Three Crosses and Mumbles

This is the Old Dairy, part of Crwys Farm in Three Crosses, a village in Gower that developed around it in the 19th century, primarily to serve a series of small, shallow collieries in the area. One day when it wasn't raining we glimpsed the sea on the south coast of the peninsula through the patio doors, and the northern coast was visible from open green space just down the road. So, well placed to visit the whole of the area.

Which is what we did, despite the rainy weather, for the six days we were there. 

The current farm buildings were built in the 18th century, and have a pleasing degree of quirk about them. The upstairs bedroom in particular has the sort of floor that makes you feel a bit drunk.

It took our collie, Cwtch, a while to settle in. She tends to become hyper-alert when we go anywhere new, and won't let either of her monkeys out of her sight, despite the holiday home owners trying their hardest to make her feel at home. 

There were three wet days. The third we devoted to Dylan Thomas; more about that in another blog. The first we just stayed local, opting to walk Cwtch in the nearby wood, where we might keep dry - or might have done if the gate had been unlocked. (We later discovered there was another way in, but we didn't have time for a revisit.)

The second damp day we went to Mumbles, which wasn't as lovely as I'd anticipated. First, there was the aforementioned rain. Second, nearly everywhere seemed to be shut, including the pier, which was recently damaged by fire. Third, the whole of the front is being dug up to improve the town's sea defences. 

We'll have to revisit some time when the weather's better and the renovations done, and for all that I'm being critical, we had a good walk, and a pleasant lunch in The George, where drinks were half the price they are in Bristol. Important to keep some perspective here, I think.

Oh, and look at this: a repurposed mine used to collect money for shipwrecked mariners, with a plaque exactly like the ones on mines positioned on top of the Ness at Shaldon and on Teignmouth sea front, that were removed many years ago. A real jolt back to the past.

When in Wales, Cwtch is quite blasé about coming across ice cream shops and cafés named after her, but this is the first time we've seen somewhere that's appropriated one of her nicknames.

Mumbles pier and surrounding buildings were definitely giving off some Clevedon vibes ... 

... with a hint of Birnbeck pier at Weston in the location of the old lifeboat station. In fact, there are several buildings in the locality that seem to have accommodated lifeboats in their time. Here are two stone plaques adorning the 1883 Mumbles lifeboat boathouse, which is firmly on dry land. 

And the Mumbles themselves ... 

... complete with gulls and a shag pretending to be batman.

The great thing about this part of Wales is that it's close enough to Bristol to be daytrippable ... so one fine day, we'll be back to revisit Mumbles. 

Launching an Albatross

First thing on Tuesday morning I looked into the bathroom mirror and saw something had altered in the eyes looking back at me. And I could feel the woman-who-reads-the-poems - the one I stand just behind at readings, marvelling as she rises to the occasion - making her move early, to hold my hand through the day at work and the difficult rush hour drive down town to the John Sebastian Lightship moored at Bathurst Basin, and step forward at the appropriate moment to launch a handful of albatrosses into the Bristol night. So lucky to have her at my side! 

MC for the night was local poetry supremo, Helen Sheppard, another pair of very safe hands. And first, guest readings from Melanie Branton and Chaucer Cameron, two of the most gifted poets and generous women I know, who both understood the cost of writing these poems and launching them into the world. I was so privileged to have them agree to read alongside me. 

My selection of poems was followed on a Q&A on the subject of writing from trauma, hosted by counseller and former director of Poetry Can, Colin Brown.

 For anyone who's interested, here's a transcript of the question and answer session:

Question:  You mentioned what a very difficult subject estrangement is to talk about, and yet you’ve written a book of poems on that very subject, which you now have to share with the world. What made you decide to do it?

Answer:   I don’t think you can always control which poems turn up and when, and there came a point, about four years ago, when these were definitely the sort of poems that wanted to be written.

Question: Do you know why that was?

Answer:   Well, the latest estrangement from my child was showing every sign of lasting a lot longer than the previous one, so writing poems was a way of engaging with the situation without having to talk about it and risk shame or the judgment of other people, because of course at first it was in private.

Question: Perhaps it was also a way of maintaining a connection with your child? 

Answer:  Oh, the connection was there all right. Writing the poems was a way of managing it, without impinging on their desire for no contact.

 Question:  What do you mean by managing that connection?

Answer:  Well, as I said during the reading, sometimes the relationship you have with someone who isn’t physically in your life is even more intense than if they were present.

 Question:  And that must take a toll emotionally?

Answer: Yes. Before I started writing the poems, it felt like I was experiencing all the stages of grief, all at the same time, every day.

Putting all that emotion into poem-sized chunks and working at them meant I could explore it in a measured way, using metaphor and story to try to make sense of it.

Question:  Yes, because you’re not ranting or seeking validation for your own individual situation here, are you?

Answer: Oh, I definitely wanted to avoid that, because that would have stopped the poems making connections with other people. They had to be art, which meant they had to leave room for the reader to inhabit with their own experiences.

 

Question: And there were your child’s feelings to consider too?

Answer: Absolutely. Above all, they had to respect and preserve my child’s privacy. That’s always been really important to me.

  

Question:  So, what steps did you take to ensure you did that?

Answer:   Well, not long before the poems started to materialise, my mother broke her hip and went to stay with my sister, who lives in the Midlands, while it mended. And then the pandemic started and she had to stay there, and I suddenly found myself with considerably more free time. So I quickly signed up for an MA in Creative Writing, and used that as a framework for writing ethically about trauma. 

  

Question:  How did you do that?

Answer:  In the first instance, I studied and wrote essays on poets who engage with personal material and are emotionally authentic without compromising their integrity or privacy … Elizabeth Bishop and Denise Riley spring to mind.

Question: Did the course also affect your own practice? 

Answer: Yes, I became very strict with the content of my own poems, making sure that they revealed emotional truths but not ‘my truth’, because you can be sure my version of events isn’t how my child sees things.

  

Question: And this is where the ethics come in?

 Yes. I didn’t think it would be fair to use my platform, such as it is, to deny their truth, even if it doesn't fit with mine.

  

Question:  ‘The stories we tell ourselves to justify our actions’ is an idea that appears at various key points in this collection – in fact, there’s a thread of poems about it. Why is this important to you?

Answer:   I don’t know if everyone does this, but I definitely think writers - and artists in general - tell themselves stories in order to make sense of difficult situations.

  

Question: And some of the poems hint at stories taking over and getting out of control … 

 Answer: Yes, and that’s to be avoided at all costs. Your relationship with your story has to remain a truthful one, and that applies whether you’re making art about the situation you find yourself in or just living it. 

  

Question:  Finally, you facilitate poetry writing groups in Bristol. If someone asked you what your ONE best tip for writing about a deeply personal issue, what would you tell them?

Answer: I’d say … exploit the unique nature of poetry. It’s a collaborative art, so always leave space for the reader to bring their own experience.

One way of doing this is to write ‘ghost’ poems – ones which convey your story without actually telling it, so that instead of splurging every last detail, you simply communicate the emotional truth of the matter.

And if I can add a second tip! – read poets who do this well, like Selima Hill, Sharon Olds, Ruth Stone, Caroline Bird, Kim Moore … there are so many of them. 

The ensuing questions from the audience were thoughtful and insightful and the evening ended on a very warm and positive note. 

Then it was time to heave a bit of a sigh of relief and head for home, where a chilled bottle of champagne and a warm dog were waiting. 

With many thanks to Indigo Dreams Publishing, Colin Brown, Helen Sheppard and the Satellite of Love Poetry and Open Mic team, Katie Marland, Melanie Branton and Chaucer Cameron. 

'Love the Albatross' is available to buy from the Indigo Dreams website. 

Indigo Dreaming on Dartmoor

Time to squeeze in a visit to Dartmoor before the days start drawing in ... 

... and here's Windy Post Cross on the Grimstone and Sortridge Leat, a favourite spot not that far from Cox Tor car park.

Though this isn't our collie, Cwtch, who rarely enters the water willingly.

No, it's Mist of Indigo Dreams Publishing ...

... and here's Ronnie, the poet for the silent. (And border collies.)

And in the distance, Dawn (Ronnie's partner in poetry), the Northerner and me, with Mist and Cwtch.

Staunch little Mist is the leat-lover, straight out of 'The Names of the Hare Border Collie', translated by Seamus Heaney.

'Won't catch me doing that!' says Cwtch, who's far more likely to be found photo-bombing, from the safety of the bank. 

Then, just as it started to rain, we were back at the cars and it was off to the Plume of Feathers in Princetown for some lunch. 

Can I help you with the leftovers?

Much fun was had. This event will be repeated. 

Feather hunting on Purdown

This summer I've done a lot of walking on Purdown, a hill in the north of Bristol. It's somewhere I've known all my life, with lots of open space, and views over to Bath and the northern outliers of the Mendips.

Mostly, though, we've walked in its woods, to escape either the humidity or the rain. These I know reasonably well, though occasionally I still get lost for a moment or two, until I work out where the motorway is and re-orient myself. 

There are many relics of Stoke Park estate and the family who lived there to be found in the woods, or glimpsed from them, but the best things, I think, are the trees and the wildlife they attract. 

Here's just a few particularly magnificent specimens.

There's little in the way of flowers to be seen this late in the year ... TOP:  1. Fleabane  2. Enchanter's nightshade  3. Cuckoo pint  4.  Red bartsia   BOTTOM:  5. Guelder rose  6. Tree bumble bee on thistle  7. Musk-mallow  8. Cinnabar moth caterpillars on ragwort ... 

... but each visit brings more fungi. 

So many interesting mossy hollows in the trunks of trees. Each time I pass, I can't help wondering who lives in a house like this. 

TOP:  1. Dead shrew  2. Badger sett  3. A fallen mossy nest; maybe a blue tit's?  4. A crocodile    BOTTOM:  5. Fox den in the roots of a tree?  6. A muntjac jaw  7. Possibly a rabbit warren?

Having been encouraged at a young age to pick up shells on the beach, which my mother would fill with polyfilla to make little tortoises and mice to sell on her handicraft stalls - it was a simpler time - I fell into the habit of walking around with my head underground early on. And as this blog attests, I'm a habitual collector of what I spot. Finds this summer include some hoggin ...

... and, best of all, lots of feathers. I love finding feathers! When I was small, long before bird flu was a thing, my mother - her again - used to tell me off for rubbing them against my cheek. I still do that, given half a chance. 

Though 'finding' feathers is a bit of a misnomer. You have to hunt for them. Each photo below represents two and a half to three hours' feather hunting, and that's not counting the trips home, empty-handed - there's been a fair few of them. Though I have to say, Purdown has been a good hunting ground this summer. 

Tawny owl feathers

A jay tail feather and a magpie feather

CLOCKWISE from left:  two buzzard feathers, two great spotted woodpecker feathers, two more buzzard feathers, two magpie feathers, two jay feathers, a tawny owl feather

From left: buzzard feather, jay covert, great spotted woodpecker feather, three magpie feathers

From left: a jay feather, a magpie feather, a tawny owl feather, a buzzard feather

From left: a sparrowhawk feather, two magpie feathers, a blue tit tail feather, a great spotted woodpecker tail feather, two buzzard feathers, plus the nest

a jay feather and a tawny owl feather

two buzzard feathers

CLOCKWISE from left:  green woodpecker feather, two jay tail feathers, two jay coverts, mallard feather, tawny owl feather

buzzard feather

Jay predation site

The finding of the first jay covert was a big moment, as I'd spent years scouring the ground, squinting at every bit of turquoise plastic, paper, string, etc and being disappointed. (It was still a great feeling when I found my first secondary at Wightwick Manor, four years ago, but a covert still eluded me.) This time the flash of blue was right under my foot as I climbed a steep slope and I was sure it was just a few loose fibres of synthetic string, but as I smoothed it under my fingers, it became clear what it was. 

The fact I found two more - pristine coverts, each at the base of a tree - a couple of weeks later was just weird after waiting so long. And the feathers from the predation site (by a fox) are bittersweet. Most of the feathers were too battered and chewed to save, but I did keep four coverts - that were barely noticeable in the dirt - and a wing feather. They'll look better after they've been steamed and gently reshaped. 

But it goes to show, it's always worth picking up feathers (even if you think they're just woodpigeon ones, which they are 99% of the time), turning them over and brushing off the dirt. Each of the three jay tail feathers were face-down and only revealed themselves as I was cleaning them up.

Any feathers I pick up but don't want to keep, I usually tuck into a crevice in the bark or under a strand of ivy, as an appeasement to the feather gods: I am grateful for your gift, value it and am offering it back to the universe. The hope is that they'll send me something more interesting and sometimes they do. 

The fact that these feathers also act as waymarks on return visits is handy. Several times I've found myself in part of one of the four woods for the first time, only to find a feather signalling that I have actually been there before, having approached from a different direction. It really helps with orientation. 

The summer's over, and probably the best of the season of falling feathers too, but with luck there will still be some to find while I'm out and about with the dog; I hope so.