxing and generally erratic behaviour.  However, it isn’t spring madness but sex that is on their minds – rather than being ‘a little bonkers’ it is their desire for a little bonking that drives them to the verge of insanity.

Here in the secret valley, as elsewhere, the hare population in some years is greater than others.  It looks as if 2022 is going to be a good year for them for there were eight in the field by our house a couple of days ago.  This gave great opportunities to watch them from relative comfort as they hurled themselves at one another and galloped around the field at great speed.  Of course, as soon as I reached for the camera they disappeared almost as if they thought that filming hare porn was rather distasteful and embarrassing.  After a while I realised there was one keeping well-hidden watching me. 

The hare forgot to hide its ears…

This ability to disappear has over the years given rise to many superstitions and old wives’ tales.  They were thought to have mystical properties too and I did on one occasion experience this myself.  I was visiting the ancient, subterranean earthwork, New Grange in Ireland.  If ever you were going to have a mystical experience it would be here for you enter the tomb by a long, low and very narrow passageway before entering a large stone chamber.  With almost no natural light it takes a while for your eyes to grow accustomed to the semi-darkness.  The friend that I was with said that she thought she’d fleetingly seen two hares which, of course, was impossible for we were blocking the only exit.  Back outside, we came to the spot where the two hares should be and there, at our feet they rested, two baby leverets, completely unafraid of our presence.

The entrance to the prehistoric burial chamber at New Grange
The two baby hares were nestling in the grass…

The hare has been revered and feared in equal measure throughout the world.  It was considered an ill-omen to meet one upon the road; there are myths concerning the cycles of the moon and the hare both connected to lunacy.  It has been much connected with ancient art and can be found in prehistoric rock paintings; in England in the Cotswold town of Cirencester (originally a Roman town known as Corinium) we have the magnificent Roman Hare mosaic now on display in the local museum (link here).  Discovered fifty years ago, it dates from 400AD and shows the animal feeding.

Hares are considered to be very nervous and flighty animals that also have the capacity to do huge amounts of damage if they should enter gardens or orchards.  Some years ago, one took up residence in a garden I cared for and I found, at least in this instance, that this was quite untrue.  Admittedly, if anyone entered the garden it would quickly hide but It accepted me as part of the garden and would hop around my feet quite happily.  It must have been feeding within the garden but I never found this to be a problem.  It is always a huge privilege when a wild creature trusts you and to be able to observe one at such close quarters especially so.  I always hoped it would raise a family there but I was more than satisfied with having just the one.

‘My’ hare would rest beneath a flowering jasmine but come out to join me in the garden
The hare would hop around my feet…

‘My’ recent hares finally couldn’t resist returning to their antics. Outrunning one another with their great speed and ultra-quick turns they, at last, didn’t notice me reaching for the camera. Although tricky to capture on film I finally succeeded.  As I did so, I thought of the thirteenth-century poem that I was supposed to recite to avoid bad luck.  The Names of the Hare, written in Middle English, lists seventy-eight names – With no memory for lengthy poems, I had to rely upon my previous friendship with the hare and the hope that would hold me in a special, protected place.  It seems to have done so but just as the myths claim, today when I went to bid them ‘good-day’, not a hare was in sight.

Success!
Time to go!

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A Hurricane in a Teacup

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With much of Britain recovering from the effects of three storms – Dudley, Eunice and Franklin – within ten days and Storm Gladys about to arrive, it seems appropriate to have some up-to-date thoughts on the time when we England experienced a hurricane. Or did we experience one? After the ridicule that poor Michael Fish, the weatherman, had to endure after he proclaimed in 1987 that “Britain doesn’t have hurricanes” only for the nation to wake up to find itself flattened, the forecasters have avoided using the ‘H’ word. Instead we have storms that are now named in the same way as hurricanes. Even more recently still, we are told we have ‘red alert’ storms. So, were these latest storms hurricanes or in reality were they, as my late father would have said, “just a bit of a blow?”

I wrote the thoughts below many years ago when pondering on the English Hurricane and the later 1990 storm. That wasn’t officially a hurricane either but did far more damage – hurricane-like damage, in fact. The only thing that this and these latest storms prove is that the debate hasn’t moved on very much over the intervening years…

The dangerous work of reconnecting electricity continues through the night

English people constantly talk about weather. It’s in our makeup, our genes – we can’t possibly walk past someone, even a total stranger, without saying something about it. We can’t help it, no matter how much we realise that the person isn’t that interested (or, for that matter, even if they don’t speak English, when we madly gesticulate skywards). We rattle on about too much rain, too little rain, too much sun, no sun, cold for the time of year, how warm it is. So, in the spirit of being a true Englishman, despite my part-Polish ancestry, I’m just going to mention that we had a fantastic sunset in the secret valley a couple of days ago.

I think the reason we may behave like this is because English weather is nearly always gentle. The landscape that makes up England is beautiful and can be dramatic but not in the way of so many other countries. Take the USA, for example. Where’s our Grand Canyon, our towering redwoods, our Rocky Mountains, our Great Plains and our Niagara Falls? We have them in miniature and, perhaps, that is just as well as we are such a small country. And likewise, our weather: we have heatwaves, we have floods, we have blizzards. But they are rarely anything truly spectacular (except to those poor people affected by them, of course). And so when we were told by the weather men in 1987 that reports of a hurricane were completely exaggerated, we believed them totally. And despite the fact that much of the country was hit hard by it when it arrived, my part of the Chiltern Hills where I lived at the time was not much affected, even though it is one of the most wooded parts of the country.

The night in January 1990 was different. This time we had winds, whilst not as severe as three years earlier, which created total havoc with the already weakened root systems of the trees. Great swathes of the magnificent beech woods that are the very heart and soul of the Chilterns were flattened in a couple of hours. I lived at that time in the middle of one of these woodlands and am frequently reminded that, as the rest of the world cowered in their beds and the trees came crashing down all around our house, I woke up to say “a bit windy out there” before falling asleep again. As dawn broke the true damage to the landscape (but fortunately not our home) could be seen.

It is now over thirty years since that storm and the woodands have been transformed. Those of us that remember the 200 year old beech know that the majority are gone and, in their place, are new trees of mixed species. It will be many years before the magnificence of the woods return but they are healing. This photo below is taken from the same spot as the one above. Some of the biggest old stumps have been left, too difficult to move – time has hardly changed their appearance apart from their ‘roof’ of mosses.

One of the unforeseen benefits of the hurricane is the increased amount of light reaching the woodland floor, for beech trees cast a dense shade where little can grow, other than where the canopy is lightest. Apart from the view to the valley below, which was unseen before, many wild flowers are better now than ever. Roll on April when we can see the blue carpet of tens of thousands of bluebells disappearing into the distance.

Oh! And I nearly forgot to say, the weather today is a mix of sunshine, cold winds, rain and sleet. Don’t forget to tell the next person you meet!

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