Some winter wild flowers

This will be a sparsely-worded post as I am still struggling to overcome a flu-type cold I've had, with a stonking temjperature.  Just a few photos today from a short walk up the hill last week.    Firstly, Cow Parsley in full bloom.  There are clumps of young plants everywhere.

Dandelion.

On the steep  rocky roadside, Shining Cranesbill (and some Navalwort) romp into growth.

Blackberry buds in January!  That's a first here.

The first wild Primrose of the season.

Nettle soup anyone?

By our gate, the Honeysuckle I planted has put out fresh growth.

Rambler rose ditto - this is a baby of the Paul's Himalayan Musk.

Sorry to be lightweight today, but I've had so little sleep and my body needs more than cornflakes and water, which is all I've had the past couple of days (oh, and apples too).  I have fancied nothing to eat that we have in the house . . .

A memory in a song . . .

It was a Monday morning.  We were all in class, waiting for the exciting moment when our teacher, Mrs Attwood, would turn on the radio for the Folk Music session.  The “radio” was a square of hardboard painted dark battleship grey, with a dull brassy wire mesh circle in the centre, which covered the speaker.  It was at the right hand side of the blackboard at the front of the class.  All eyes were on it – it was the highlight of the week to listen to the wonderful music and the BBC presenter with his wonderful clipped diction.  We were expected to sing the songs we heard that day, and to learn certain ones off by heart.

To the left of our desks was a long table, bedecked with an array of items from the natural world.  This was our Nature Study table.  We had been asked to bring in as many things which represented Autumn as we could find and we were going to have a quick Nature Study lesson before it was time for our radio programme.  There were handfuls of leaves from a variety of local trees, mostly brown, but some of more colourful hue, especially the Dogwood leaves which some bright spark had pilfered from the shrubs that were planted in a grassy corner beyond the playground.  There were Acorns, Beech Mast, pine cones of varying sizes, a bird’s feather (someone thought that birds moulted in Autumn and was later disabused of this notion by Mrs Attwood).  There were various hard-to-identify brown fungi, and a box which my best friend Trish and I had brought in, but was as yet unopened.  It contained an amazing selection of fungi of various colours and shapes, including a Birch Boletus, which we had found growing on a fallen branch amongst the copse beside the old Roman Road at Thornhill.  We had found a pretty lilac fungus (an Amethyst Deceiver), and a crimson Fly Agaric, tiny Scarlet Elf Caps and something which looked like no other fungus we had ever seen and smelt disgusting.  It was a Stinkhorn, and earned its name.  If we ever had revenge on Mrs Attwood for her form of discipline (slapping us on the back of the leg if we didn’t get the fraction line on the line in the book, amongst other crimes), then we got it when she bent over that box and removed the lid!  I have never seen anyone move so fast – with a shriek, she leapt to the window and threw it open, and threw our wonderful Stinkhorn in the sink, finally covering it again with the now-emptied box and shouting angrily about the stench!  The entire class erupted into laughter and Mrs Attwood’s face got very red, and her horn rimmed spectacles sat awry on her face for a moment.  She yelled at us to SHUT UP, but there was still uproar and desperate measures were called for – she yanked the radio up and threatened us with NO PROGRAMME that week, instead we would do lines.  The hilarity subsided fairly swiftly then and only when she had us writing “We must not laugh in class” over and over with the scratchy bent-nibbed school pens, did she calm down and tell us that she would consider letting us listen to the radio after all. 

We sat, obedient, scratching scabby knees surrepticiously beneath the desk, and pulling up slipping socks, whilst the boys (who were never subdued for long) rolled up bits of inky blotting paper ready to throw at the girls should Mrs Attwood’s attention slacken.  The programme began, and I shall never forget the song which opened it till the end of my days: it was Kathleen Ferrier singing “Blow the Wind Southerly”.  There was silence in the room, and Mrs Attwood sat down to enjoy the song with us. 

Following on from that were a selection of regional Folk Songs, which we had to accompany.  However, there was one where we just could not seem to all hit the right note.  We had to repeat it and repeat it, whilst Mrs Attwood got increasingly angry, thinking (probably quite rightly!) that some of the boys were deliberately singing out of tune.  She turned the radio off in a temper, picked up the blackboard rubber and hurled it towards the group of probable-offenders.  Her anger earlier on was a pale imitation of how she yelled at us now.  We were back to doing lines – much longer ones this time – whilst she stalked around the room in her tartan skirt and knitted yellow jumper, a ruler in one hand ready to rap anyone across the knuckles if she found them slacking in their task.

                I can’t remember the name of that Folk Song, but I can say that these programmes gave me a deep and abiding love of folk music, and that when I heard Kathleen Ferrier on the radio this morning, singing “Blow the Wind Southerly” this morning, I just had to get this memory down . . .

P.S.  Thanks to Sue in Suffolk, I have got a name for this programme: "Singing Together".  I can remember singing the Skye Boat Song, Cockles and Mussels, Dashing Away With the Smoothing Iron, Danny Boy, Down by the Sally Gardens and many others which will come to mind when my head isn't full of a cold.  I thought it was Thursday, but it was on a Monday (so I have altered it), which makes more sense as we would have gone on our Fungi Foray for the wildlife table the previous weekend.  My research shows me that Jarvis Cocker remembered it too, which is a double oddball moment as I am distantly related to him on my mum's side when a branch of her family went up to Sheffield.   

The joy of a new book

Today I began a new book, one of several I had for Christmas.  I always have the latest Phil Rickman as soon as it comes out in December, though I waited until Christmas morning to unwrap this from our eldest daughter.  I know his characters well, and the areas he sets his books in, and it was such a joy to open this today and start reading.

There is such joy (and a sense of indulgence) in settling down and opening the covers of a new book, beginning to read and becoming totally absorbed (despite a very rotund stripey Ghengis-cat trying to get first dibs on my lap!)  Having several new books I was spoilt for choice, but I thought I would skip through this the quickest and then could take my time over the others.

This was another Christmas book, which we bought on one of our late autumn trips to Hay-on-Wye.  I adore Robert Macfarlane's writing and his connections with Edward Thomas.  I often wonder if ET was writing now, would he be writing books like this?  Yup, pretty sure he would.

This is a recent biography of ET which had been on my wish-list since it was published earlier last year.  My husband bought this for me.

Another from my Amazon wish list, only found in Hay-on-Wye, in the excellent Poetry bookshop.  A first edition (not that I am normally bothered by such niceties).

I've just finished reading these books, kindly loaned to me by Dawn over on Doing It For Ourselves blogspsot.  The first book, Place of Stones, was swiftly read and returned, as these will be shortly.  I can recommend all three books - they tell how the author and her family came to be the owners of a North Wales farm, and how they struggled against the weather and the limitations of the soil and landscape to make a living for themselves.

This is my bedtime reading.  After seeing the programme about Amanda Owen and her family with Ben Fogle, I had a spending spree on Amazon and bought this for a penny plus postage.  An excellent read - and a tough lass.

Finally, a little treat for me today, partly as it has the antiques trends for 2016 (hmmm, not sure if that was much help) and partly because it had a free calendar and some interesting articles.

I am nursing a bit of a cold at the moment, but I will be back tomorrow with some photos of the slowest and shortest walk up the hill behind our house, and what is growing and blooming there.

A Post-Christmas Walk - Dinefwr Castle Part 2 (Picture heavy!)

A reasonable amount of  the castle still remains at Dinefwr.  When we first moved here, you could walk up to the ivy-covered walls, but it wasn't really maintained and you couldn't go inside.  Now it is made safe and popular with locals and visitors alike.

As you can see, it held its defensive position, on a steep outcrop of rock, with ease, and behind it (see photo below), there were two rock-cut ditches for defence.  A promontary fort of the first order and I don't doubt it has been held since the Bronze Age.

This was roofed over and used as a summer house in Victorian times.

Of course, there are fabulous views of the Towy Valley whichever way you look.  This is the River Towy with its Oxbow Lakes and meanders.

In the opposite direction is Newton House, where I used to volunteer, and a couple of estate houses.  The bracken area is inside the Deer Park.

To the right of the last picture, looking across the parkland towards Llandeilo.

A wider view of the Deer Park.

More River Towy meanders viewed over the ramparts.

Looking straight up the Towy valley, to Dryslwyn Castle, the next link in the chain of command which began at mighty Carreg Cennen Castle, high on its limestone cliff close to Black Mountain. The final link was at Carmarthen Castle, although little remains of that as a Gaol was built on the site in the 18th C.  As you can see, a band of rain was enveloping it and heading our way.

Looking to the South.  The fields, copses and woodland are typical Carmarthen scenery.  Small farmsteads would be about 60 acres or less.  That was considered to be a one-man farm.  Anything larger and you needed good strong sons to help you.

View across the Castle.

The castle is still surrounded by trees, but when it needed to be defensive in the past, I imagine the hillsides would have been clear so that any attackers approaching could be seen and dealt with.

Here is one of the three vents for light and air, built like a fireplace with steps.

The entrance into the keep with walls about 15 feet thick.  We sheltered here from the rain.

We made our way back across the park.  Here is Llandyfeisant church, shrugging off the surrounding trees.  It is encircled by Yew trees, "children" of much older Yews.  The stream which runs beside it would have made this an area venerated in Iron Age times (and before).  When the Romans came and built their encampments on high ground at the front of the park, they doubtless visited the spot.  It was only natural that in time Christianity should claim it for its own.

This stream cascades through the wall at the back of the church, where there is a rather intense feeling, so we normally scoot around that corner.  I would like to say it's just the energy of the water, trapped there against the walls, but I'm not so sure - I got a sudden intense headache as we stopped to take photos.

The roof is well on the way to being a proper centre for mosses and plants.

Finally, the first Snowdrops, beside a Primrose plant which looks as if it will soon be flowering too.

A post-Christmas walk - Dinefwr castle and park Part 1

X marks the spot.  Badger paths to and from this set entrance, where it looks like they have been doing some after-Christmas housekeeping - it must have been a good party!

Looking across the Whistle Pond, below the wooded bluff which the castle sits atop.  The Pond (or is it Pool?) got its name from when the train line ran nearby, and the train would sound its whistle as it passed the Pond to let the old Ffairfach Station know it was about to arrive.  The new station is about a mile away, on the Heart of Wales line.

It came on to rain steadily when we reached little Llandyfeisant church, so we sheltered in the entrance to the gated porch, and this was our view.  Surprisingly green underfoot for December, due to the warm weather we've had.

Always a Servant, in life and in death . . .

Another, more indistinct.

A simple stone for a recent Baron Dynevor.

A more elaborate stone for daughters of Baron Dynevor.  (The anglicised spelling).

A slightly blurry picture of the Church, due to rain on the lens.  It was briefly a visitor centre and shop in the 1990s but is now locked up and starting to deteriorate (a few slates missing) - which seem to be a repetition of its state in the past (HERE).

Looking back across the parkland.

A fallen giant on the slopes.

Looking back through the trees.

Looking back through the Tree!

The proof how wet Wales is.  This little tree has become completely overwhelmed by algae and moss.

Spring flowers early - Dog's Mercury, left, and the first leaves of the Wild Arum Lily (Lords and Ladies).

Navalwort spreading happily at the base of a tree.

Journey's end - Dinefwr castle, or rather, the ruins of.  Part 2 tomorrow.