The Complete Country Bizarre

We spent Sunday selling the many items we'd cleared out from our kitchen (mainly), having had a long think and deciding which pieces had become merely habits of a lifetime. There were a great many . . . One or two things we had 2nd thoughts on, but in the main, the clear out was quite therapeutic and certainly helped our income! We didn't spend any money until we had packed up and then we indulged ourselves with a wander round the stalls. We (well, strictly speaking, I) blew £7 then on three books, one of which was The Complete Country Bizarre - a magazine I remembered from the 1970s - and the craft items of which are in a book I have called Country Bizarre's Country Bazaar. Anyway, this book is a compilation of the original magazines (1 - 11), and I was delighted to bring it home with me and begin dipping into it.



It's a delightful mixture of various articles with a strong emphasis on returning to old values and leaving the city for the country. I picked up on a strong hippy Left-wing feel to the writing from many of the contributors. The first magazine began:

'(In) 1750 saw the beginning of the industrial revolution. A vast uncontrollable upheaval which in its time changed the life, character and destiny of most of the English people. . . . . . . . .No one is going to throw this mighty industrial hen off her nest too easy; she is well bedded down. Our only way is to deprive her of her meal, which can only come about by rejecting the paraphernalia of her goods and reviving the pre-industrial agricultural climate. The signs are already here - kids are moving out to the farms and communes, urban agriculture is hitting towns and cities. A whole new culture is with us, together with a new zestful interest in customs and traditions of olden days. This is what 'The Country Bizarre' is all about. We are trying to put over to you, gently, all those lovely things that once enriched folks lives in the past. Their simple leisure and customs, their love and understanding of the countryside and its harvests, crafts and arts. We are also putting over your ideas and all that's good of the new culture, in a sort of contemporary seasonal almanac. Apart from the nature side of things and its vast panorama, we will be covering such items as folklore, weaving, tapestry, thatching, spinning, forestry, local art and poetry, fairs, patterans and a great assortment of other goodies."





Some pieces were better than others. They were inundated with poetry, and tried to help budding poets but some were, ahem, worse than others. This one needs some pondering upon, I believe:

The crude beauty of waving stones
The humbleness of mud
The honesty of country homes
And clear unpoisoned blood.

You lonely city vacume people
To wonder what they are
Too dark behind a floodlit steeple
A waste electric star.

The moon is cream upon a plate
Of rougher, cracked tenderness
The rattle-chill of a house slate
The rasp of water-cress.

Your head is cold, your eyes are old
Your bodies going grey
And still the dew upon bread's mould
Is new with every day.

Where will you find some happiness
From an electric cable?
Far better, near to something bless'd
A simple rotting stable.


(Well, bits of it rhyme . . .)





There was an excellent article: The Complete Guide to Wild Eating in a later edition. Lots of detail on what you could find growing in the wild, although I think some of the advice was a little dodgy: "First of all please note that man can live quite easily for a number of weeks without any food what-so-ever, only water. In fact many people fast voluntarily for up to 40 days as a beneficial action on the body. This has to be pointed out because a lot of people will panic if they think that they will not be getting any food for even a day or two." I think you can definitely count me as one of those!!! Fasting for FORTY DAYS?!



Elsewhere there was sound advice on how to find abandoned cottages to squat in, how to make them habitable, how to get on with the neighbours etc., and a recurring theme was how to become a Hunt Sabateur.

Articles about growing Herbs, Romany lifestyles and remedies, old beliefs (including an article on the Cottingley Fairies), keeping chickens, goats etc.

I can certainly say that this "return to the land" theme was certainly an inspiration to me. I have tried to illustrate this blog entry with some of the interests and skills I have acquired.

If you are interested in reading more about this, here is a link to what one of the authors is up to today. Copies of the book are fairly easily obtainable on-line.

What does Amazon recommend for you?

We've never really celebrated Mother's Day here. Of course, when my "bigs" were "smalls", I used to get hand-made Mother's Day cards and often little gifts made at school (still treasured and kept . . .) Anyway, today my middle daughter said to get myself a Mother's Day gift if I wanted, so I went straight to Amazon and ordered myself the new Jean Auel book (The Painted Caves) but I will have to wait patiently to arrive as it's on the free delivery. I think Amazon REALLY has my number, as it is recommending Knit your own Royal Wedding to me, Knitted Fruit, and 75 Knitted Birds and Butterflies, Francis Pryor's The Making of the British Landscape, a Western DVD called Broken Trail, Kit Berry's Magus of Stonewylde (already have it) and Henry Stephens's Book of the Farm (as recommended by Alex Langlands and much referred to in the Victorian/Edwardian Farms. . .) What does Amazon recommend YOU buy? That should be quite intrigueing . . .

We spent the day today selling half the contents of my kitchen, plus sundry other objects, at an Antiques Fair/Fleamarket on the showground. We nearly DIDN'T go. The weather was NOT good first thing and we sat in a lay-by for an hour, hoping that the heavy rain would clear up. It didn't appear to improve, so we decided to cut our losses and went to get some diesel. As we were driving away, the weather Westwards appeared to have improved, so we thought that perhaps we would risk it. Risk is the word as the pitch fee is £48 if you don't book in advance . . .

We had to join a queue of people wanting to buy, and I think we were the last people there unpacking. Anyway, it was worth it because we sold and sold, and my much-loved treasures went to some folk who would appreciate them. We did well, and since we have some more big bills looming, that was quite a relief. Gosh, we even carried on making money once we got home as someone who was interested in another piece we had mentioned, followed up with a phone call and bought an old cast iron 6 gallon boiler . . .

I didn't spend a penny until we walked around once we'd packed away, and then I blew £7 on three books - The Complete Country Bazaar (mag. from 1 - 11 in hardback book) YIPPEE!! - a book about Ley Lines, and John Seymour's The Lore of the Land. I was thrilled to bits.

I look forward to hearing what Amazon thinks you would like to buy . . .

Cats and Kingcups

Some cat photos for my eldest daughter, who is missing the cats very much.

Eric the Red, sunbathing.

Alfie on top of the wall between the garden and the yard.

Tippedy-doo-dah (as we call him!) also having a wash . . .

His brother "Little Whale" aka Jarvis, having a wash and brush up.

Miffy and Alfie on the old cart shed door.

This heifer calf was less than an hour old in the picture and she had just climbed up quite a steep bit of bank, little legs still doddery from lack of use. Her mum very sensibly walked up the lesser incline and rescued her by the tree to lead her down to safety.

Kingcups (Marsh Marigolds) at the edge of the wildlife pond. These are especially for Weaver of Grass, who is longing to see them blooming up in Yorkshire.

Friday's walk

This afternoon was a repeat, pretty well, of yesterday - clearing brambles and also chucking yesterday's logs up the bank so they can be wheelbarrowed back to the yard. My husband took the chainsaw to the remains of the dead (diseased) willow, so we have a goodly amount of firewood for next winter, and more to come as there are a couple of other trees at the paddock-edge to drop (one is half way there already).

Once again I had time to ponder things. Such as, if you truly did spend decades researching a book (on a very popular topic of history) you would think that you'd get someone to check out your Welsh translations for you . . . Nuff said, but having found one big mistake on the first page I opened it at, I am disinclined to place much faith in the rest of the research . . . It annoys me when folk have a theory and then manipulate hard-won research to justify it. Just as well it cost only 50p at the boot sale this morning . . .

Anyway, I had a short loosening-up walk on Friday morning. I set off before my husband drove over the hill for the paper, and got him to give me a lift up the steep valley side as I just knew I wouldn't be up to it. Then I walked some more and he gave me a lift back again. Usual array of river photos, but I hope they get you out of the house . . .


Water-worn rocks loop in scallops.

The sun lighting the waters downstream like they are bejewelled with diamonds.


The little wild daffodils which were once found by the acre in quiet Welsh woods and valleys.

Looking upstream from the lookout rock.

Wind anemones opening their little faces to the morning sun.

A very new lamb enjoys the sunshine with his mum.

This house used to be a pub, I believe, and then for some years stood empty and unloved.

Looking across the misty fields.

Birdsong . . .

. . . subtitle: I thought I lived a normal life!

I have spent a good hour or so this afternoon tackling the overgrown finger of land between the back of the paddock and our top field, which has always been called the "triangle", or if you are my oldest daughter, it is where the fairies live as that was her sincere belief when she was about 5 or 6 . . .

Since our horses have all gone to their new homes, everything has gotten very overgrown. My horse, Fahly, used to love zipping round the corner of the triangle, across the edge of what was once the Mill pond, and then leaping into the sunlight over the little patch of brambles at the paddock edge. I thought of him today, as I chopped brambles, both live and dry-as-a-bone dead, into managable pieces for a later bonfire. He wouldn't be able to zip round there today, as the old willow had finally fallen so far as to touch ground and had blocked the pathway completely. What's more, the slope to the stream where the Celendines grow was a mass of totally overgrown brambles, which is going to take a week of hard work to clear.

As I wielded my secateurs, I listened to the burble of the stream as it passed by, once it doubled as a leat and fed the Mill pond, which now has three very well grown ash trees in it. Some of the old mill workings were still here when we arrived, but I think the Mill must have fallen out of use some time in the early 60s. At one time, virtually every farm near a water source, had a mill of some sort - usually to drive a belt to run a band saw for timber.

A Blackbird sang plaintively to his mate, and there were the voices of Blue Tits and Great Tits in the trees above me, and a rather annoying Pigeon who insisted on singing just part of his song "My Toe Bleeds . . . . My Toe Bleeds . . . My Toe Bleeds . . . and never the final "Betty" part of the refrain.

Glancing up I could just see the roof of the house, where I knew that a Pied Wagtail would be prancing up and down, looking for insects (hah - probably Cluster Flies escaping from the slates over the attic). I knew without hearing that the Sparrows ("Spadgers" as my Hampshire mum used to call them) would be cheeping monotonously and squeezing themselves under the barge boards beneath the guttering, where they nest.

My mind, allowed to wander, pondered on the death of Elizabeth Taylor this week, and her relationship with Richard Burton. For the first time she had actually married someone more intelligent than herself, and they could "have a decent argument"! They both loved books, and had long discussions about the merits of books they loved. Soulmates physically and mentally - what a shame that booze had to get in the way. Someone on a Forum this week remarked that they betted that up in Heaven they were desperately trying to get Richard Burton sober by pouring black coffee down his throat . . . Wouldn't mind betting she gave him a piece of her mind when she got there!

I also thought about a Library book I was reading by Denys Val Baker (Upstream at the Mill). Not the best book I have ever read, and I hazard a guess that it wasn't his best book either, as it seemed a little bitty and early chapters just seem to talk about other books and articles he had written, but an interesting book all the same. At least he managed to earn his living from his writing, and he and his family lived in a number of Cornish properties before they ended up at the Mill. They lived a similar life to us - shunning town life and moving Westwards. They also had to struggle with the elements at times - they had an over-abundence of water each winter although it sounds to have been an improvement on the house they lived in near the sea, which got regularly flooded by it on the ground floor! He did sound a note, however, which resonated with us, as we contemplate moving from here. He mentioned the first sight he had of Mill house was when he saw the previous owner hand cutting up logs in front of Mill House. "I always felt it must have seemed very sad that old age made it necessary for them to move to the greater convenience of a town house." Whilst we're not quite ready for a town house yet, there are definitely times when the convenience appeals . . .

I was in Lidl for some groceries this morning, and fell into conversation with the lady behind me in the queue (she had gallantly let me and my two purchases go in front of her). We talked about gardening and she asked what I did with all the garden rubbish, as she could never find a bin bag heavy duty enough to bag it up for the dustmen without the branches poking through. It is not a problem I have EVER had, and I had to tell her that we just had a bonfire, but then we lived on a smallholding so the garden bits were never a problem.

I wondered what she would have thought if she could have seen me at work with the brambles today, or later dragging branches away from the willow tree as my husband cut the bigger branches into logs, or yesterday, when we were wrestling with a hawthorn tree tangled up with 20 years' growth of Kiftsgate rose, which had to come down so that Western Power could give us a functioning earth again. And what she would have made of having 150v of "earthed" electricity coming through her taps (and in the water therein!) Or having no central heating when there is a foot of snow on the ground. Or trying to count tadpoles or watching fighting cockerels when one named "Dinner" escaped from his pen (I can see why people used to bet on them!) Or having a swarm of bees coming down our bedroom chimney and wanting to set up home (twice - only Radio 1 played VERY loud in the fireplace below deterred them). I can't help feeling that Denys Val Baker would have recognized a few of these situations!

As I said, I used to think I lived a normal life . . .

An echo from the past - archaeology field trip to Ireland

Yesterday I had a meeting at the Big House where I volunteer, and I needed a notebook. I grabbed one from the top of some of my archaeology books in my office, but it wasn't until I opened it later that I found it contained notes I had made during an Archaeology Field Trip to Ireland some 14 years or so ago. After visiting the wonderful Rock of Cashel, we were taken to Holycross Abbey. Here are some notes I took, which I feel express one archaeologist's view of religion and place:

HOLYCROSS ABBEY - now Cistercian - was Benedictine? Built 11/12th C. but remains mostly gone - 14/15th C. what we see, imposed in late Medieval. Relic - fragment of the TRUE CROSS. Nave, chancel and two transepts. medieval wall paintings - one of few to survive here.

Consider how space is used. Atmosphere. Inspiration etc. Areas which can be used, others which are approached with respect, awe etc.

Dolmens and wedge tombs (which we had been seeing) about BELONGING to the landscape, being PART OF IT - as the stone is.

Use of stained glass to create beauty and atmosphere. Candles lit for departed souls, so focusing attention and thought on death and respect. The scarlet of the glass is reflected in the red of the candle holders. The Gothic arched window leads the eyes, pointing up.

Through the clear glass window at the back is the shape of the High Cross. Tremendous sense of peace, aided by the low religious chant in the background. The modernity of the patchwork stained glass linking past with present. Secular subject of hunting scene as a wall painting - yet past-time of holy men too. Showed status and elitism, but this is a monastery . . .

V. steep incline downhill towards the alter. Echoes of shapes - as frameworks within frameworks, centering on the side chapels with lit candles and windows. Intensifying and focusing.

Isn't this just one vast megalithic monument? It is an ossuary for bones - a giant container - a focus in the landscape. Sacred space is divided up inside it - some parts are sacred and may not be accessed by the people not participating in the ritual (the people wielding the power, the manipulators of religion).

Yet plain glass in the big window behind the alter. Allowing more light to focus on the principal area of ritual. Outside - the cloisters - an area of contemplation and quiet thought.

Are approaches guided? Yes - the rear of the church is in line with the alter and the PROCESSIONAL line. Ritual participants have a different entrance/exit. Wonderful atmosphere of peace and tranquility. PROCESSIONAL door.

Relics as icons. Not just one - several - as focus/backdrop for candles.

I think that this offers an interesting perspective how human attitudes to death, religious beliefs and religious ceremony have altered little from the Neolithic to the present-day. I was aware of the layout when we later visited Newgrange, with its central passageway, control of movement, side "chapels", focus of veneration . . . Or is that what our lecturer intended us to consider after visiting Holycross?

Weary but satisfied

Newton House seen from the castle, last May. Not long now until we have LEAVES again!

I've not long come inside from working hard out in the paddock plot, around the soft fruit area, where the 2nd bed of raspberries needed hand weeding and digging over and then mulching with muck heap. I wanted a break from working a the roadside, which is a bit monotonous, just yanking out nettle roots.

It has been SUCH a beautiful spring day, wall to wall sunshine, and it was a pleasure to be outside. I lost the morning to a necessary double meeting at the Big House where I am volunteering, but I enjoyed it all the same and am looking forward to dressing up at later date, when they have special Edwardian days. It is doing wonders for my confidence (after over 20 years spent at home, looking after my family) and I find that I still have a functioning brain as well, which DOES surprise me - I thought my memory had gone walkabouts!

This is the view across the Deer Park which I never tire of. I just have to step to the back of the hall and I can see the 100 or so Fallow deer when they are down near the house. They have a grazing pattern, like all animals, but fortunately they have been near each time I have been volunteering over the past few weeks.


Just because I remembered the camera today, they were much further away, behind the slope. Ah well . . .




I promise - the last tadpole picture for a while. I just had to take this one today as they were several tadpoles deep in this warm shallow corner of the wildlife pond.

Last but not least, my Magnolia stellata is breaking out into flower today. Spring has truly arrived.