TED Walks in the time of Coronavirus Pt 5

We marked May Day with a return walk to Splatts Abbey Wood. The Beltane celebrations were especially disrupted this year. The Government had hijacked the Monday bank holiday to turn it into a VE celebration, rather than give the livestock an extra day off. And Bristol's Jack in the Green celebration was cancelled because of the virus situation. (Which is, of course, what they should have happened with the VE Day parties too, but didn't. Hopefully there won't be a spike in Covid-19 cases in a couple of weeks' time.) 

No one had told nature it was all off, though. The bluebells might have all but finished, but the red campion was beginning to bloom ...

... as was this dog rose ... 

... and there was a path of may blossom petals to lead us into the lovely leafy depths.

We went a slightly different route this time and saw some wonderful trees, like this coppiced ash ... 

... and this ivy-covered oak, which was adamant that there was going to be a green man this year, after all. 

On the way back we passed the most recent farmhouse pertaining to Stanley Farm, which dates back to the 13th century. This beautiful building was built in 1860 in the Gothic Revival style by W E Godwin when the farm was amalgamated into a model farm complex with Wallscourt Farm. It now belongs to the MOD, hence the fencing. 

The remainder of the more recent TED Walks have taken us over the golf course, and on and around the golf course while play is suspended, and over the meadow at the back and through the wood to Charlton Common. With a lot of sunsets. 

It sounds as if there are ravens nesting in the magnificent ash tree in the gully at the eastern end of the course.

Whitethorn at its height.

Ted doesn't really understand the monkeys' compulsion to watch the sun set, night after night. 

He also doesn't like it when the female monkey lags behind taking photos. 

One evening it looked as if the buttercups were poised to take over from the lady's smock and the cowslips ... 

... only for the meadow to be covered in pignut a couple of days later.

But mostly it's been trees ... 

The perfect little oak

Another mad ash

The tree straight off a Clarice Cliff plate

The beautiful witchy whitethorn, tree number 2936,  that even Ted knows not to pee on

And skies ...

And above all, sunsets ...

The universe loves us

It's been idyllic.

We've even had a sun pillar. 

Though about a week back, white lines appeared on the grass marking the public rights of way over the course. It made us wonder if the golf club knew something we didn't. And sure enough a couple of days ago an announcement appeared on the club's Facebook page: 'Boris says we can play!!!' As if 'Boris' was their personal mate, rather than the incompetent that has overseen the wiping out of the VE generation. 

We said goodbye to all the trees on the fairway, and let Ted have a last paddle in the small pond. 

It's been fantastic, but it was only ever Fairyland.

Sheepstor and Yellowmead Down

Two and a half months ago, newly back on my feet following a fall and a fractured ankle, I didn't think I'd be doing this ...

... at least not so soon. But here I am, walking in my walking boots (which are perfectly comfortable despite the mass of metalware in my lower leg) on Dartmoor.  And although we chose an easy, short walk, it's still far more than I dared to hope I'd be doing so soon.  

Our starting point was Joey's Lane, an ancient packhorse way that leads from the lane that circumnavigates Burrator Reservoir up to Maiden Tor, an outcrop on the flanks of the much larger Sheepstor.  

As we climbed views opened out beneath us, including this of the reservoir.  

The other side of the tor we could see Yellowmead Stone Circle which was our destination - an easy ramble over rough grass after the exertion of climbing the tor.

If it looks a little cluttery, that's because Yellowmead is - to get a bit technical, like - a rare fourfold concentric stone circle of the early Bronze Age, of which there is only one other example on Dartmoor, on Shovel Down. 

Within the innermost circle is a hollow where the burial kistvaen once lay.

From the circle, we walked back up to the corner of the newtake wall, and along the top to the lane which led back into the hamlet of Sheepstor. On the way Ted paused for a drink at St Leonard's Well.

St Leonard is very lucky, he has a churchyard full of bluebells at the moment as well and some great 18th century headstones. 

My favourite things, though, were this 17th century foliate skull atop an hourglass, with ears of corn sprouting from empty eye sockets ...   

... and the swallows nesting in the porch. 

After a little revisit to the church itself, we went back up the lane to the car, passing a magnificent vista of the eponymous tor en route.  Joy out of all proportion to distance covered, but no matter - Dartmoor, I'm baaaaaack!

Carping the Diem in Lullington

So, in the spirit of seizing the fish, when I found myself on the Wiltshire/Somerset border this afternoon, with an hour to spare between dropping Son the Elder off in Dilton Marsh and being due at potter Jan Lane's house to help her with some technolologickal stuff, I decided to return to Lullington - top of my list of places, some of which I absolutely finally need to get to round to visiting this year - in the hope of getting into the church.  

The Church of All Saints, Lullington, dates from the 12th century and is famed for its Norman carvings.  You might call these grotesques 'gargoyles', but in Somerset a distinction is made between carvings that serve a purpose and those that are purely decorative, hence they are 'hunky punks'.  

Externally, however, this is the gem - the spectacular North Door.  

Here it is in context ... 

... topped by a niche containing a sculpture of Christ in Majesty.  

All this I had seen before. With luck today I would have time to find the keyholder and get inside.  

Gentle reader, I didn't even have to do that.  There was a car parked just outside the church, the door was open and a prospective bride and groom were being shown around by one of the parishioners. I slipped inside, rejoicing, to find this wonderfully wonky arch of Norman stonework which, at some point, metamorphosed into Gothickery.  

And see how beautifully lit it is ... from light into the darkness of Choir into the light of the Chancel. 

Here's a closer look at the crossing capitals, featuring two wyvern-type creatures with human heads and a green man ...

 ... and something I've seen described as an ox with two bodies and one head, though they appear to me to have rather leonine feet and tails, and a pair of birds, perhaps, preening each other.

More very well-preserved carvings ...

... including a head reputed to be that of King Edward I ... 

... and glorious stained glass light.

I loved this rather more modern Arts and Crafts memorial.

I adored the painted organ pipes.

Oh but the best thing of all, inside and out, is the deservedly famous font - early Norman (c11th century), with interlinked arches under a frieze of flowers, and inscribed with the motto 'Hoc Fontis Sacro Peveunt Delicta Lavacro' - 'in this holy font sins perish and are washed away'.  (Still not sure how a baby can be said to have sinned, but there you go.)  

Above the inscription is another frieze of 'green cats', which, it is believed, were supposed to be lions but which were carved by stonemasons who'd never seen the real thing - a bit like the Elephant and Castle in Chester Cathedral.   

And finally some snowdrops to cheer me on my way. Forget winter ... spring is coming.