Codlins and Cream

SCREAMING LOUDLY

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 14:45:00 +0000

I don't believe this - Google Blogger is giving me so much trouble accessing this account, and I STILL can't change my old e-mail addy to the new one as since I have had to start another blog - www.Codlinsandcream2.blogspot.com, it says my new e-mail addy is already taken.

Please, if you come here, follow the link above to my new blog as I don't know whether I will get back in here ever again! My apologies for being such an inept blogger . . .

The same applies to BB's Nature Notes, my other blog, which I have decided to amalgamate back into this one.

Today's car boot sale

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 17:17:00 +0000

K and I went to the car boot sale this morning and struck lucky with several items. I found another copy of a book I already have, which worked out well as a gift for a friend and I found a seperate book for 50p which just HAD to come home with me. Reading it on the way home, I wanted to make just about every recipe in it, so I reckon it was a very good buy. I spent this afternoon baking and tried out the Carrot and Orange Cake from the new book (pictured below). I shall report back, with pics and the recipe.

K found these dinky little hand-turned salt and pepper pots for £1. He appreciates anything hand-made from wood and just had to have these - they must have been SO fiddly to make. The tops screw off and the salt and pepper can be shaken through the S and P letters. They are on a slanting base so they lean away a little.

The gorgeous basket was one I fell in love with. OK, I later found it had a Made in China sticker on it, but is craftsmanship all the same and it is JUST what I need for my overflow of sewing/crafting/knitting bits and pieces. We gave it a good scrub off with a very weak bleach solution, but the blue is paint and not mould I am glad to report.

I didn't get this little jug today, and can't remember if I have mentioned it. It cost £4 few weeks back, but was so unusual, with its lid like a wig with flowers on, and I reckon it dates from around the early Victorian period. It has a couple of chips, but I will forgive it those because it has such charm and character otherwise.

Llanfynydd Show

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Fri, 14 Aug 2009 18:28:00 +0000

This little steam engine was made from scratch by our neighbour. The next five tractors beyond it down the line also belong to him and have been/are being restored by him.
The top four are his . . .
I think I remember rightly being told that this green tractor was a 1940s vintage.

Entries in the local class (from the parish) under 13.2hh. This Section A foal not only won its class but I believe was the local champion too.

A magnificent set of horns on one of the Jacob rams.

I am so tempted to say that this is the sheep-wrestling class, but no, it is just a bevy of sheep being shown, for some reason, without halters . . . There was lots of fun when one took it into its head to run away!

The weather looked threatening, but the rain held off. Sheep pens and judging at the bottom of the pic. It's interesting to see our neighbouring parish from a different angle.

This was SOME bull. I'm not a bovine expert, but it looks well made to me and hey, he's got the red rosette!

This is my neighbour's lovely cob mare who won her class.

These love spoons are made by Mr Martin from Llanfynydd. I think they are absolutely superb.
A close-up of some of the spoons.

The lighter spoon on the left is all made from one piece of wood, carefully worked at until the balls in the handle run free and turn, and each link of the chain is carefully carved. I think I will have to do a special post about love-spoons when I have caught up with myself.

Some of the entries in the sewn handicrafts competitions.

Entries in the jewellery making class.

Some of the entries in the flower classes - this one must have been unusual container or something, hence the wellies.

Now that's what you CALL onions. I think the same chap got first, second AND third!, though that was hardly surprising.

This would be the Bara Brith end of the cake competitions. They look pretty good don't they? Just the thing to go down with a mug of tea though to be honest, there were a few interested flies about . . ..

These are the entries for the Longest Thistle competition, which always makes me smile. I could have easily won Longest Dock plant last year . . .

Viking Re-enactment Day

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 07:39:00 +0000

This is a wonderful multi-period permanent site at Cranborne. There are wonderful houses from past period including an Iron Age Round House, a Roman building, a Grubenhaus (or SFB - Sunken Feature Building as they are spoken of in archaeological reports), and a wonderful turf-roofed Earth-house. Here is a link to a site about the entire project, including lots of photographs and better views than I could provide.

Technology as it used to be in the fork of a pole lathe. Here a piece of wood is being prepared for turning. My husband and dear friend Gay looking on.
Isn't this Earth-house wonderful? I can't pin it down to a particular period (their web page makes it a combination of Neolithic wood henge and Iron Age roundhouse), but I will say that the remains of circles of huge (tree-sized) post holes have been found across the country - the sites I remember, being Mount Pleasant in Dorset, and also the Greyhound Yard excavation in Dorchester - where post holes are painted on to the concrete in the Waitrose basement car park . . . BUT these were both henge monuments - rather than buildings with huge posts like this. It's an amazing place inside.

The lady is holding a "bull roarer" which makes one heck of a noise when swung round the head (as it is in the picture below). It is a means of communicating over long distances, and has a very venerable history, dating back to Paleolithic times. It is also known as a rhombus or turndun. Follow the link for the appropriate Wikipedia page and another link to the Pitt-Rivers museum.

The interior of the wonderful Earth House (very Lord of the Rings from the outside).

Above and below: A selection of the musical instruments being displayed. Some were for sale, but a tad expensive for our pockets!

Cooking was authentic and the lid looks as if it has seen much use, and over hotter fires than this one!

There were several staged battles during the day, then the children were invited in to have a go!

Flint nodules as they are when they are dug out of the ground. Useful for building (see Knowlton entry) as well
I think this wonderful wooden chest is going to be created by my husband over the winter months . . . We just need to get the hinges made up by a local blacksmith.

Tablet weaving - have put the feelers out for my husband to make me the tablets from leather, or else buy me some for Christmas. Meanwhile I have a very small loom which I fund at a car boot sale for £1, which I am going to learn to weave on.

The herb plot by the Roman house.

Net making. This man was very interesting to talk to and I came away thinking, I can make haynets now . . . ! (He was making fishing nets).

The SFB. That is, Sunken Feature Building or Grubenhaus. Very Anglo-Saxon and the sunken floor is usually considered a feature that enabled wool to be stored at ambient temperature so it didn't get too dry to spin. The two hammocks contain fleece . . .

Splitting chestnut logs for shingles for the roof of the latest building, the huge Viking longhouse.

You'd know her if you saw her!

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 19:56:00 +0000

This has been copied from Genuki Devon's list of Absconders 1800 - 1821:

Caution
Whereas, Elizabeth, the Wife of Ambrose Shere, of Cullompton, Devon, did on the 29th day of August last, (being the Twentieth time), Elope from her said Husband without any other provocation than her own procuring, and that she thought her said Husband was too old to supply her desires (being 78) and she being lost to duty and virtue, and also insensible to shame and brutality, and her adviser hath occasioned her disgrace and ruin:- This is to caution all persons not to trust her on my account, as all such debt or debts will not be paid by me. And the said Elizabeth Shere may assume some other Name, it is therefore proper to observe that she is about 34 years of age, short in stature, thin in face, flattish nose, watery eyes, bad teeth, squints a little and cannot read or sew without spectacles; she continued about Cullompton until the 14th September, and then left the Town.
Witness my hand, Ambrose Shere.
Cullompton, 9th October, 1821.

I could make a wicked comment about women marrying men old enough to be their grandfather and expecting a good sex life, but I shall refrain . . .

or

Trewman's Exeter Flying Post, Thursday, August 5, 1813; Issue 2500 - Gale Document Number Y3200653002

Whereas, Susannah Huxtable, the wife of Anthony Huxtable, farmer of Instow, in the county of Devon, left her home and family on Wednesday the 14th instant, under the influence of a mental affection, and has not been since been heard of.
The said Susannah Huxtable is about 30 years of age, of a middle stature in height, thin habit; wore away a dark cloth pelisse, trimmed with black velvet and black silk bonnet. Has lately had all her hair cut off. It is hoped that all head borough and parish officers will cause such search to be made as will insure notice of her safety to her afflicted family, who will gladly pay all reasonable expenses attendant on her conveyance to the parish of Instow, or send for her upon receiving any information where she may be found.
Dated Instow, July 30th, 1813.

Do you think that they shaved her hair off in the vain hope of restoring her addled wits?

or him . . .

Trewman's Exeter Flying Post, Thursday, September 29, 1814; Issue 2560 - Gale Document Number Y3200653591

Whereas William Pittwood, of the parish of Ringsash, near Chulmleigh, Devon, did on Friday last, the 18th of this instant, September, leave his brother's house without any provocation, and has not since been heard of, this is to give notice, that whoever may have seen the said William Pittwood, or can give any information of him, so as he may be found, shall receive a handsome Reward, from his brother, John Pittwood, of Ringsash aforesaid.
William Pittwood is 49 years of age, light hair, fair complexion, about 5 feet 6 inches high, is lame in his left pinbone and limps in his walk. He wore a nankeen jacket, corduroy breeches and lightish colour waistcoat, laced shoes and worsted stockings. Is supposed by his friends to be a little touched in his mind.

Perhaps his friends were right!

Trewman's Exeter Flying Post, Thursday, July 4, 1811; Issue 2387 - Gale Document Number Y3200651949

To the Public
On June 29th, 1811, John, the Son of George Moase, Tanner, of the parish of Petrockstow, near Hatherleigh, Devon, went from his father's house, in a state of insanity, the cause of it is supposed to be an intense application to the study of mechanism. He is 19 years of age, about five feet eight inches high, dark hair, thin features and of a pale complexion. He wore off a light nankeen jacket, calf-skin waistcoat an old hat, a red silk handkerchief, dark corduroy breeches, worsted stockings, nailed shoes, and a canvas apron, dyed tan-colour. He is perfectly inoffensive to every one, and during the intervals of reason, remarkably pious and conscientious. It is therefore hoped, that all persons who shall meet with him, will treat him with kindness and compassion, and whoever will conduct him back to his father, or give information where he may be found, shall be handsomely rewarded.

I hope they found him, poor lad . . .

This is a rich source of information about ordinary people, who got fed up with their lot, or had breakdowns or whatever. Abandoned husbands lost no time in saying, she's nothing to do with me, I don't want her debts. Others were genuinely concerned about family members wandering off. Others sought to warn other people about debtors, horse-thieves or whoever, roaming the roads lest they pass themselves off as ordinary mortals . . . .

The full transcription can be read HERE.

Knowlton Church and Henge Monument

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 07:48:00 +0000

Scabious dancing in the breeze on the banks of Knowlton henge monument.

We visited Knowlton church and henge on our way to the Viking Re-enactment at Cranborne on the first day of our recent holiday. The henge monument was brimming with beautiful wild flowers of the chalklands, and so I will catalogue those on BB's nature notes in due course.

Cue creepy music! I was just looking up information on the history of this site and came across a paranormal investigation by Southern Paranormal UK . . . I have to confess that in daylight I felt nothing at all, but was fascinated by the number of yew trees in the area, and also along the roadside between Knowlton and Cranborne (which is about 2 miles beyond Knowlton). I don't know what to make of the "mist" in their photographs or the feelings they felt in the church, so I shall leave you to make your own minds up.

The church in the centre of this wonderful henge monument was "added" in the 12th century and improved in the 15th. Obviously this "pagan" site had to have the Church's stamp upon it to legalize worship there. In Peter Knight's book "Ancient Stones of Dorset", he draws on other writings to suggest that there was once a circle of standing stones within the henge monument but that these were broken up and incorporated in the fabric of the church. It was also recorded that when the local hundreds estates met, it would be at Knowlton, so it has obviously been long associated with such gatherings.

However, the surveying and excavations carried out by Bournemouth University show that this henge was part of a much larger complex and one of three henge monuments in association with barrow cemeteries. How I wish I had known that before we stopped there, but it was rather a spur of the moment decision, taken when I realized we would be driving near it! Here is a link to the Bournemouth University's research pages, which may be of further interest.

The church itself is built incorporating flint nodules (see top of page) - a design familiar to Hampshire and Dorset folk. Charlton Marshall, I believe, has a particularly fine example, where there is a chequerboard pattern. Yet when we lived in Lytchett Matravers and used to drive past it regularly, we never stopped for a closer look!

Much of the tower still remains. I have been viewing the building with an eye to see which parts of it might be shattered standing stones . . . the doorways are possible candidates, though I suspect large lumps of stone would more likely be in the foundations of the church. I don't know if the brown sandstone type stone is what has been called "moorstone" by some. It appears to be rich in iron and possibly responsible for some of the local "energies"?

One of the earthen banks of the henge. There are three entrances, and at the Northern end, there are two yew trees forming a further "entrance". Other yew trees are nearby, and along the road northwards, and I wonder whether these were the remains of an ancient yew forest - bearing in mind how yew trees can regenerate from dieing remains of very aged trees - or perhaps a sacred grove? One never knows whether to think pagan or "romanticised" thoughts or scientific ones when considering the landscape, but the archaeologist in me insists "scientific" . . . I know that there is a good stand of yew trees on one side of Hambledon Hill and quite a prolific yew woodland at "Great Yews" near Bodenham/Nunton (just outside Salisbury).

The two yew trees at the North end of the monument. Note, however, that they do NOT align with any of the actual entrances through the henge banks, and my husband tells me that they are probably one and the same tree and one is literally an offshoot of the other's root system so they are not deliberately "paired" in any sense.

There was a village associated with the church in until Medieval times, when the Black Death wiped out the parishioners around 1485. Peter Knight records that earth energies are to be felt here, and that it is a complex site. Holding ones hands against the buttress has resulted in an off-balance feeling pulling the body to the left. I wish I had remembered this at the time (I thought it was the doorway where I picked up nothing).

Where's Snowy?

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 14:07:00 +0000

I could hear him. He was in the kitchen somewhere. Was he in the cupboard? No. Was he on a chair? No. Was he under the sink? No. I knew he was there somewhere.

I hunted high and low, and then I found him . . .

Snug as a bug in a rug! As you can see, his ear is healing nicely, although the dissolving stitches seem to be taking their time as it's over three weeks since his operation now.

Yesterday was cool, wet and miserable. I made a lovely Cottage Loaf and some Spicy Bean soup. Today we are back to hot sunshine, so I had better freeze the rest of that soup . . .

Spicy Bean Soup

1 onion, chopped and fried gently in a little olive oil.
Cut 3 rashers bacon into small pieces and add to pan and fry gently.
Add a tin of chopped tomatoes, whatever vegetables you have about the place and a pint of stock (I used a good veggie stock cube and a heaped teaspoon of veggie Bouillon). Shake of salt and pepper and then add a tin of spicy mixed beans. I also added a good slosh of my home-made brown sauce. Simmer until veg cooked and then add a handful or two of pasta and cook till pasta done. YUMMY. You can stick a spoon upright in this soup!

The cottage loaf was 1lb of seeded wholewheat flour and 1/2 lb strong white mix. As my daughter said, one slice of that sees you through till lunchtime . . .

Farleigh Hungerford Castle

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 05:08:00 +0000

As we were travelling down to Hampshire (via North Dorset), we came upon Farleigh Hungerford Castle, and of course, couldn't resist stopping to explore. It covers quite a considerable site, and the castle chapel was unsurprisingly incorporated within the castle walls. Because of this, much of the interior of the church is preserved to show how it would have looked when the castle was last inhabited. The castle has quite a colourful history. Originally a manor house of the Montfort family, the manor was known as Farleigh Montfort and in the hands of Reginald de Montfort until about 1350, when he sold it to one of Edward III's soldiers, and in turn it was sold a generation later to Sir Thomas de Hungerford, who promptly changed its name to Farleigh Hungerford.

Around 1370-80, the castle was fortified and crenellated (without licence - this being granted retrospectively by the King in 1381. Who says retrospective planning is a new thing?!) Some 50 years later, the barbican and polyganol outer ward were added by Sir Walter Hungerford, then Speaker of the House of Commons. In the early 15th century his son - another Walter - enclosed the parish church of St Leonard's to use as his chapel, building another church for the parishioners in the village.

Sadly, war did for the Hungerford family and the castle passed to Richard, Duke of Gloucester (later Richard III) and thence to the Duke of Clarence and here was born Margaret Pole, 8th Countess of Salisbury (whose mother was Isabella Neville, and whose grandfather was Warwick the Kingmaker). Unfortunately she was to be beheaded at the behest of Henry VIII . . . (Don't you just LOVE English history?!)

After the Battle of Bosworth, Henry VII gave Farleigh to Walter Hungerford, grandson of Robert. I think you could describe him as a complex personality. Although he married three times, it would seem he was more of a man's man, if you get my meaning, and kept his third wife under lock and key in one of the towers. Fortunately for her, Walter got his comeuppance and was accused of treason and "unnatural vice" and was consequently executed.

The Civil War had true meaning for Farleigh Hungerford, since two Hungerford brothers were fighting against one another, but the Royalist submitted the castle to his Parliamentarian brother without a fight. Much of the damage to the castle was carried out by a subsequent family, the Houltons, who decided they would take various fixtures and fittings (including the panelling and carved beams) off to their main residence in Trowbridge. Many thanks to the Wikipedia page where the above information was ruthlessly plundered.

The former Priest's house.

This building is completely unchanged, although internally it now houses an interesting little museum rather than a Priest!

This gargoyle on the right reminded me of one of the hounds in the heraldic shield - perhaps it's the hair which looks like ears!

If you double click on this picture you should be able to read it more easily. A fascinating little piece which was found in the Castle ditch - another victim of a Puritan mind and thrown out as being idolatorous . . .

I felt like we were stepping back in time here. Yet another example of how colourful churches once were, Before The War (Civil War that is), and then all those Puritan minds saw idolatory and shame in anything with a vestige of colour or design. In Salisbury Cathedral last week many of the effigies of past Lords and even Kings, had been brutilized and were sans noses or any projecting parts, or had initials dug into their faces. To think we complain about lack of respect these days - it would seem it was ever thus. There are some Hungerford lords interred at Salisbury too . . .

How vivid and colourful these tombs must have been when first erected.

I am not sure about that light - it was overall gloomy down there . . . Cue ghostly music! Note the two little babies in the tiny lead coffins . . .

The towers were pretty huge - it's amazing they're still standing.

Who am I? in 7 words tag . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 17:55:00 +0000

Mags over at Life in the Preseli Hills has tagged me t describe myself in just 7 words. I shall try and rise to the challenge . . .

1. Firstly how can I say 'Doesn't suffer fools gladly' in one word which doesn't make me sound sharp, condescending, judgemental or intolerant? Hmmm. Aries will have to do, as that is one of the Aries attributes, although my Scorpio husband has bucketfuls of it too.

2. Intuitive. I am lucky in that I can tell what a person is like instantly - they don't' have to say a word, I just KNOW. I have only been wrong twice in my life and they were both very very shy people who were literally unreadable. The big drawback to being so intuitive is that if I really take a dislike to someone, I find it very difficult hiding my dislike . . .

3. Honest. Brutally so on occasion. If you ask, "Does my bum look big in this?" well, I will just have to tell you, yes it does! But then, I don't ever try and curry flavour by flattering people and only rarely will I tell a lie, and then I tell myself it is a FIB. What you see is what you get with me. Another Aries trait I fear . . .

4. Creative. I love to write, draw, sew and make nice things. I love to bake and make jams and chutneys and try all sorts of obscure things that other people wouldn't waste their time on. It satisfies me, especially the writing. I suppose in a way it is trying to boost self-confidence, though not an intentional thought, but it IS nice when someone compliments you.

5. Country-loving. I used a hyphen, so hope that's not cheating! I have always loved anything connected with the countryside and nature. I was interested in wild flowers by the time I was 6 and got The Observer's Book of Wild Flowers. Others followed - Birds, Birds' Eggs, Butterflies and Moths, Pond Life, plus the inevitable Horses and Ponies, Dogs etc. I would rather be in the countryside than anywhere, preferably as far away from other people as possible, though there are times when I need people too. I am a sucker for anything (especially books) with "Country" in the title. If it's a recipe book then it can be "Country" or "Farmhouse".

6. Bibliophile. I simply CANNOT live without books. I have thousands. I've been like this all my life - ever since I learned to read in infant's school and actually STOLE a book because we didn't have books at home and I was SO desperate to read. I began collecting antiquarian books on horses when I started work at 16. I still collect them. And books on history. And Archaelogy. And the countryside. And natural history. And cookery. And literature. And literary biographies. And you should never start a sentence with And . . .

7. Finally, I am a Softee. I seem to attract and "collect" lame ducks. I don't like to hurt people's feelings. I hate to say "no". It's probably part and parcel of being intuitive (and more besides) because I can always pick up on other people's emotions and need for friendship.

I won't tag anyone, but if you want to join in, let me know that you have.

Take two little girls!

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 13:14:00 +0000

I will go back a week or so and share with you a photo of two happy little girls demonstrating that churches are for playing hide and seek in. Honest! Keith and I had a lovely time at GTM's house, and were shown round the village. They, in turn, helped me have one box less of books in our house, so I hope they are enjoying them.

I am SO envious of her neat and tidy veg plot - I have returned home to green mayhem and a lawn that thinks it's a hay meadow!

My husband's dream house . . .

A Country Harvest

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 10:40:00 +0000

I found this book in one of the Ringwood charity shops and the moment I set eyes on it, I knew it would be coming home with me. It is subtitled "An illustrated Guide to Herbs and Wild Plants, including delicious recipes, herbal remedies and beauty treatments", by Pamela Michael. Never was £2.50 better spent.

It's not quite time for Sloes just yet, but I loved the name of this recipe so I thought I would share it with you and you can make sure of locating the best sloe bushes in your area in good time to make this in early autumn. You can have a practice run with whatever soft fruits you have in the garden or freezer right now:

WILD KISSEL WITH SLOES

Early Autumn

Kissel is made with any red or dark red summer fruits - raspberries, cherries or blackcurrants, either mixed together or by themselves. The juice is always thickened with arrowroot and should be sweet and well-flavoured. The dark, strongly flavoured little hedgerow fruits make a very good version of this traditional Austrian dish. You can omit the red wine, but it does improve the flavour.

Serves 6

1/4 litre/ 1 1/4 cups / 1/2 pint sloes
Ditto amount of blackberries
1/2 litre / 2 1/2 cups / 1 pint elderberries
Ditto amount of water
300g / 1 1/2 cups / 3/4lb sugar, or 1/2lb honey
1 orange
1 level tablespoon arrowroot
3-4 tablespoons red wine
a little extra sugar

Wash the fruit and strip away all the stalks, put the mixed fruits into a large saucepan with water and sugar, or honey. Bring slowly to the boil and stir until the sugar or honey has melted, then cover and simmer gently for 10-15 mins. Pour into a basin and stand until cold.

Pare the rind from the orange and squeeze out the juice. Mix the arrowroot and strained orange juice together in a cup. Strain the juice from the stewed fruits into a saucepan, add the orange rind and wine and bring slowly to the boil. Add the slaked arrowroot and stir constantly while the juice thickens and clears, then draw off the heat. Add the stewed fruits and pour into a bowl. Serve cool, but not chilled.

Saying goodbye to my mum

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 15:02:00 +0000

I think this is my 500th post, so it is only fitting that I write about something important to me, and very personal. This time when we came to the New Forest, I brought my mum's ashes with me. She died two years ago and was cremated. I wanted to find a special place where she could rest, and had originally determined upon Romsey, as that was where she was born and grew up, but I wanted absolute privacy and finally decided upon a favourite spot of ours in the New Forest. We used to go to the Forest most Sunday afternoons in the 1960s and had lots of favourite spots. I chose our "favouritest" today and Keith and I strolled through the heather, avoiding dog walkers in the distance, and were 'led' to a beautiful glade in a little stand of silver birches (my favourite tree). It was absolutely perfect, and although it was a grey day, threatening rain, there were birds twittering in the trees above us, and ponies nearby as I scattered her ashes. Mum would have loved that - she was always happier with animals than people because she was very deaf and had no confidence around people. I shed a few tears, mainly because of thinking of childhood days there and wishing I could turn the clock back for just a little while. But it is time to move on now.

We went to Salisbury Cathedral, and I said a little prayer and then we had a lovely afternoon walking round the Museum, which has an excellent Archaeology department and the biggest collection of prehistoric pots I've seen in many a long year - the Wessex chalk has protected them well.

Rainy days . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 05:53:00 +0000

Morning all from a wet New Forest. I wish I could include some photos with this but that will have to wait. So will this blog, as when I return home, BT have announced that the line won't be fixed "until the end of August". I have news for them - the Daily Mail will be getting a letter this week and then perhaps we will have some action, or perhaps their apathy and total lack of customer care knows no bounds?

We have been enjoying the wildlife here, looking out through the French windows and watching the rabbits, many wild birds and every evening, a young fox trotting across the lawn. Last night foxy had a shock as there was another fox, presumably higher in the pecking order, as our fox then scooted off and was seen trotting across the paddock a few minutes later.

As today is supposed to be all day rain, we will be relaxing with books and knitting/sewing . . . well, perhaps Keith will pass on the knitting/sewing!

If you ever drive across the New Forest, please remember the speed limits. My friend here has the skull of a New Forest pony in her barn - a young mare that was killed by a speeding van or lorry which took her head off it was going so fast. They found the mare's body, but it was months and months before her head was discovered . . .

Holiday Time

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 07:33:00 +0000

Well, we had no internet at home last week again after we had torrential rain. I did some research before we lost it to find out about the BT complaints system, and found some very useful information (and 7 loooong pages of complaints). I phoned a "magic number" and actually spoke to someone who is now dealing efficiently with our case and not just talked us round in circles and passed us on to BT India . . . The long and the short of it is we are now a "priority case" and BT will keep working on our line until it is repaired, even on Sunday. Did the BT man turn up on Sunday . . . . well, no actually! My kids are on the case though! We have been told that the work sheduled to be done on 13th July was logged in as carried out, but of course, we know otherwise. . . heads are apparently going to roll.

Anyway, Keith and I are currently on holiday, house-sitting for friends in the New Forest. We are thoroughly relaxing and had planned to do nothing today, which is just as well as it is pouring with rain. Once we've been out to feed and check the horses we are going to tootle into Ringwood and have a wander round the shops and get the papers.

Yesterday we went to a Viking (well, multi-period really) re-enactment at Cranborne. It is a site which was originally established about 25 years ago and they have built a big Iron Age roundhouse, a Grubenhousen (sp?) or SFB as we called them at Uni - a Sunken Featured Building, a wonderful huge turf-covered roundhouse, and are working on a viking longhouse now. There were various people about the site giving demonstrations of various crafts - net-making, tablet weaving, drop spindle spinning, a couple of pole-lathes, and a group of people making chestnut shingles for the roof of the longhouse. Lots of battle re-enactments, authentic dress and cooking pots in use etc etc and an excellent day out, much-enjoyed. We know that our son would be very interested in this, but his nearest re-enactment group? Winchester. Ummm - a bit of a journey from Carmarthen!

On our way down to Hampshire, we went to visit GTM (here is a link to her excellent blog A Life Full of Blessings). We had a lovely time and had a guided tour of the "Doll's House" where she lives, and then were shown around the village and church. Some beautiful architecture and buildings, and my husband was led along by the twins, who grasped his hands and showed him round! It is so lovely to meet up properly with people you have known for a while through blogs and forums, made friends with, written to and spoken to on the phone. It's not like meeting them properly for the first time, but more like carrying on a conversation! I have also met Rowan several times this year as we can call when on our way to meet our eldest daughter up in Sheffield. I have met people on-line who share my interests and passions and whom I would probably never have known existed without the internet and I am truly grateful that I have met them. Where we are staying now is the house of an internet friend!

I have brought some of my waist-high pile of books-to-read with me, so I had better get stuck in once we have sorted the ponies out. Sorry there are no photos - they will have to wait until I get home next week.

Morning's Minion - now you know why you've not had updates from me!

"Old" things in the kitchen

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 06:42:00 +0000

I have a lot of them. I've never been averse to second hand stuff - you have to cut your coat according to your cloth after all, though sadly, many young folk have never been taught this and think their credit card is the answer to everything.

I have a bit of a thing about big earthenware storage jars and use them to store things like dried fruit, lentils, home-made mincemeat, and the bigger ones hold oats, bread flour, plain flour and rice. When we lived in Dorset, we used to be able too get corks to fit the smaller sort, but now the big fat-bellied ones have wooden lids made for them by my husband out of bits of wood abandoned by others.

I store more of my flour for bread or baking in several old enamel flour or bread bins and always keep a good stock in. They live on the bottom of the old dairy table in the bay window. When you live a 20 mile round trip from the shops, you don't want to run out of things! I keep my Demerara sugar in an old glass sweetie jar but I am on the look-out for another big old earthenware jar for granulated sugar. The one below houses Basmati Rice. The terracotta crock will go when I find a likely replacement as my kids hate touching it! They say it puts their teeth on edge . . .

This glossy dark brown jar cost me £4 at the big Antiques Fair at Builth this year. It didn't have a lid, but Keith has since made me one. I use it to store plain baking flour in. (I think that's "all-purpose" flour in the States.)

I found this little enamel strainer in an the junky antique shop on the way to Brecon recently. It cost me £4 and I use it regularly. It "spoke" to me, somehow . . . I suppose I feel I am connecting with the past when I use these things, but they are also practical and have character. Other women buy handbags (I could never see the point of having more than one handbag - you only use one handbag at a time!) - I buy . . . old things . . . oh, and few books too!

BT - I'm giving up the will to live . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 05:41:00 +0000

I won't even go there. We lose Broadband every time it rains because BT have renagued on their closing the road/cutting back trees/replacing short telegraph poles and replacing the damaged length of circa 1955 cable promise. Apparently just bodging the line is more cost-effective . . . The story is just too depressing, especially if you mention you are having broadband problems as then it's an instant transfer to blardy India . . . You can see why they don't have a Complaints Department can't you?!

So we will have a wee "pome" instead:

In sleep of helpless infancy
Trees were the arms that cradled me;
On Tree my daily food is spread,
Tree is my chair and Tree my bed.
Fibre of Tree the books I con,
And Tree the shelves they stand upon.
Primeval Tree burns clear and bright
To warm me on a winter ight.
I hear, to wind in woods akin,
Tree-music of the violin;
And at the last, when I shall die,
My tired dust in Tree will lie.

Teresa Hooley (probably lieing in tree these many years as this was penned in a 1938 edition of The Countryman magazine . . .

Rain stopped play

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 17:05:00 +0000

It has chucked it down nearly all day. I am bored so I thought I would do an extra blog post to make up for the lack of them in recent weeks (and in fear of losing broadband with such persistent rain).

Here are a couple of little pieces from my No. 1 Desert Island book Kilvert's Diary (though I would tough it out and demand the complete diaries of, including the ones his widow burned because they mentioned other women he had fallen in love with.) Here is as near as I can get to this date in his entries for 1871:

Tuesday 18th July: "I went to Wern Vawr. The sun burnt fiercely as I climbed the hills but a little breeze crept about the hill tops. Some barbarian - a dissenter no doubt - probably a Baptist, has cut down the beautiful silver birches on the little Mountain near Cefn y Fedwas."

I can sympathise. It has happened here in recent years. On the way to Ferryside, a hundred years almost exactly after Kilvert was writing, when I was holidaying with a penpal there, a chapel was pointed out to me, with a small enclosed burial ground beside it. Apparently this little plot once had beautiful trees surrounding it, but they were cut down under direction of the Elders as they made it look 'too pretty'. A bit like our local chapel which had half an acre of Aquilegias growing amongst the gravestones. Until last year that is, when they came in with a strimmer . . .

Saturday 22nd July 1871:

"Mrs Nott told me that Louie of the Cloggau was staying in Presteign with her aunt Miss Sylvester, the woman frog. This extraordinary being is partly a woman and partly a frog. Her head and face, her eyes and mouth are those of a frog, and she has a frog's legs and feet. She cannot walk but she hops. She wears very long dresses to cover and conceal her feet which are shod with something like a cow's hoof. She never goes out except to the Primitive Methodist Chapel. Mrs Nott said she had seen this person's frog feet and had seen her in Presteign hopping to and from the Chapel exactly like frog. She had never seen her hands. She is a very good person. The story about this unfortunate being is as follows. Shortly before she was born a woman came begging to her mother's door with two or three little children. Her mother was angry and ordered the woman away. 'Get away with your young frogs', she said. And the child she was expecting was born partly in the form of a frog, as a punishment and a curse upon her."

It just shows that even amongst educated people like Kilvert, they were very naive in their beliefs. Perhaps she had deformed or webbed feet, and that people resembling frogs do exist I can testify, as there used to be a man I knew in the West Country who looked remarkably like one.

OK, I'm well ahead of myself with this Autumnal post, but he wrote so beautifully I wuld like to share it:

Friday 13 October:

"After school about 12.20 I started to walk over the hills. The fern cutters were hard at work on the Vicar's Hill mowing the fern with a sharp ripping sound. The mountain and the great valley were blue with mist and the sun shone brilliantly upon the hill and the golden fern. I had put a flask of ginger wine in my pocket and a sandwich of bread and bacon which I ate by the Milw Bridge at the meeting of the three parishes and wished I had another for I was as hungry as a hunter.

Up the long Green Lane the heather bloom was long over and the heather was dark, speckled with the little round white bells. I looked for Abiasula along the green ride narrowing between the fern and heather, and looked for her again at the Fforest, but the great dark heather slopes were lonely, nothing was moving ,the cottage was silent and deerted, the dark beautiful face, the wild black hair and beautiful wild eyes of the mountain child were nowhere to be seen.

Round the great dark heather-clothed shoulder of the mountain swept the green ride descending steeply to the Fually frm and fold and the valley opened still more wide and fair. The beautiful Glasnant came leaping and rushing down its lovely dingle, a flood of molten silver and crystal fringed by groups of silver birches and alders, and here and there a solitary tree rising from the bright green sward along the banks of the brook and drooping over the stream which seemed to come out of a fairy land of blue valley depths and distances and tufted woods of green and gold and crimson and russet brown.

At last I found my way up a rich green orchard and through a gate into the fold sheltered by some noble sycamores. The farm house, long, low and yellow-washed, looked towards the N.E. The house is said to be the oldest inhabited building in these parts. It stands high above the Arrow on its green mount, embosomed and almost hidden by its sycamores and other trees. In a dark secluded recess of the wood near the river bank an ice-cold never-failing spring boils up out of the rock. Mrs Jones said it makes her arms ache to the shoulder to put her hand into the water from this spring in the hottest day of summer. In the hot summer days Louie and the other girls take the butter down the steep bank, across the Arrow and make up the butter in the wood by the icy spring. Then they bring the butter up and it remains as if it had been iced."

Sunday, Sunday . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 06:39:00 +0000

Backtracking a bit to last Sunday, when K and I did a car boot sale attached to a Vintage Car Show on the showground down in the village. A couple of showers came along to annoy, but overall it was dry. My "notes" of the day:

Grey clouds glower over the show site, but an opening of blue offers hope. "Enough blue to patch a sailor's trousers" mum always used to say and me, ever the optimist, hung onto that thought.

Welsh flags flap in the breeze: the red, green and white of Y ddraig goch - the Welsh dragon; the yellow cross on black of Dewi Sant (St David), and gone but never forgotten, Glyndwr's Banner with its lions rampant in red and yellow. Welsh memories are long and ever loyal.

At one end of the ringside, static engines set up a two-stroke chatter above Paul Anka singing "Diana". They are tended by men in overalls and caps and admired by enthusiasts. A bevy of old tractors form orderly lines nearby. Old grey Fergies, Fordsons, early Massey Fergusons, John Deeres, and many others which once worked the land.

Orderly lines of vintage and classic cars are also on display. Several minis, several Morris Minors, an E-type Jag, a scarlet and white South African Buick with "Please Don't Touch" on it, a blue Ford Popular, a Humber, and an absolutely splendid old Bugatti which looks fit for the London to Brighton race.

As we stand and watch the scene, swallows swoop low across the sward, little puffs of smoke from the statics spiral into the air and are whipped away by a strong breeze, the smell of frying onions and burgers wafts by, and the strains of "This Old House" and "In the Mood" set the tempo - for this IS a vintage show, with music to match. Better than the Welsh "pop" music playing first thing which, I must confess, always sounds very much the same (and rather boring) to my English ear!

A crow catches sight of itself in a mirror we have propped against a chair. It steps back in surprise, and so does the crow in the mirror. It squares its shoulders and marches forward - and so does its opposite until, thoroughly rattled, it flies off.

My photographs are from the Smallholders' Show up at Builth in 2007, as my camera wasn't working at the weekend (I'd pressed a wrong button!). Flags courtesy of the (Flags of the World) highlighted link for Glyndwr's Banner.

Home-made blanket box

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 10:20:00 +0000

This is what my husband has been working on for several weeks now, and it has cost him virtually nothing apart from £10 to have the fretwork straps on the top cut out. The wood - it's made from solid oak - came from old bed ends which had been dumped at our local auction as they wouldn't sell. I think he's done a wonderful job on it and it looks just right on our top landing.

Fixing battens to hold the base of the chest.

Here it is being sanded at an earlier stage of creation. The design for the apron along the front was traced from a similar piece of furniture we have.

The pattern for these came from half of a very old and beautiful cast iron hinge he got from a junk place and he still has that hinge to use on another project.

One of my husband's old Windsor chairs keeps it company.

Warning: Proud Momma Alert!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Sun, 12 Jul 2009 06:05:00 +0000

Tam on a Dig at a possible Roman site in the Deer Park at Dinefwr Castle.

Our eldest daughter Tamzin has just found that she has will be graduating from a BA in Archaeology with a First. It was a close run thing as her essays were 1/2 a mark off a first, but then her dissertation clinched it. We are SO pleased for her as we know how hard she worked - she is a slow but thorough reader, can't speed-read to save her life, so she always had to allow plenty of time for research. The last 6 months before her dissertation was finished was like hell on wheels.

Now we are looking forward to Graduation Day next Monday. It will be SO good to see her again.

Thoughts about moving

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 11:59:00 +0000

I still have an internet connection - Amazing! I couldn't sleep the night before last and ended up house-hunting. It was to be this year that we downsized, but the state of the economy dictated otherwise. Now we are doing various jobs which needed doing so that when we come to market the house next year it is all tickety-boo. All except the grass growing in the top guttering that is. 3 1/2 floors up - no ladder will reach - and my efforts (though gung-ho!) with a trowel lashed to the end of a long piece of wood only worked on the bit of guttering directly below the Velux window in the roof which I was hanging out of. Hmmm. Suggestions on a postcard please.

When househunting, I have a mental list of what I want (as opposed to DH, who has slightly different requirements) WWD (When We Downsize). We want 3 or 4 bedrooms (rather than the 8 we have here!), a nice light house (this is very gloomy, even on a bright summer day), easy to heat, with a nice roomy kitchen as we have here but with lots of storage space and an Aga. A wood burning stove in the sitting room and a big inglenook again. Lots of character and preferably a few beams. A good-size garden which wanders rather than one which is just a square in front of the house as it is here. DH (darling husband) would settle for a small sun-trap yard with NO GRASS (and no room). I would like fruit trees, an established soft fruit garden and well-dug veg plot, a small polytunnel would be nice - or the room for one - and definitely a greenhouse. A conservatory wouldn't' go amiss either, oh and a workshop for my beloved. Not on a busy road - set away on a no through road preferably because of the cats - but not too far from a town which would provide job possibilities for our younger son and daughter who will be moving with us. Possibly with an annexe for holiday letting or for one of our offspring to set up home in later (or us "olds" to move into in our dotage. Not too far from a shop, so OH can have his daily paper (he's such a newshound), and preferably on the edge of Dartmoor or on the Devon coast. I can see us going on Escape to the Country - or should that be, Escape From the Country to the Country?

Devon does offer a good selection of the sort of house/cottage we are seeking, but gosh, what an eye-opener some of them are. One place - I only looked at it because it had a lovely view - was NOT our sort of house, and inside it looked like something out of Footballer's Wives - everything pale and insipid and "dressy" with a pure white sitting room. Everything in it, from the carpet to the mirror and even the tv I think, was pure white. I couldn't help thinking, "no pets, no kids and I bet she doesn't make jam either . . ." It was so unwelcoming and unhomely. You'd be frightened to sit down, and your shoes would definitely be off at the front door . . . Not like my mish-mash of "collectibles", millions of books and lots of clutter and untidiness. I will have to tidy so much away before we have people to view next year, but I am NOT going to do the "everything beige and no personal belongings (pictures, photos, china, CLUTTER) etc. NO WAY. If people haven't the imagination to see beyond our colour scheme (largely soft yellow in the hallways etc to bring in as much light as possible) and can't imagine a wall without a picture on it, they're not the sort of people for our house.

So whilst we can't move just yet, I have sent for a few house details, and am carefully doing my research on potential areas, and if my darling husband thinks we are moving to Hadrian's Wall he can think on!!!

Baking bread without an oven . . . the old Cornish way

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 05:57:00 +0000

Interior of a cottage (c. about 1810) at St Fagans. This is the first of a row of terraced cottages which are decorated internally spanning a 150 year period.

I found a wonderful little book recently in Hay-on-Wye, for just £4; “Cornish Homes and Customs” by A K Hamilton, it harks back to a much earlier time – sometimes up to more than a hundred years before this. It is a fascinating book to read and I learn more with every page I turn. How to bake bread though you don’t have an oven was one such lesson. I will include the preamble to this, as it offers a fascinating insight into cottage life generally:

“Notwithstanding the fact that from the early part of the 18th century onwards coal was being freely imported for the use of the mines, furze and turf long continued to serve the needs of the people for all domestic purposes. In 1799 the overseers of Mylor parish were paying but 9d. hundred for furze faggots for the use of the poor-house, a price with which coal, however cheap, must have found it hard to compete. Indeed, until almost the end of the last century many Cornish houses knew no other fuel than that which came to them from within a short distance of their doors. In one or two instances these turf fires are said to have been actually kept alight for a hundred years, faithfully serving the needs of the inhabitants from birth to death (N.B. the same was said of the fire in the Warren House Inn on Dartmoor). Each night, the embers were banked up before going to bed, and the kettle hooked on to the cross-bar in the chimney. On coming down the next morning the water was always boiling, whilst sufficient fire still remained to fry the bacon and mashed potatoes for breakfast. After the meal, the hearth was swept clean, fresh turf was put on, and so the old fire entered on anther day of service and companionship to the household. With the aid of such fires as these the Cornish housewife contrived to do all the cooking for the largest family, asking nothing more than a ‘kettle’ for baking and a ‘crock’ for boiling. The kettle, it should be explained, in no way resembled the ordinary utensil of that name (which was distinguished in Cornwall by being termed a 'tay (tea) kettle’, but was simply an iron bowl with three legs capable of being stood on the ground like a small crock. Whenever baking had to be done, the brandis or heavy iron trivet was first drawn forward into the centre of the hearth and on it was placed a round sheet of iron, known as the ‘baking ire’. With the aid of the ‘fire-hook’, which took the place on the open hearth of a poker in ordinary grates, the smouldering embers were raked around the brandis and under the baking iron, and were fanned into flame with the (bellows). As soon as the baking iron had been heated in this way to the proper temperature it was taken off the brandis, carefully wiped and greased, and replaced on the hearth. On to it the bread or other food was then laid and covered by the inverted kettle. Hot embers were raked around, and a fire of furze and 'bruss' (dried hedge gatherings etc) built up over the whole. Beneath this the bread, protected from all dirt and ash, was left to cook for about an hour and a half, at the end of which time the embers were removed, the kettle lifted off, and there was the loaf baked to perfection! All sorts of dishes – heavy-cakes, pasties, and pies – were prepared in the same way, the only variation being that in some instances a ‘baker’ was used instead of a kettle. The former resembled in shape a heavy iron frying-pan without a handle, and differed from a kettle chiefly in having no legs. For boiling and stewing the crock was used, either placed on the brandis or hung from a cross-bar in the chimney.Occasionally, when very large joints of meat had to be roasted, the crock itself would be inverted over the baking iron in place of a kettle."

Enjoy. I temporarily have an internet connection, so will post this and run. "They" (BT) are finally shutting the road, lopping trees, replacing poles and rotten cable next Monday . . . It had better blardy-well work PERFECTLY after that . . . I have been going stir crazy here after so many weeks without broadband, and have been writing letters in desperation - but no one has written back yet!!!

St Fagan's - Museum of Rural life

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 17:11:00 +0000

The amazingly colourful cover of the font at St Teilo's church, now reconstructed at St Fagan's. The Star of David and the Tudor rose is incorporated in the design.

We had to pick up Middle Daughter (G) from Cardiff Airport this morning, so we made a detour and visited St Fagan's, as K and I wanted to see St Teilo's Church, which was taken down stone by stone from its old situation in Pontardulais, and re-erected in the grounds of this wonderful museum, amongst many other saved and re-erected buildings - from early Medieval houses to prefabs, and everything in between, including an excellent Iron Age Village. G had "breakfast" with us, then decided she had seen it too many times before (favourite destination of end-of-year school trips, and indeed, the place was packed with them today too!) so went back to snooze in the car.

Below, St Teilo's from the rear.

St Teilo's was built between 1100 and 1520, gradually being enlarged and altered. Around 1850 the church began to be used less frequently, probably due to its position on the edge of the marshes beyond Pontarddulais and the building of a modern church to cater for the increasing number of worshippers in Pontarddulais.

The wonderful wall-paintings which have been faithfully re-created from remains of the originals, date from the 16th century, but overall the murals began around 1350 and several layers and repaintings show they were improved or altered up until 1790.Pigments sourced from natural minerals and mixed with limewash, were used to create the colours. Black pigment was created from soot or charcoal. More expensive pigments included lapis lazuli which gave a rich blue, and a red from cinnabar. Gold and silver leaf were also employed. Egg yolk or linseed oil or buttermilk were used to bind the colour to the paint and the wall. Most churches were this colourful until the Civil War, after which the Puritans destroyed what they considered to be idolatorous and sinful and pagan imagery - in other words, the beautiful and colourful interiors of virtually every church in the land.

St Christopher, in his traditional position opposite the door.

The wonderful chequerboard patterning inside the archways.

The story of Teilo's life is shown here on the Rood Screen, but my arms were too short (and the camera too shaky at arm's length!) to take close-ups, so please go here for the story to unfold, with decent close-up pictures. Using Welsh oak, these carvings took a skilled carpenter over three months to design and carve.

This looks gloomy as the batteries were failing on my camera and sadly I couldn't use the flash, but you get the general idea.

For explanations of the carvings and symbols, visit here. We were hurrying and also talking to someone we met outside the church, so I missed several of them. Part of the church was roped off so we couldn't get near the altar, sadly. I even missed a Green Man on the ceiling!

St Fagan's first became interested in the church in 1982, although the procedures became stepped up in 1984 after the roof slates were stolen and the murals put at real risk from the weather. The church had very early origins - a carved stone inside its walls has been dated to around the 7th-9th century - but the first written mention of the church was in 1100. It's original name - "Llanteilo tal-y-bont" - means the church dedicated to St Teilo at the crossing place of the river (River Loughor). St Teilo was born in Pembrokeshire around 480 AD, and a contemporary of Dewi Sant (St David) and St Padarn.

Broadband . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 06:41:00 +0000

I have a connection temporarily this morning, but it probably won't last. It's a week since the last connection. Please bear with me - it could be several weeks yet before the problem is fixed as the Council are now involved (to shut the road for tree lopping).

Missing you all and hope this connection holds.

Old books and Romsey Abbey

noreply@blogger.com (Bovey Belle) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 18:19:00 +0000

Romsey Abbey, Hampshire

Anyone reading this blog on a regular basis will know of my deep love of books - a passion really, since I would forgo almost anything in order to buy another book I have seen and desire. Some of them cost just pennies at the Car Boot Sale. Some are brand new and full price. Once they are on my bookshelves, I find it very hard to winnow out the ones I can live without. A recent Car Boot Sale acquisition was H V Morton's In Search of England, which cost me all of a pound. I have just turned to the pages where he moves on to Romsey from Winchester (in Hampshire). Romsey is where my mum's parents moved after WW1, and where I still have aunties and many cousins living. This was originally first published in 1927, and he could have been writing about my mum and her sisters when he wrote the following:

"Three small girls in white pinafores were nursing dolls in the graveyard; a butcher's boy in a blue pinafore cycled past with mutton, and down the elm walk there came an elderly man holding a posy of wallflowers in his right hand . . ."

And:

"Romsey, in the magic county of Hampshire, is the ideal small market town. Lord Palmerston, with bronze hair turned green by years of rain, stands importantly on a plinth in the market-place; a policeman in an easier attitude stands near him; there is a full cake-shop opposite; everything is slowed down to a reasonable pace; men in leggings stand on the kerbstone with the expressions of deep thinkers; now and then a man and cow cross the square."

My parents were married in Romsey Abbey. I have visited it many times over the years and here is Mr Morton writing about something I remember very clearly:

"There is in Romsey Abbey, in a locked box, a tress of auburn hair. It was found during excavations in the year 1839 in a leaden coffin of Saxon date under the floor of the south aisle near the abbess's door. The coffin was otherwise empty and the hair had been placed in a box of oak that rested upon a wooden stand. What, I wonder, is the story? How often a mystery like that hangs in the mind when the greatest monuments in a church have faded from remembrance."

As indeed, it has stayed in my mind all these years. I wonder who she was? A Saxon princess? A revered mother or sister or daugther? We will never know . . .