Early October at Southerndown and Llantwit Major

Another day, another rail strike. (Solidarity.) Faced with the prospect of two round trips from Bristol to Cardiff through heavy traffic, I decided to spend the day with the dog on the Glamorgan coast instead, and having dropped The Northerner at work, set off for Southerndown, which I last visited 40-odd years ago.  

It was high tide when we arrived, so we walked up through Slade Wood and across several fields to the edge of the village of Southerndown. 

On the way we saw this tree, which appears to be flourishing despite clearly having fallen some time ago ... 

... plus these intriguingly wind-warped whitethorns.

Our route involved several stiles ...

... and a bent old kissing gate (always more picturesque than the modern variety) ...

... although this  newer one wins the prize for best tune.

The return leg of our short walk took us along the cliff edge, with views along to Porthcawl ... 

... and ahead to the cove of Southerndown, which also goes by the name of Dunraven Bay. Poor Cwtch was kept firmly on the lead in case she tried to chase a seagull over the cliff edge.

Meanwhile, across the rain-squally Bristol Channel, the coast of Exmoor.

En route I found these young puff balls, but decided to leave them for someone else to have a fine breakfast once they'd grown a bit bigger.

As we descended to the car park, you could see Dunraven hill fort on the opposite cliff and so-called Dunraven Castle, which is really just a manor house that was castellated in the 19th century. 

Cwtch and I decided against labouring up the long flight of steps to the fort and set off for our second destination, Llantwit Major. Having last visited - inadvertently - at the end of May, during the summer dog ban, I was looking forward to letting Cwtch run on the beach, but just three days into the season of the dog, there were diggers on the beach and it didn't feel safe to let her run. Instead we climbed up the steps up the cliff to Castle Ditches Camp, a second iron-age hill fort.

From here, we could see the lighthouse at Nash Point, where I walked with Son the Younger, his then dog, Lucy, and my old collie, Ted, back in 2018. 

The coast path took us up and down over the ramparts of the fort and then along the edge of a large arable field. 

After a while we turned inland, passing a large piece of farm machinery surrounded by sunflowers, and some sheep, at which Cwtch directed a hard stare. 

At this point we had to make a sizeable detour as our path was blocked by a load of sheep and a lorry, and we ended up in some hellscape of mock wooden cabins. We eventually found a way out and back down to the sea, following a footpath that ran alongside the little River Col-huw. All the whitethorns that were still just blossoming back at the end of May were now clotted with berries, with dashes of white provided by Old Man's Beard.

Back at the beach, we walked out a little way on the limestone pavements the receding tide had uncovered, steering well clear of the cliffs, which don't look all that stable. 

A shower of rain forced us into the car for the last hour of our stay, much to Cwtch's disgruntlement, then back to Cardiff and the eventual drive home.

Another day our in Wales brought to you by the RMT union and ASLEF, but a far better and cheaper prospect than spending twice as long sitting in heavy traffic. I hope they get a resolution soon. 

View from an unnamed road

The school I work at is in the process of relocating; at least, the primary classes are. On my first day working there, the bursar mentioned in passing that there was this move in the offing, inserting the words 'of course', as if somehow I should have known about it by osmosis. I asked where to, to be told 'no idea yet, could be anywhere in Bristol really'. And since I didn't have a car at that time, and hadn't driven for 20 years, and one of the main reasons I'd taken the job was because I could walk to it from my then home, I was a bit miffed I hadn't been told about it at interview stage. This was in 2007. The move has been a long time coming. 

A lot has happened since then. For some reason, bursars are now known as school business managers, and following the derailment of my marriage, I acquired a car, plus a dog, which meant I no longer walked to work but drove so that I could get home more quickly to walk him. And years later my dog died, God love him, and now I have another, around whom my partner and I continue to arrange our work and transport. 

Anyway, back to the school, which is on an unnamed road (something that caused issues when giving directions over the years). My last day there was supposed to be Monday, as I was having the day off on Tuesday to go to my graduation ceremony in Manchester. And it was very lovely that on this day, the magpies who throng the school's beautiful grounds left two feathers as a farewell gift. 

But then it didn't get to be my last day, as the person currently holding the position of school business manager asked me to go in on Wednesday and Thursday too, as the woman I job share with is recuperating from an operation.  So I said I could come in on the mornings of both of those days, but not all day because of the dog, and I might have to come in later than 8am on Thursday because of the rail strike and getting my partner to Cardiff, where he works, if there are no trains. And that was fine, or at least better than nothing. So in I went on Wednesday, and Laura and I watched the hatchling gulls who live on the roof. 

And in the afternoon I went briefly to the shopping mall and failed to get my phone battery replaced, and then home to the dog. It was then I took a hilarious tumble in the back garden. Well, it would have been hilarious if anyone had seen it, but no one did - at least, I don't think they did, as no one called 'Are you OK?' over the fence - for which I was quite thankful, as it would have been rather embarrassing, and also not thankful, as, if I'd been badly hurt with my phone battery on the blink, I could have been there for some time. It happened like this. The dog needed a pee, so I took her out on an extendable lead because the hedging plants we planted in May don't yet constitute a hedge and the foxes have dug a tunnel under the chain link fence, which she could quite plausibly get through herself and then fail to return. At this point, she saw a cat and belted after it, and I grabbed the hand rail to steady myself, but the hand rail turned out to have been stuck in earth rather than concrete and didn't withstand the force of border collie after cat, and I went flying off the side of the steps and half way across the garden with the lead in one hand and the hand rail in the other, landing on my ribs. I don't really blame the dog - most of what the previous owners installed in our house was bodged, and she was only doing her job - but at the same time, I didn't raise her to be an ailurophobe.

Which is a long-winded way of saying that I didn't go back to the primary school site on the Thursday (and the Northerner missed a day's work) because of the pain in my ribs and needing to rest before I winced my way into town on Friday to run my poetry group, so I didn't actually get to say goodbye to it, knowing it was the last time I'd be there. So to make up for it, here's a post with some photos I've unearthed whilst reclining on the Settee of Suffering, taken over the 16 years I worked there. Hopefully they give an inkling of what a privilege it was to work in such a special location. 

There have been snow days over the years, but rarely on the days I worked for some reason, so I was lucky to capture our beautiful trees covered in the stuff.  

Also in winter, at the time of the shortest days, sunrise coincided with our arrival and sunset our departure.

Sunrises ... 

... and sunsets

The sunsets look even better taken from the aforementioned unnamed road. 

And here's some yarrow blooming one day in early December some years ago at the edge of our playing field that fronts onto the same road.

And the wildlife: crows, jackdaws and ravens; squirrels; badgers that have built setts in the grounds; foxes, gulls and magpies (whom I don't appear to have photographed, sorry, beautiful birds); not to mention Milo the Cat, who often sauntered into the building for a bit of attention ... 

 

... and jays out through the office window ... 

... and every once in a while, green woodpeckers - descendants of the first to come, back in 2012 perhaps, or maybe even the same birds each time, as they are long-lived and always a joy to see.

It's also goodbye to the wider area of Southmead, where I've worked for the last 24 years. I'll miss the crows watching me from the shop roofs while I collect the bread from Greggs for Breakfast Club in the mornings.

Of course, schools aren't places or locations, they're the children who learn in them and the adults who shape and support that learning, and our school is going to go from strength to strength in a state-of-the-art building that will be a much more suitable environment, especially for our pupils, who are deaf. It might not have its own woodland, but at least there won't be any need to put signs up telling people to avoid the rainwater pouring through holes in the roof. (Hopefully.) 

A little weirdly for me, it's co-located with the same school my father attended 97 years ago, which is something I would have liked to have told him.  It's also within walking distance of my home, so on fine mornings I'll wander through the churchyard, over playing fields and across the park to get there, accompanied by the Northerner and our dog, and in winter we'll watch the sun rise over the Cotswolds and it will be a lovely way to start my working day.