A Watery World

Tags

Gwent Wildlife Trust, Magor Marsh, Monmouthshire, scarlet elf cap, shrill carder bee, water voles

©Ian Curley

The Gwent Levels near my home in Monmouthshire are entirely man-made. Skirting the northern edge of the Severn Estuary they are one of the largest surviving areas of ancient, grazed wetlands left in Britain. It’s an area where humans have worked with nature and water to create a sustainable place in which they could live. The Romans first reclaimed this land by building sea defences. It’s believed horses from the nearby Roman fortress of Caerleon grazed on fields reclaimed from the sea. After the Romans left, the sea reclaimed the land. The landscape you can see now dates back to the medieval period, although it’s believed many of the drainage systems follow those built by the Romans. And it’s the intricate drainage network which manages rainfall that makes this such an incredible place.

I’ll admit when we first visited one of the reserves on the Gwent Levels just after we had moved to the area I was a little underwhelmed. At first glance the landscape can appear unremarkable. It has none of the drama of the Cornish coast, Snowdonia or the Lake District, none of the classic beauty of the Cotswolds or the Yorkshire Dales. But it didn’t take long for me to discover that I just needed to look a bit closer to discover the delights of this watery world.

Magor Marsh and a winter sunset ©Ian Curley

Rich in a variety of habitats – coastal and floodplain grazing marsh, wet meadows, reedbeds and saline lagoon – this is fertile land that is criss-crossed with a series of drainage channels. Water is held in the ditches from spring to autumn to provide water for agriculture. These high levels of water also provide the perfect conditions for plants and animals. In winter, pens (wooden planks) are lifted causing the water levels to drop allowing the ditches to be flushed and controlling winter flood water. Ridge and furrow ploughing was practiced on these fields as it would have been across the UK during the Middle Ages – the raised ridges encouraged better drainage than a flat field. Water would run off the fields into gullies known as gripes, then into a series of field drainage ditches and finally into more substantial watercourses known as reens, from the Welsh rhewyn. Pollarded willows were often grown along reens to strengthen the banks and you can still see these oddly shaped trees at Magor Marsh.

Water vole ©Ian Curley

Magor Marsh is a reserve on the Levels managed by Gwent Wildlife Trust with boardwalks taking visitors through the landscape. It’s also home to a thriving population of water voles following a reintroduction programme in 2012. For nine years prior to this, this once common species had been absent from the Levels. One of our cutest creatures it also has the less envious title of the nation’s fastest declining wild mammal, according to the Wildlife Trusts. It’s always been a creature I’ve wanted to see in the wild, but a sighting had so far eluded us, that is until last spring. We’d heard they were there, but our previous visits had been like those at the zoo when you stand at the enclosure searching high and low for the creature that is meant to reside there but to no avail. So we couldn’t believe our luck when we heard the distinctive plop as one left the bank to swim across the reen. Then there was another and another. Our best count so far is ten in one day. This isn’t a place you need to trek to for hours. They’re right by the car park. This fabulous little reserve means we’ve seen young and old, the fit and those less able watching these delightful wild animals. All walk away with a grin on their face.

Scarlet elf cap ©Ian Curley

The reens teem with life, whether it’s the great silver water beetle, the musk beetle, the flowering rush, or a whole host of rare aquatic plant species. In winter, it’s a bleak landscape open to the large skies above, with willows silhouetted against the low winter sun and the wind whistling through this flat land. The silvery, fat, furry buds of willow appear as warmth creeps back into the sun and green shoots start to emerge. This is the best time to catch a glimpse of the water voles, before the reeds take over the reen banks. Wander through the boardwalks in May to the wetland meadow and you’ll see one of the most magical sights – a whole field of ragged robin. Hidden among the willows and alder you can come across scarlet elf caps, a name which sounds like it was conjured up by Enid Blyton. The reeds grow at an incredible rate in summer making it tricky to see the water voles scurrying into their burrows. Brown hares, otters and lapwings live here too, along with a good population of farmland birds whose habitat is threatened in many parts of the country. The unimproved grasslands are also home to the shrill carder bee, one of the UK’s rarest bumblebees.

Ragged robin ©Ian Curley

The Levels would be an area under water if they weren’t managed correctly. Flora and fauna thrive, as do the villages, as long as everyone plays their part. The landowners, farmers, drainage boards, councils and wildlife charities all have to come together if the drainage channels are to work effectively. If the Levels work as they should the flood plains of the River Usk, absorbing excess rainwater coming downstream and from the surrounding hillsides, can work properly too.

Despite the Gwent Levels being home to nationally important wildlife this appears to not matter as an extension to the M4 motorway will cut through a section of the Levels. The idea is to relieve congestion where the current motorway is squeezed from three lanes down to two at the Brynglas Tunnels, a well-known, local bottleneck. This ancient landscape will have a whopping great big motorway carved through it. This road would pass through four Sites of Special Scientific Interest and very close to Magor Marsh, also a SSSI, thereby disregarding all those studies which show wildlife needs to be able to move and spread out in order to thrive. Much has been done across the country to create wildlife corridors; here it will be a corridor of concrete and tarmac. And, in light of this winter’s flooding, is it really a wise move to build in an area prone to high water levels? With traffic jams that can stretch from Newport to Bristol on a Friday evening a solution is needed, but there were other options, ones which would have protected the Levels and cost significantly less money. What the Gwent Levels show is the willingness of politicians to disregard the protections they came up with in the first place, rendering them meaningless. It also shows that politicians invariably choose the most obvious, but not always the most effective, solution to a problem.

It’s sad to think that the hard work done to re-establish water voles could all be for nothing and that this ancient, beautiful landscape will, over the coming years, change forever.

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Under Water

Tags

Boxing Day floods, Calder Valley, Hardcastle Craggs, Hebden Bridge, Pennines, the Snug Gallery

Rochdale Canal, Hebden Bridge ©Ian Curley

What would you do if your home, your business and your allotment were deluged by water? I’ve been incredibly lucky to never experience this kind of flooding, so I can only imagine how devastating it would be to hear the sirens signalling the imminent threat of flooding, to watch as streets became rivers and to see the flood waters rise. On Christmas Day night and Boxing Day this is what many in the north of England were faced with as the rain kept on falling. There had been floods earlier in December in Cumbria and there have been more since, particularly in Scotland, but when it hits somewhere you know and love, when it threatens family and friends, it takes on another dimension.

Market Street, Hebden Bridge, with kind permission of Helen Baron. Taken from above her shop Ribbon Circus which was damaged in the floods.

The Calder Valley sits below a stretch of the Pennines in West Yorkshire. Wellyman grew up here, we were married here and it’s somewhere I’ve come to think of as my adopted home. I love its stunning, rugged beauty, the fantastic market towns and great community spirit. Then the rain came, the rivers swelled and the flood waters rose. This is an area accustomed to a degree of flooding; the topography, a steep-sided valley with rivers running through it, makes it somewhat inevitable, but what happened this Christmas was beyond anything that had been seen before. At one point, in the main streets of Mytholmroyd the water was as high as the shop signs above doors and windows. It inundated homes and businesses, damaged bridges and lifted road surfaces. It would be one thing if this was clean water but it isn’t, it’s full of whatever it has swept with it – debris, mud and, worst of all, sewage from the overwhelmed sewers. It has been heart-breaking to see the footage of the destruction the floods have caused.

 

 

For some time now the market town of Hebden Bridge has been a beacon for independent shops and has gained a reputation for its quirkiness, profusion of organic shops and ethically sourced products. We make a bee-line for the town whenever we’re in the area. Many of us decry the loss of the nation’s high streets and the homogenisation of shopping due to out-of-town developments and massive superstores. Hebden has been a model for what a town can be, a thriving community with an eclectic mix of small businesses supporting the local economy. Whether it’s the food shops which supply local produce, the independent bookshop, the art and crafts supplier and the whole host of galleries, clothes and gift shops, this is a place where shopping is a pleasurable experience. I normally can’t stand the prospect of having to go shopping, the thought of fighting through the crowds and being blasted by loud music mean I spend as little time in shopping centres as possible. Hebden is so different. I could happily spend a whole day pottering around here, having a delicious lunch and then a wander by the canal or up to Hardcastle Craggs, a local beauty spot. Then there’s the Hebden Bridge Picture House one of the last surviving civic-owned cinemas in Britain and the Little Theatre Company formed in 1924. This is a town which celebrates creativity and community.

The Snug Gallery, Hebden Bridge ©Ed Chadwick

One of these businesses is the Snug Gallery run by Ed Chadwick. Ed is a photographer who has created a highly regarded gallery which showcases incredibly talented artists from across the country, including his partner Jill Shaddock’s beautiful ceramics. On Boxing Day Ed and his partner Jill faced the triple whammy of having their home and their business deluged, and their allotment washed away.

What do you say to people who have had their world turned upside?

The Snug Gallery prior to the floods, Hebden Bridge ©Ed Chadwick

Wellyman and I met Ed last summer; I think it might have been raining then too. A mutual friend, Sarah, knew we were in town and said we should pop by the gallery and say hello. Her text went something like, ‘He has an incredible allotment, you’ll have lots to talk about’. And we did. Ed showed us photos of his plot on Instagram, we chatted about potato varieties and our dahlia obsessions. Later that day, after a walk by the canal we took a wander past Ed and Jill’s allotment. It was stunning, not just an allotment but their garden. Now it’s all washed away.

Ed and Jill’s allotment in Hebden Bridge last summer and after the recent floods ©Ed Chadwick

Hebden Bridge has come back to life after previous, albeit less damaging floods, it has also survived the decline of manufacturing and the mills to reinvent itself. But this flood has really knocked the stuffing out of people. Many businesses haven’t been able to get insurance against flooding for some time now. There’s a fear that people will leave, that businesses won’t reopen and what will happen to the town then?

Flooding isn’t going to go away. Perhaps there are ways to alleviate the ferocity of future floods. There has been talk of damage to the moorland above the town caused by possible over management of a grouse shoot. http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/dec/29/deluge-farmers-flood-grouse-moor-drain-land. Possibly Hebden Bridge and the surrounding areas can look to other places which have come up with ingenious ways to limit any damage. But what about the here and now?

The Snug Gallery Appeal ©Ed Chadwick

I’ve felt really useless over the last couple of weeks not knowing how I could help, so I thought the least I could do was to write about what has happened and to tell you about the appeal Sarah, the friend who introduced us to Ed, has set up. The idea is to raise £10,000 to keep the Snug Gallery alive. Although they managed to salvage their stock and reopen, there is a bigger problem. The town has been decimated and it will take quite a while to recover. Without visitors over the coming months shops like the Snug will find it difficult to keep going. By supporting Ed and his business you’re also supporting a community of craftspeople and this fabulous town. Ed has devised a tiered system of rewards to show his gratitude to all those who pledge their help which include Snug Gallery seeds, a limited edition print of Hebden taken by Ed, a vase created by Jill, a photographic walk around the town with Ed, or the ultimate bespoke Snug Gallery Experience. For more details of how to pledge and how you’ll be helping go to https://crowdfunding.justgiving.com/sarah-statham-4.

To see more about the Snug Gallery http://www.snug-gallery.com/ and to find out more about the fantastic rewards go to https://www.instagram.com/snug_gallery/.

Scenes from Hebden Bridge ©Ed Chadwick

I’m sure normality will return to the area soon and Hebden Bridge will be ready to welcome visitors once again. If you get a chance do go. Hopefully you’ll get a taste of why this is such a fabulous place.

Hygge

Tags

Blanchland, hygge, Killhope, natural Christmas decorations, Nordmann Christmas tree, north pennines, Seasonal Affective Disorder

North Pennines

I’ve always had a thing for Scandinavia. I’m not sure where this comes from but ever since I can remember it’s held a deep fascination for me. Our honeymoon was spent in Norway. Neither Wellyman nor I have complexions suited to tropical climes so we chose fjords and mountains rather than desert island beaches. If you gloss over the eye-watering prices and the fact that we spent a night in bunk beds in a youth hostel Scandinavia was everything we thought it would be.

My love of all things Scandi hasn’t abated. I can highly recommend the book The Almost Nearly Perfect People, The Truth About The Nordic Miracle by Michael Booth which is an intriguing look into why the inhabitants of the Nordic nations regularly top the tables of the happiest people on the planet. It’s also at this time of year I wonder how our friends across the North Sea cope with the long winters. For me it’s a tricky time of year. My body and brain crave a break from the garden to recharge my batteries. I even like the changing seasons. I’m not sure what it would be like to live somewhere where it was sunny all the time and there was no autumn or spring as we know it, but I do know I’d miss the first leaves unfurling, snowdrops poking through, the autumnal harvest and leaf colour. Oh, but the long dark nights and the gloomy days make everything so much more of an effort. Perhaps if I lived somewhere where snow glistened under sparklingly clear winter skies I wouldn’t mind winter so much. Instead Welsh winters tend to deliver damp and grey. Farrow and Ball might have done much for the colour grey’s reputation, rebranding it from dour to trendy with names like ‘Skylight and ‘Mole’s Breath’, but so far no one has managed to convince me of the merits of dampness. And whose bright idea was it to come up with the name Seasonal Affective Disorder? Yes, I know it sums it up rather neatly and produces the acronym SAD but no one who approaches the lack of light with trepidation wants to refer to the lamp which is a pretty poor substitute for the sun as their ‘SAD lamp’. Even the act of calling it that makes me long for spring sunshine.

Embracing the Danish idea of hygge is one way to deal with winter. After much consultation online I was still none the wiser as to how it’s pronounced – Søren (Flaneur Gardening) can you help? It can’t be translated directly into English but it roughly means cosiness, taking pleasure in the simple things in life such as gathering around a roaring fire, enjoying a steaming bowl of soup, lighting candles, snuggling under a blanket. This is all right up my street. It might be why I love Christmas so much. I know it’s not the done thing to put decorations up too early. Obviously there are the practicalities of keeping a Christmas tree alive for a long period of time in a centrally-heated home. But there’s most definitely a judgemental attitude to when it is deemed acceptable to adorn your home. I’m certainly not opposed to anything – candles, twinkly lights, a sparkly bauble or two – which adds a bit a glam to the house as the nights draw in. Our ritual has always been to restrain ourselves in terms of the tree and full on decorations until the 1st of December. I know for some Christmas Eve is too early!

Spotted this on the wall of an old school at the weekend. A woman could apparently be a headmistress but not run a gardening club.

So imagine how I felt when I was asked to make some Christmas decorations for a magazine and that they’d need a tree, lights, the works. Eek! So Christmas came to the Welly household on the 12th of November this year. We collected a tree from a nearby farm – it was the earliest tree he had ever sold in twenty years of business. There were slightly startled looks and ‘we thought we were early’ comments from other visitors to the farm. They were choosing their tree for collection later on, as we walked off clutching a sawn-off tree and huge branches of noble fir for the wreath making. I’ll admit it was a tad disorientating to have a fully dressed Christmas tree, mince pies and mistletoe in the house in the second week of November. I did have to pinch myself as I was making the decorations. I was an avid Blue Peter viewer as a child and would make the Christmas decorations they featured every year. To be able to come up with ideas and make them for magazines myself is a dream come true.

It was a short-lived burst of festive spirit. Even though we picked a Nordmann non-drop tree we didn’t want it to look forlorn by Christmas Day so it’s having a break from the central heating and it’s in the garden at the moment, tucked away in a corner, where it has so far survived the battering of the Atlantic storms passing through. I didn’t want to take everything down though so we still have lights, baubles and candles dotted about adding sparkle to the house.

November snow

We had a surprisingly early taste of winter last weekend. We were visiting family in the north-east when an icy blast of weather from Iceland was forecast. There was the lightest of dustings of snow in the garden on the Saturday morning but I knew that the higher parts of the North Pennines would certainly have more, so we set out to hunt for snow a bit like those storm chasers in America. We headed north to the fascinating village of Blanchland, built from the remains of the 12th century abbey. There was a good inch of snow and the paths were lethally icy under foot and it all looked enchanting under the blue skies. It was apparently -11°C with the windchill and the kind of cold that makes you feel like the air has been sucked from your lungs. It was quite a shock after such a mild autumn to go straight to winter like this. After lunch in front of a roaring fire we drove north to the pretty market town of Corbridge on the banks of the Tyne. From here there’s a road which takes you south over the very tops of the North Pennines, the spine of northern England. Sparsely populated with small villages of sturdy stone cottages and farmhouses, it’s a stunningly beautiful but little visited part of the country. It’s hard to imagine now but this was once a hub of industry. Mining for lead and other minerals was the main employer. Every now and then you’ll spot a cluster of buildings, remnants of the area’s industrial past and at Killhope there’s a restored 19th century lead mine, working water wheel and museum. It was on this stretch that the snow was at its deepest. It was a magical scene from the warmth of the car but a reminder that it must have been an incredibly hard place to live before central heating and electric lights.

It was a short-lived blast of winter and now we’re back home we’ve returned to the grey and damp, but it’s December in a few days and I can’t wait to indulge in some hygge.

 

 

Are you bored with snowdrops yet?

Tags

Colesbourne Park, Cyclamen coum, Galanthus 'Rosemary Burnham', Sir Henry Elwes, snowdrops, The Plant Lover's Guide to Snowdrops

A sea of snowdrops at Colesbourne Park

If the answer to the title of this post is yes then you probably won’t want to continue reading. I know, I know, you can’t get stirred for galanthomania at this time of year. But lets face it, flowery delights in February are a little thin on the ground, we’ve all had enough of winter and are a bit desperate to see some signs of life in the garden. That’s not to take anything away from the beauty of snowdrops but I do think they owe a certain degree of their popularity to the fact that they bloom so early in the year and there is little else to compete for our attention. For a period of about four weeks from mid-February to mid-March gardens with collections of snowdrops are at their peak and it’s hard to not be blown away by the spectacular sight of carpets of these nodding white flowers as far as the eye can see. In fact it can trick you at first glance into thinking it has snowed and that it’s not actually thousands of flowers. Colesbourne Park in the Cotswolds is our nearest snowdrop heaven. Our last visit, a few years ago, was marred by the discovery the camera battery had barely any charge left and, at the time, we didn’t have a spare. But I’m always happy for an excuse to return to a great garden.

Galanthus ‘Rosemary Burnham’

I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea to have plant labels dotted about and it does make photography a little difficult.  At somewhere like Colesbourne, which is displaying a collection of different varieties, it’s incredibly useful. In fact I’m increasingly finding myself scrabbling around in gardens hoping there’s a label somewhere so I can find out what a particular plant is called. It’s even more important with a plant where the distinctions between some varieties are not that obvious at first glance and perhaps, in the case of snowdrops, even after a few glances. I did hear several ‘they all look the same to me’ comments whispered among visitors as they passed by. I was of this thinking a few years ago when I was just happy to see clumps of snowdrops, but recently I have been slightly bitten by the galanthus bug. When I say slightly I mean I can spot and appreciate the differences between a collection of snowdrops now, but I’m not yet prepared to spend £25 on a tiny pot with one flower and a few leaves in it, let alone the £1390 plus £4 postage paid yesterday for one bulb of Galanthus plicatus ‘Golden Fleece’. My new-found interest has been ignited partly from some of the blogs I read, and partly from Naomi Slade’s book The Plant Lover’s Guide to Snowdrops and the recent talk she gave at the Botanic Gardens in Wales. It was fascinating to wander around Colesbourne on Saturday with my newly appreciative eyes spotting varieties I now recognized and tuning my eyes into the subtle and not so subtle differences between the various varieties.

Galanthus ‘Jaquenetta’

When you first enter Colesbourne the gentle slope and woodland area is a sea of white. These areas are planted with the common snowdrop Galanthus nivalis, the scented variety ‘S. Arnott’, ‘Hippolyta’, ‘Ophelia’ and ‘James Backhouse’. All have formed substantial clumps and are divided in the summer to increase their populations. The initial snowdrop collection was started by Henry John Elwes in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries but it was largely forgotten about until the current owners of Colesbourne, Sir Henry Elwes (the great-grandson of Henry John) and his wife Carolyn, started to uncover plants and build up the collection. We were lucky enough to have a quick chat with Sir Henry and glean a little bit of his expert knowledge. Apparently the best time to divide your snowdrops is in July. At this point in the year there is nothing to be seen of the snowdrops above ground as all the foliage has died back, so at Colesbourne they employ a basic system using coloured sticks. Yellow sticks are placed near the clumps as the leaves die back and white sticks are used to mark areas where there are, as yet, no snowdrops. Then in July they lift the clumps, divide them and replant. When I asked him what was the best method to introduce snowdrops into a garden he said it was with potted bulbs at this time of year.

A charming spring planter

Small groups of the rarer varieties are planted closer to the house, in borders, raised beds and planters. Displayed this way it’s easier to appreciate what makes them so special. My own favourites were the unusual ivory, green-tinged variety Galanthus ‘Rosemary Burnham’ and the green, frilly petticoated ‘Jaquenetta’ (see above photos). I loved the stone troughs that were dotted about with snowdrops planted alongside iris and cyclamen. Snowdrops can be tricky in containers but large ones like this trough would be worth trying.

Cyclamen coum

Snowdrops aren’t the only attraction to Colesbourne. They have incorporated other winter and early spring-flowering plants. I don’t think I’ve seen such large vibrant clusters of Cyclamen coum, the shocking pink flowers shouting out at you. There’s a growing collection of hellebores, gloriously scented winter honeysuckles and viburnum. It’s a magical spot. Apart from the gentle hum of visitors chatting, the valley in which the estate sits is incredibly peaceful and there’s a real feeling of modern life not intruding. This is an old estate with classic parkland, mossy stone balustrades and urns, and a tiny church. The lake, created to provide hydro-electric power for the house, is stunningly and ethereally blue. It’s believed the colour is due to the colloidal clay in the water.

Colesbourne lake

There’s still time to kick off the garden visiting season with some fantastic displays across the country of snowdrops and early spring flowers. I’d love to hear about your favourite gardens to visit at this time of year.

Behind the walls

Tags

fruit training, Glasshouse Appeal, Victorian walled gardens, walled gardens, West Dean Walled Garden, West Sussex

Victorian glasshouses and cold frames at West Dean

I love walled gardens. There’s the sense of intrigue as to what lies behind those solid, sturdy walls and a feeling that I’m stepping into another world, somewhere where the distractions of life won’t trouble me. It feels as if the walls envelop me like a hug protecting me like they do the plants that grow within the boundary. All walled gardens have a magical air about them, but it’s the classic Victorian versions that are the true pinnacle for me.

Packed herbaceous borders

I’ll admit I’m someone who lives by the phrase ‘a place for everything and everything in its place’. I’ve always been like it. My parents were never subjected to the horror of a teenager’s messy bedroom with mounds of clothing in the ‘floordrobe’ and items of food left to cultivate an impressive range of moulds. It stood me in good stead for the poky student digs I lived in and the tiny ‘can’t swing a cat’ flat we rented when we first got married. Now I find it hard to write if I know the kitchen is in a bit of a state i.e. Wellyman has been baking again, even if I’m upstairs and the plumes of flour are downstairs. I’ve heard that it’s not unusual for writers to feel they can’t work unless the space around them is tidy – a cluttered house, a cluttered mind perhaps. And I have a bit of a theory that my slightly obsessive tidiness is why I have such a thing for Victorian walled gardens. I drool over the neatly arranged potting sheds and the rows of wheel barrows lined up ready for use. The rows of little plants germinating in perfect rows make me think of my own pathetic attempts where clumps of seedlings are interspersed with bare patches.

Orderly veg

West Dean, near Chichester in West Sussex, is a magnificent example of a Victorian walled garden restored to its prime and two summers ago I finally managed to visit. Head gardeners Jim Buckland and Sarah Wain have spent over twenty years bringing the gardens and the wider estate back to its former glory days.

Peachy!

Like any grand house in 19th century Britain, West Dean wanted and needed a kitchen garden and orchard to supply the house with food, and it was a notable place with King Edward VII a regular visitor enjoying pheasant shoots held on the estate. The orchard is enclosed within walls. Walled gardens are often thought of as providing protection from the weather but often it was more to do with protecting valuable produce from animals and hungry humans. The fruit collection is impressive with some of the fanciest trained trees I have ever seen, including heritage varieties specific to West Sussex. The walls are put to good use with pears, apples and plums trained against them but there are also specimens dotted about that have been intricately contorted into goblets and domes. Two herbaceous borders run through this walled garden too, offering an ornamental touch to what are often considered purely productive spaces. Although these borders would have been a clever way of supplementing the cutting patch to provide the house with vases of home-grown blooms.

West Dean’s cut flower garden

Ah ha! The cutting patch, now this was a bit of a surprise. I walked through a gateway in the wall into another enclosed space and what was the real hub of the walled garden, with rows of the original cold frames, potting sheds and glistening glasshouses. On the left hand side were beds and borders planted with the sole purpose of supplying flowers for cutting. Needless to say I was in my element. I do love the sense of order created by rows of plants and I think this is why I’ve found growing on my allotment easier than designing and planting my garden.

Elaborate fruit training

Beyond this was the walled kitchen garden where every bit of the space was used to its full potential. Red and white currants were trained against the walls of a shed now used as an information centre, herbs lined the edges of beds and cane fruits, such as raspberries, were grown in neat rows.

One of West Dean’s stunning glasshouses

The glasshouses were quite something. I have been to many a walled garden where glasshouses lie unused and forlorn, shades of their former selves, crying out to be loved and filled with plants. Victorian walled gardens are nothing without these buildings. Clever engineering coupled with the ingenuity of 19th growers meant that in a time before air freight and the mass importation of food, crops such as pineapples, peaches, apricots, melons and citrus fruits not suited to our climate could be produced to grace the tables of the wealthy. The sight of the restored glasshouses at West Dean is something very special. There was the peach house with fat, juicy, hairy fruits dripping from a beautifully trained tree, melons dangling from above in another, there were glistening black aubergines and a fantastic array of chillies. There was the glasshouse devoted to tender plants we recognise as house plants. I’ve never been much of a house plant lover but the collections of succulents, streptocarpus, begonias and fabulous stag’s horn ferns were enough to make me change my mind.

Filled with basil. That would make quite a lot of pesto!

It’s incredible to think these glasshouses were completely derelict in the 1990s. They were originally built at the end of the nineteenth century by Foster and Pearson of Nottinghamshire whose client list read like a who’s who of late Victorian high society and included Queen Victoria herself. The glasshouses were an ostentatious symbol of wealth. Only the richest in society could afford these creations and the teams of workers needed to put them to full use. Now though they are not just a symbol of that wealth but also one of our most precious links with our horticultural heritage and the skills, knowledge and hard work of the gardeners who worked there. The glasshouses underwent a restoration process in the 1990s but two of the glasshouses are in need of urgent attention once again. The team at West Dean need to raise £30,000 to repair just one of the glasshouses.

If you’d like to help you can donate. Just £10 could pay for 1kg of nails and a sense of satisfaction that you have helped to save these precious buildings for the future.

For more information about West Dean and visitor information.

Flowers, friends and the finish line

Tags

Angie Lewin, autumn flower arranging, Petersham Nurseries, The Garden Gate Flower Company, The White Horse Flower Company

Autumn inspired arrangement

It probably wasn’t the best of ideas to go to Cornwall for an October break two weeks before my book was due in but, in my defence, I had booked it when my original deadline was February 2015. The reason for my visit wasn’t to see the sea, although I did manage to squeeze that in, it was something altogether more flowery. Becca and Maz of The Garden Gate Flower Company had decided, back in June, to celebrate the end of the growing season with a get together of flower growers/florists who had come to know each other via Twitter. There’d be the chance to chat, pick flowers and arrange, how could I resist. At that point my book deadline was the middle of February so it wouldn’t be a problem, I could easily squeeze in a break away. Then I worked out I could get everything I needed for the book done much earlier and it was agreed to bring the deadline forward. Scroll forward to a Sunday night in the middle of October and a restaurant in a converted lifeboat station in a tiny Cornish fishing village. I’m so excited to be meeting a group of flowery friends for a pre-workshop dinner but quietly panicking about the long list of jobs still left to do.

It struck me, on this Sunday evening how Twittter has transformed how people come together. There were those of us who had already met several times and had become firm friends, then there were those who were meeting for the first time. We had come from Wales, Wiltshire, Berkshire, London, Oxfordshire and Cornwall. It’s quite strange to think that only five or six years ago these connections would have been difficult to forge, if not impossible. And, you know the night has been a good one when the restaurant staff are doing everything, bar switching off the lights, to get you to leave.

Salvia uliginosa

So to Monday and Becca and Maz’s flower farm. There was chat followed by guided tours of their flower fields, more chatting, then flower picking. For a bunch of people who had spent all year growing and picking flowers it was perhaps a little odd that we all got so excited about picking yet more. It reminded me of when you’re out for a meal and the food other people have ordered always looks more interesting than your own plate. That surely isn’t just me?!!

We spent the next few hours arranging and photographing our creations in one of the stunning barns. Initially, I felt like a bit of a fraud. Here I was surrounded by people who arrange flowers for a living, whereas my own flower growing and arranging has only ever been to satisfy my own taste. I found myself and my bucket of flowers on the same table as Lindsey from The White Horse Flower Company, who will have arranged for an epic 70+ weddings this year, and Thomas from Petersham Nurseries, who creates beautiful floral designs for the rich and famous in London. Eek!! But everyone was so friendly, it wasn’t long before I was so absorbed by the process that I forgot my nerves.

Flowers and barn wall

Becca and Maz specialise in growing and arranging for weddings. They had such a beautiful array of flowers in soft colours that it was a real treat and inspiration for me to get my hands on flower varieties I haven’t grown before. My mind is still buzzing with ideas for my next cut flower patch. I can’t say I had any great plan when I initially started picking. I had taken a real shine to a particular dahlia called ‘Peaches’ and my arrangement ended up being built around that. I also took inspiration from the autumn countryside around the farm. I love teasels which capture the fading glory that I love so much about this time of year; they also remind me of my favourite artist Angie Lewin. In the end, my arrangement included dahalis, teasels, the rusty coloured and faded flower spikes of dock, straw flowers, Rudbeckia ‘Cherry Brandy’ and some fantastically sculptural seed heads from a couple of hedgerow plants such as ribwort plantain.

Another beautiful arrangement

Then came the photography. I’ve become a bit obsessed with this whole process in recent years. It has been fascinating to learn a little bit about the difference light and the right background can make to showing off flowers. What I’d give for Becca and Maz’s barn. As one person commented ‘You could photograph anything in here and it would look fabulous’. The quality of the light, the rustic doors, mossy bricks and stone walls added so much to the arrangements we had all created.

Since then it has been a crazy couple of weeks with late nights and being driven close to tears by Windows 8. It turns out I had inadvertently clicked on some tracking shortcut which it remembered each time I opened up the document, I couldn’t get rid of the damn thing. Fortunately Wellyman worked it out in the end. This final stage is so fraught with worry that you’ll click on the wrong button and something will disappear into the ether. There was a story, which did the rounds at university, about someone who had lost their dissertation only a few weeks before it was due, in a house fire. Whether this was an urban myth or not, it was enough then, and now, to make me overly cautious, with documents backed up several times to various places and emailed to myself. But even these can be a tad confusing when you’re on the umpteeenth draft.

Fabulous flowers

I had the final photo shoot on Monday and I clicked on the send button this morning. The next month or so will consist of the publishers designing the book and then there’ll be the edit but I’m nearly there and I can’t wait to see it all come together. So, I’m really very glad that I managed to get down to Cornwall after all.

The last photo shoot

If you fancy learning about flower growing and arranging Becca and Maz run a series of courses throughout the year which are open to anyone who love flowers, you don’t have to have a background in floristry. Becca’s mum provides a delicious lunch and fantastic cake to keep you going through the day. They’re also perfectly located near Fowey to combine one of their courses with a holiday in Cornwall. For more details check out their website The Garden Gate Flower Company.

Mossy trees and furry creatures

Tags

crytogams, Dawyck Botanic Garden, Edinburgh Zoo, koalas at Edinburgh Zoo, pandas at Edinburgh Zoo, Royal Botanic Gardens Edinburgh

Yew berries – Dawyck Botanic Garden

I think it might be a sign of growing older that time appears to have sped up. I now find myself saying phrases like ‘Where has the time gone?’, ‘Is it 5 o’ clock/ Friday/ October already?’ Things creep up on me now. I was horrified to see Christmas crackers and puddings in the supermarket the other day not because of frustration with the over-commercialisation of the festive season, but rather the realisation that Christmas isn’t actually THAT far away. Oh, and I woke up the other day in a cold sweat when it dawned on me that I have less than a month to finish the book.

Dawyck Botanic Garden

September merged into October for me whilst on a trip to Scotland. We loved Edinburgh so much last year that we thought we’d go again. It was a fantastic break catching up with a friend, eating great food and taking in the stunning scenery. I do wish someone would invent teleportation though. Any journey which involves the M6 is a slog, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s being stuck in a traffic jam. If it’s possible I try to plan a stop-off to beak up long journeys. Not only are they a way of seeing somewhere which I might not otherwise, they are essential for restoring the blood flow to my legs after a prolonged period in the car. Dawyck Botanic Garden is an hour or so south of Edinburgh, so it seemed the perfect place to stop for a walk and the obligatory cup of tea. Dawyck, a few miles outside the town of Biggar (stop the sniggering at the back), is an arboretum under the management of the Royal Botanic Garden in Edinburgh. The collection, covering over 60 acres, was once part of the Dawyck Estate where, over 300 years, 3 successive families have planted and maintained a globally significant collection of trees.

It was the fresh clean air which I noticed first. Now, it’s not as if I live in a polluted city choked by traffic exhaust fumes. Okay, sometimes the air in my village is a tad potent thanks to the silage the farmer has spread, but generally I’m lucky to be able to take deep breaths of clean Welsh air. There was something very noticeable though about Dawyck, it had a zing to the air that you get in alpine villages. It’s the sort of place that makes you feel as if you’ve had an expensive facial when you haven’t. Then you notice the trees. My, what trees! They were like green skyscrapers shooting up towards the clouds; there’s something awe-inspiring about such gigantic trees. I get a similar feeling when I’m on a beach and I’m faced with the vastness of the sky, clouds and sea; this is nature in all its glory and it’s fabulous. If you love trees you’ll love it here. The location, with the mountains, craggy hillsides and gushing streams, is unlike the other arboretums I have visited, which tend to have been created in more gently undulating landscapes. Thanks to the stunning surroundings Dawyck has some fabulous vistas. My favourite was looking down from the Beech Walk towards the privately owned house with its classic Scottish Baronial architecture and Trahenna Hill looming over it.

Dawyck House

The Veitches were the first family to live at Dawyck, in the castle which predated the current house, and they started the tradition of tree planting. The Naesmyths who followed continued the legacy. This was a family with a serious interest in plant hunting and especially trees. Sir James (1704-1779) trained under the tutelage of the famous botanist Carl Linnaeus, and his grandson Sir John Murray discovered a new species of beech growing on the estate with an unusual columnar habit of growth; it subsequently became known as the Dawyck Beech. Sir John also funded the trips of plant hunters such as William Lobb and David Douglas. The Douglas Trail within the arboretum includes the famous firs named after him which are believed to be among the first to have been grown in the UK. At the turn of the twentieth century, the Balfour family became the new owners. Fred Balfour added to the arboretum including trees from North America and Asia. He too financed plant collectors in return for seed. He wasn’t just a tree lover though, under his ownership azaleas and rhododendrons, meconopsis and daffodils were planted to add interest to the gardens throughout the year. The Balfours still live in Dawyck House, but they gifted the arboretum to the Botanic Gardens in 1979.

Lichen covered trees at Dawyck Botanic Garden

In the clear unpolluted air lichens thrive. There were some trees which were so covered in lichen it was hard to tell what they were underneath the dripping, Gandalf-like lichen beards. A whole area is devoted to crytogams. Despite 4 years of studying horticulture I’d never heard of the word before – it means a plant which reproduces by spores instead of flowers and seeds, and includes mosses, fungi, liverworts, ferns and algae. The damp conditions make it perfect for mosses and the understory to the trees was a mossy equivalent of a shag pile carpet, deep, springy and verdant green.

The Royal Botanic Gardens in Edinburgh are a world leader in the study of cryptogams. As part of this research a Scots Pine, planted from seed at Dawyck in the 1840s and blown down in the 1990s, is being studied as it decays to see which fungi and organisms make it their home. I find these elements of horticulture, the less glamorous side of it, fascinating. It’s easy and obvious why we adore flowers but I love that there are people out there who make it their life’s work to study the plants that so often go unnoticed.

And so to the furry creatures mentioned in the title. It wasn’t part of the plan to visit Edinburgh Zoo but the rain came down and we didn’t fancy wandering around an art gallery. I did wonder if we’d made the right decision as we squelched our way to the entrance but I’m so glad we chose animals over Whistler and Monet. Of course, the pandas have grabbed a huge amount of attention since their arrival at the zoo. The will-there-won’t-there be the patter of tiny panda paws has disappointingly come to nothing. It did mean however that the panda enclosure was open to visitors once again. I have learnt from years of zoo visits not to get my hopes up about seeing any particular creature. I have stood in front of many an enclosure searching high and low for the advertised creature only to shuffle off still none the wiser as to what a slow loris looks like in the fur. We timed our visit to the panda enclosure perfectly. We arrived to be told by the keeper that the male panda had been lying on a plinth for 4 hours. Within seconds it got up, strolled along the back wall, then walked straight towards us so it was within inches of the fence, before disappearing inside and out of view. For the briefest of moments we got to see one of the most iconic creatures on the planet and closer than I had ever imagined.

Another creature, an animal I have wanted to see ever since I can remember, was even more obliging. Edinburgh Zoo is the only place in the UK where you can see koalas and it was such a treat to see them. Considering koalas spend 23 out of 24 hours a day asleep we were lucky to see to see one of them eating, stretching and climbing, albeit all done at a measured koala pace. It must have exhausted itself though because it too joined its fellow koalas for a snooze, but I’m not sure it can get any cuter than a sleeping koala resting its head on a paw.

P.s. Thanks to Wellyman for his fab photos.

The Laskett

Tags

Julia Trevelyan Oman, national gardens scheme, Sir Cecil Beaton, Sir Roy Strong, The Laskett

A statue of Britannia – The Laskett

The Laskett is tucked away down a Herefordshire lane. We’ve driven past here before but we had no idea what lay behind the tall hedges of brambles and ivy, and it’s not what you would expect to find here among the rolling hills, orchards and pastures of such a rural county. For thirty years the gardens at The Laskett were the creation of Sir Roy Strong and his late wife, Julia Trevelyan Oman. She was a celebrated set designer working for TV, film, opera and ballet, he is an author and one time director of the National Portrait Gallery and the Victoria and Albert Museum. The Italianate gardens with nods to early English gardens and a theatrical theme running throughout were created from scratch, carved from simple bare fields surrounding the house. Julia died in 2003 and there was a period where the gardens remained untouched, but in recent years the gardens have been subject to a programme of renewal which is ongoing.

Snapshots – Windows in the hedging – The Laskett

I had very little knowledge of the gardens, to be honest it came as a bit of a surprise when I came across The Laskett and realised that we lived so close by. Generally you can only visit as part of a group but a few weekends ago the gardens were open as part of the National Gardens Scheme. I deliberately didn’t read anything about the garden before we went. I wanted to go there without preconceptions or expectations. I’d caught a glimpse or two from the website when checking the location, so had an idea that it would be theatrical, but other than that it would be a surprise and hopefully a pleasant one. Coming across a formal garden, statuary and topiary isn’t unusual in rural parts but they tend to come with a grand entrance and an even grander house. Both of these features set the scene and expectations. The Laskett has the surprise element because it lacks this grandness. That isn’t meant as a criticism, in fact in my opinion it’s a plus. It’s the sort of setting where you would expect to find a cottage garden wrapped around the house, instead I felt as if I had been transported to a villa outside Rome, which was the real joy of this garden. The early autumn sunshine helped somewhat but it was easy to forget I was in Herefordshire. There were follies, temples, statues and vast urns but it takes much more than a few urns and statues to convince someone they’re in Italy.

The Laskett

This is a garden that has been made by people with a great eye for detail but also for the bigger picture. The vistas which have been created by the paths and hedges dividing the garden have created living set designs. It’s very easy to see how Julia’s work on large productions for ballets and operas have translated into the creation of The Laskett. It makes for an incredibly photogenic garden and a very pleasing space to spend time.

Knot garden in front of the house – The Laskett

Initially, I was bit underwhelmed when we first entered the garden. The path takes you into an area in front of the house with a topiary knot garden which, although perfectly fine, just didn’t have a great deal of impact for me. Off to one side of the house was an area under reconstruction. I’ll admit that ten minutes or so into the visit I was wondering if this was it but then we followed the path around the side of the house and that’s when the element of surprise really hits.

The Silver Jubilee Garden – The Laskett

If a garden is about expressing the personality and passions of the owner/s then The Laskett certainly does that. Many of the structures and plants commemorate people and periods in the lives of both Roy and Julia – there’s an arbour for Sir Frederick Ashton, a choreographer for the Royal Ballet for whom Julia designed sets and a sundial from Sir Cecil Beaton’s garden, marking their friendship. Most of us can’t name drop knights of the realm but it’s easy to relate to wanting our gardens to reflect our lives, particularly if we’ve lived somewhere for a long time. Reading about the garden afterwards I discovered that certain plants around the gardens held special memories. There is a quince tree which grew from a cutting taken from a tree growing in Julia’s grandfather’s garden; rosemary, which could be found dotted about the garden had strong family connections too. I think most of us have plants in our gardens which we’ve inherited or been given as a present. For me gardens designed by a designer for a client so often feel a little sterile because they lack these personal connections and touches.

The structural planting of pruned yew, box and beech form the backbone of the garden. There are some fabulous specimen trees including an Acer griseum whose copper-coloured peeling bark glowed in the early autumn light. The majority of the planting comprises shrubs and seasonal highlights. It’s quite traditional in many ways and follows the Italian style of planting which relies on structure rather than colourful plants. Changes can be seen though – the new border was a riot of colour in early September with prairie-style plants in full bloom.

Structure from topiary – The Laskett

If you described a garden to someone as set in rural Herefordshire but designed on Italianate principles, which had a ‘Triumphal Arch’, a colonaded temple to provide shelter when having tea and cake and a life size stag statue with gilded antlers they would be forgiven for thinking it would be like a theme park. The Laskett isn’t. It’s somewhere that feels like a genuine expression of the lives of two people who had an immense passion for the place, a garden which has been created with love and which has given immense pleasure in return.

Off the Beaten Track – Cornish Gardens

Tags

allotments with a view, Kestle Barton, Lost Gardens of Heligan, Mousehole, St Michael's Mount, The Potager Garden

Penlee Point allotments

Cornwall’s mild climate means a whole host of plants from around the world can grow happily there. Most visitors are drawn to the National Trust gardens, Eden and Heligan but if you look beyond these there are other places where you can get a plant fix too.

Driving along the coast road from Newlyn to Mousehole I spotted the tops of bamboo canes clearly arranged to provide support for runner beans and a glimpse of some allotments. Later that evening we came back to take a closer look at the plots perched on the cliff with views out towards St Michael’s Mount. It must be incredible to grow here, with the sound of the sea below, although I’m sure the salt-laden winds pose problems and I’d be a little worried about coastal erosion. Further up the coast at Praa Sands this winter’s storms had taken their toll, worryingly so for the homeowners whose gardens were creeping ever closer to the edge. Even so I loved these plots and their quirky scarecrows created from all manner of salvaged finds.

Loving this scarecrow

It’s unusual to find houses which come with a garden in the tiny fishing villages which dot the Cornish coast. That might explain the extraordinary waiting time to take for an allotment in this area, which according to the Penzance Town Council website ranges between 5 and 9 years. And, rather than devote more land to allotments the council have decided to divide any plots which become available into two in the hope this will tackle the waiting list. When a patch of land does come with a house it’s clearly much appreciated. This row of gardens, in Mousehole, were squeezed into a strip of land above the sea and separated from their houses by a quiet road. As gardens go they are tiny and exposed to whatever the weather throws at them, but it was heart-warming to see how they were clearly precious to their owners.

Coastal gardens in Mousehole

On our final day we decided to slowly make our way home rather than heading straight back. Our first stop was Kestle Barton. We’d picked up a leaflet for the place the previous day in St Ives and thought it might be worth a visit. Billed as a rural arts centre it was the garden designed by James Alexander Sinclair which persuaded us to divert there. This isn’t the sort of place which you are just passing by. A combination of directions on the leaflet and Google Maps directed us down ever narrower country lanes until we eventually found ourselves at the end of the road and our destination. When Karen Townshend, ex-wife of The Who’s Pete Townshend, came across these old farm buildings dating back to the 19th century they had been untouched by modern agriculture and were crumbling into a state of ruin. Now they have been stunningly and sympathetically restored to provide an exhibition space and self-catering accommodation.

Kestle Barton

From the barn you walk out into a south-facing garden with bold drifts of herbaceous flowers and grasses. The scent from the mass planting of the lavender was divine and the sight of the vast meadow teeming with bees and butterflies was a delight. I’ve since discovered that the surrounding farm land is managed with the environment in mind. Tree planting projects, a commercial walnut nuttery, an orchard of Cornish apple, cherry and plum varieties and organic principles all form part of a plan to show how farming can adapt to climate change. Small field boundaries are being restored and native hedgerows planted. I love the ethos and if the wildlife in the meadow was anything to go by the environmental principles are working. As an arts centre though I’m not so sure. The space here was perhaps too small – just one barn –  and the handful of images weren’t very well presented. Maybe on another day with another exhibition it might have been different. As for the garden, well I think it could be the real attraction here. James Alexander Sinclair’s design and plants work so well in the setting and I loved what was there. It was what wasn’t there that was the problem – I didn’t understand why there were so many patches of bare soil. It looked like some plants had died or that the garden hadn’t yet filled out. It seems that the garden was planted in 2010 so maybe it just needs a bit longer to become established. Kestle Barton could be such a fantastic place, I really hope it can just find that extra oomph to take it there.

The Potager Garden Cafe

Our next stop was The Potager Garden about 20 minutes from Falmouth, tucked away in amongst the creeks of the Helford River. I’d spotted this place a few years ago in a weekend newspaper but we had never got round to visiting. It was Wellyman who remembered that we weren’t too far away and it would be perfect for a spot of lunch. An abandoned nursery, glasshouses and grounds have been lovingly restored to provide an idyllic setting in which to eat, drink and relax. There were hammocks in shady corners, table tennis, and packs of cards and dominoes dotted about. You know those sorts of places where you feel like they can’t wait to get rid of you, well this wasn’t one of them – they actually want you to linger here. And what a place to while away a few hours. The plants which were once nursery stock have become established plants. Many were growing through their pots into the ground when the site was rediscovered after ten years of neglect. The idea has been to create gardens which are both attractive and productive and they’ve succeeded. I knew the food would be good but it was a real surprise that the gardens were so beautiful too.

The Potager Garden Cafe and its gardens

I’d love to hear about your own off the beaten track garden discoveries.

 

Gardening Leave

Tags

Cornish choughs, Cornwall, Garden Gate Flowers, Land's End, Mousehole, Sennen

Mousehole and Mallow

It wasn’t perhaps the best time for a bit of a break but the other week we popped down to Cornwall for a few days. Ideally I wouldn’t leave my plot, garden, greenhouse and ever-growing number of pots in late June, but it was Wellyman’s birthday and we both needed to see the sea.

The rigmarole of making sure everything survives whilst I’m away does sometimes make me wonder whether it’s worth it. I’m reluctant to ask neighbours and friends to look after the plants because I know that can be a bit of a pressure for some, especially if they don’t have ‘green fingers’ or it’s very dry and they have enough of their own plants to cosset. I did once leave lots of emerging seedlings in a friend’s greenhouse but slugs got to some of the plants. I felt bad for my friend who clearly had been worried about the whole thing. She’d rushed out to get organic slug pellets and I think had dreaded my return and having to break the news. Now that I need plants for photo shoots I’d rather leave it up to me, then at least I’ve only got myself to blame if they shrivel and die. It does of course mean trying to make sure everything will get enough water, and it’s surprising how quickly pots and plants on a sunny windowsill can dry out, even if you’re only away for 4 days.

Porthcurno

The prolonged dry spell we’d had prompted us to hunt out the irrigation system gathering dust in a cupboard, which we bought 8 years ago but never got around to using. It’s a straightforward hose with sprinkler attachments and timer on the tap. The fiddly bit is getting the water to soak into the compost and not to spray everything else – greenhouse windows, paving, me. We spent a few days adjusting the settings and initially massively over-estimated how long we’d need to leave the timer on. Bearing in mind the water only trickles out we thought 10 minutes would be about right. It turns out this would have drowned them and 2 minutes was more than sufficient. Pots were gathered together in a shady spot and given a good soaking, windowsill seed trays were given a base of sodden kitchen roll, and the plot and garden were treated to a mammoth watering session.

Ironically by the time we set off it looked like we needn’t have bothered with all the watering. It seemed we’d time our get away with the glorious weather coming to an end as we headed into mist and gloom hanging over Devon and I shivered in my shorts and tshirt. Wellyman, always one to put a positive spin on life, said at least I wouldn’t have to worry about the plants drying out…….

Breaking up the journey we called in to see the lovely Becca and Maz at The Garden Gate Flower Company near Fowey. We met through Twitter and it was lovely to meet them in the flesh. I’m very jealous of their flower farm perched on a hill with the sea only minutes away surrounded by beautiful flowers, incredibly photogenic outbuildings and their polytunnel. After a few hours of wonderful flowery-chat we left them to tend their roses and continued on to the fantastically named Mousehole, pronounced by locals as ‘Mauzal’. It’s a classic Cornish fishing village with whitewashed cottages, tiny narrow lanes and a pretty harbour. And what’s more the sun came out. With all the technology at their finger tips the weather forecasters could have only got our four days in Cornwall more wrong if they had suggested it would snow. As it turned out the predicted four days of rain turned into glorious sunshine from start to finish.

A detour to Constantine Bay, near Padstow, on the way home.

We got to marvel at glistening turquoise waters, white sandy beaches, watched gannets plunge into the Atlantic and were delighted by the seal which popped up at Sennen Cove just as the sun was setting. The water was so clear at St Ives we watched as a seal swam torpedo-like under water to join a group of surfers. We chased it the length of the beach watching it come up with crabs in its mouth. It would disappear for a few minutes and we would scour the surface of the water waiting to see its head bob up again. I’ve seen seals in the past but generally they have been from boat trips to specific seal colonies. Great as these are there’s something much more special about these chance encounters we had.

I have never been to Land’s End, mainland Britain’s most westerly point. We have been close enough before but I’ve always been put off by the visitor attraction which has sprung up on this spot. I’d rather celebrate the dramatic beauty of this coastline by enjoying the peace and tranquility of the place rather than spend it at a petting zoo or being treated to tales of Arthurian legend. Something made me want to see the actual Land’s End though and I’m so glad we did because whether you want to pay to see a 4D movie or stare out to sea for free there’s the space for both types of visitor to co-exist.

Land’s End

We took the coastal path out of Sennen and walked a well trodden path along the cliffs for a few miles. The view was spectacular with the Isles of Scilly just visible on the horizon and the Longships lighthouse a mile out to sea. Sea thrift was fading but wild carrot was putting on an impressive show and there were choughs soaring above us. A red beaked and legged member of the crow family this is a rare bird with, it’s estimated, only 250-350 breeding pairs in the UK . Colonies exist in North Wales and Scotland but it’s with Cornwall that this bird is synonymous, featuring as it does on the county’s coat of arms along with a tin miner and a fisherman. But for nearly 30 years, from the 1970s to the start of the new millennium, choughs were absent from Cornwall – the population whittled down over the centuries by trophy hunters and changes to their habitat until their were none. Then a pair, believed to be from Brittany, set up home in Cornwall in 2001 and successfully bred and choughs returned to Cornwall.

And, of course there were plants but I think I’ll save those for the next post.