Walking at Ashton Court and Ashton Hill

The last few days have brought the opportunity to walk at Ashton Court and Ashton Hill, which has been a real treat.  First, Ashton Court early on Sunday morning. 

'Freedom of Speech' by Hugo Farmer

I've never been inside the Mansion. It's owned by Bristol City Council, and many of the rooms are in a derelict condition. In common with the other mansions built of golden stone dotted around Bristol, it has an ugly connection with the slave trade, two young women from slaving families having married, in 1692 and 1757 respectively, into the Smyth family who owned the mansion, with both bringing some of that wealth with them in the form of dowries.

damage from Storm Darragh 

It was a hazy morning, but fine and quite warm. We headed for nearby Church Wood, where bluebell shoots are forcing their way through the remaining leaf litter ...

... which is what you would expect this time of year. I was a bit surprised to see this red campion, though - it's very early.

I was fascinated by the ancient trees, some still living and some dead, though no less magnificent for that.

We sat on a fallen tree for a while and watched the ravens nesting in the Scots pines.

This tree clearly fell a long time ago, but bluebells still sprout between its roots.

Back at the mansion, there was a misty view of the Victorian terraces of Clifton Wood and Cabot Tower ...

... plus this tower of avocado on toast for breakfast in the cafe, which proved more than I could eat ...

... but was definitely not something a Cwtch could safely polish off.

A few days later Cwtch and I were back in the same area, this time at Ashton Hill, which used to be part of the Tyntesfield estate, where we met some of my school friends for a get-together. 

I hadn't walked here before, but I had driven around the nearby roads with Son the Actor at silly o'clock in the morning, a fair few years ago now, when we were trying to find the drop-off point for the filming of a scene from Poldark in which he'd been cast as an extra. (For some reason the little neon cards they use to indicate a filming location failed in their purpose, as we weren't the only ones lost.) We found it in the end, and I'd always intended to return for a walk, but had never got around to it till now.   

The scene in question was the opening scene of the first episode in the first season, when our hero is in Virginia, having been dragooned into the British army and sent to fight in the American War of Independence in a deal struck to avoid execution for smuggling. This location was chosen to represent America on account of its stand of redwood trees, despite the fact sequoia are native to California.

 

Studying the information board

It's hard to look around you properly and socialise - at least, I find it difficult to walk and talk and pay attention to my surroundings at the same time - so I'm going to have to go back again for a proper wander about. Nevertheless, I did spot some nice views through the bare branches, and some impressive old trees.

.

And of course, even though they are a bit distracting, you can't beat the company of old friends, two of whom I've known since primary school, and one since nursery. (The other two are of much later acquaintance, dating only from secondary school - in fact, I barely know them.)

Bristol, the morning after the Saturday night before, after lockdown

I have a collection of poems mostly set in Bristol coming out later this year. It's called 'Learning Finity', and I need an arresting cover photograph, so I got up early last Sunday and went to town to wander the old lanes.

In my enthusiasm for the project, I'd overlooked the fact it was the morning after the Saturday night before, after lockdown, and it wasn't that pleasant down there. The Mud Dock car park was full of discarded food, take-away packaging and broken glass, and the stench of piss in the doorways and alleyways was overwelming. Not that this state of affairs isn't understandable, with no venues able to offer inside eating, and all the public toilets closed years ago on account of the council thinking 'let's try and keep within our meagre budget by making them use shops and pubs, because there will never come a time when those facilities are out of commission, will there?' 

Anyhow, here are some photos, one or two of which are contenders for a cover and most of which aren't. I haven't made up my mind which of my shortlist to use yet. 

St Augustine's Reach

The empty plinth where the slavetrader once stood

The old SWEB building, St John on the Wall, and St Lawrence House, where I worked in the mid 80s, now student accommodation

The bottom of Zed Alley

Looking up the upper section of Zed Alley. My great-grandmother used to go to school somewhere here in the 1870s

Looking down the upper part of Zed Alley

Christmas Steps, where my great-grandmother lived with her parents and sisters

I'd completely forgotten about these. I begged my mother for one for Christmas because I wanted to be a writer so badly - I think I must have been about five - only for her to point out - quite reasonably - that it wasn't actually a proper typewriter because it didn't have any keys. I was gutted ... 

Down Johnny Ball Lane

Looking through one of the side arches of  St John's Gate, up Broad Street

Leonard Lane

St Nicholas Street

Welsh Back

The Frome Valley in Autumn

That's the Bristol Frome, obviously. We stayed close to home over half term with the infection rate rocketing. Not that the other Fromes aren't fairly local, but there you go. Or rather don't. 

My first Frome walk was with the Northerner in the late days of October. We'd intended to walk around Eastville Lake but the road was closed, so we diverted to Snuff Mills instead. It was still very odd being there and being dogless but important to walk these places in Ted's honour, I think. 

It wasn't long before we saw a heron fishing in the middle of the river, and the Northerner spotted a turquoise streak that was a kingfisher, far too fast for any camera. 

Most of the time, though, we were just admiring the colours of the leaves, which have been particularly bright and cheering this year ... 

... and the troops of fungi ... 

... and the never-not-strange-even-though-familiar way the trees grow between cracks in the rocks of the little gorge and cling on with their roots. 

Lovely Snuff Mills, place of earliest childhood and encroaching old age, and right in the middle of the city.

My second Frome walk was with Son the Elder in early November, making the most of getting out before the second lockdown. (Which isn't going to be any different for me as I still have to dice with Covid-19 in my place of work, which is a school. But that's by the by.) Further towards town this time, and heading downstream instead of up. In fact, we started by walking down Cut Throat Lane, which is always atmospheric. Literally - there always seems to be a bit of bluish haze in it.

Here's the Church of the Holy Trinity, looking elegant as always.

Colston Hill must have had a local name before local slavetrader Edward was born. Can we uncover it, please, and reclaim it? 

There was a pocket of frost down by Black Rocks, the first for me this autumn.

The sight of Eastville Lake as it comes into view is always pleasing. It had a matching rust-coloured dog this time ...

... plus its resident heron, of course.

And a couple of kingfishers, which meant a few more rubbish photos to add to my collection. Can you spot it?

It's here.

Thank gawd for swans. Easy to photograph and quite happy to come very close. To see you off if necessary. 

Then it was back along the Frome a little way, over the bridge and up the hill to the car, hoping for a few more bright days through lockdown and into winter.