Walking around Kilve and East Quantoxhead

They were blowing up World War II tank shells on the beach at Kilve over the weekend (on one of the few tiny sandy patches there are). Since it is now clearly much safer than all the other times we've been clambering over its ankle-breaking rocks, we decided to go for a walk on the Quantocks and then visit the beach for a bit. 

Then Ted woke up all limpetty again, so the walk was reduced from a hilly six and a half miles to the easy three mile coastal walk I did down there with Cathy and Shaun just over ten years ago (and before the existence of this blog).

At least it wasn't tipping with rain this time. 

(Awh, look at puppy Ted.)

My cousin used to say that the World Trade Centre coming into view alerted her to the fact that she was nearly home (in New Jersey). 

Similarly, the oil retort proclaims to the world that this is Kilve. 

It was a bit busier than usual yesterday ... though it is the school summer holiday.

Up ahead, Quantock's Head ... 

... but first we accessed the beach via the steps at the far end and picked our way over the ridges of rock for a bit. 

Resuming our walk, we headed inland towards East Quantoxhead. It was all very August. 

Time for a quick revisit of the Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary attached to the manor.

What remains of the churchyard cross

Scratch sundial by the priest's door

Here's Ted having a contemplative drink next to the boot scraper in the porch ...  

... in which there is  coffin squint, so called - apparently - because the priest would look through to assess the progress of the funeral procession towards the church.  

Inside, there are old - and not so old - carvings. Parts of the rood screen, like the cross and the church itself, date from the 14th century ... 

...and the pulpit from 1633. 

Some of the bench ends are clearly more modern than others. These are older, the nearest bearing the coat of arms of the Luttrell family. 

A few fragments of mediaeval glass

Here luyt hugh luttrell knyght wyhe departed 1522[/23] the fyrst day of Februarie, here lyt andro luttrell his son wyhe departed the yere of our lord god MCCCCCXXX VIII the iiii day of may on whoys souly Jhu have mcy

Back on route there were ravens chatting overhead and a fieldful of very nosy horses.

We crossed fields of wheat ... 

... and stubble ...  

... to reach the village of Kilve and then turn down Sea Lane. 

Woody nightshade

I last went into Kilve's St Mary the Virgin just three years ago, so only stuck my nose around the door briefly before heading up to the chantry for an ice cream. 

 We did wander up to the beach again but time was getting on so we decided to head for home ...

... with a small but bijou treasury.

Colder than the Scales on a Mermaid's Tail

The forecast was brilliant sun, with a temperature of 5°C, so we promised Ted we'd take him to the beach for a nice long run the next morning. 

It was tipping with rain when we went to bed. So we didn't expect to wake up to snow all the way over to the Cotswolds. Still, the forecast still said sunny all day, and 6°C at Berrow, so we decided we Might Just Risk It. 

Once in Somerset there was a smudge of snow on the Mendips too, though not on nearby Brent Knoll.

It was sheltered winding our way along the sunken footpath between the thickets of thorn and sea buckthorn. Ted, who had sulked when we got into the car because he hadn't really understood the beach bit, brightened dramatically and led the way to the shore. There, however, a northerly wind was biting ... and it had put its teeth in. 

We'd arrived bang on high tide. Not only could you could see the sea, it had waves in it. There was snow on distant Exmoor ... 

... and on the probably-not-quite-as-distant-as-the-crow-flies Welsh hills ...

... but the freezing cold didn't put Ted off. 

In fact, it didn't put any of us off. We were having a lovely time. 

There was no sign of the wreck of the SS Nornen sticking up through the waves, even though the beach is very flat and the yellow buoys which mark the site looked as if they were close to the shore.

And the sanderlings which had been scurrying along the high tide line departed sharpish when Ted materialised. The oystercatchers hung around a little longer, though. 

We could only bear to walk into the wind as far as the first set of groynes. Up in the dunes, however, it was much balmier, and the views were gorgeous. 

Over to Steep Holm and the coast of Wales

Up to Brean Down

Over to Brent Knoll ... with a raven overhead

In fact, there were lots of ravens.

Looking down to the Quantocks

It was a mercy to turn our backs to the wind and walk back down the beach.  

Already the dark was seeping up from the ground as we made our way back through the dunes to the churchyard. But we were full of light.