A Clydsdale Adventure.

Ready for action?

I have finally shifted the cold that has been dragging me down for nearly three weeks and as the weather was set to be fair, The Curate arranged a day out. He is training all day Saturday and working the morning and afternoon on Sunday  - so today was our weekend. He had a short service this morning and then we ventured across the river into Cornwall. 

We stopped for lunch in the Blisland Inn which just happens to serve very good real ale. This was our sort of pub! Perhaps The Curate thought he was in need of a little courage before the afternoon's adventure.

After a wander around the village and a visit to the church (more of that another time) we headed onto Bodmin moor and met with Tim and Becky who run the Adventure Clydesdale.

The Curate measuring the horses up for size

Now The Curate hasn't done much riding but he has always been prepared to have a go. Clydsdales are big as horses go - but these were delightful horses to ride. They are not 'nose to tail' trekking horses so we both had a fantastic ride. We rode out onto Bodmin and enjoyed the spectacular scenery and horses. There can't be a better way to see the moors than from the back of a horse.
I had a perfect day (- I hope The Curate will not be too stiff by Sunday!)               

a short canter

 

Photos - Adventure Clydesdale

The Harvest Festival

The fog and the rain became more dense as I drove home after work mid week - the journey took longer than usual as the traffic lights at the busiest, most complicated traffic junction had failed. It was like dicing with death - or he who was bravest - wins...and gets to go home. I had to edge forward and weigh up all the directions traffic could be coming from. Then I had to size up the make of the cars (and the drivers if possible). Big, blacked out windows and huge exhaust - I stop. Small, red cubes on wheels - I go... and eventually I reached home, tired and crotchety. The Curate then reminded me that he was taking the Harvest Festival in the small church a few miles away on the edge of the moor and could I please hurry up as we were both supposed to be at the Harvest Supper.
 
A quick shower and change of clothes and I was back in the car. We drove through the brightly lit town and on, through the rain, to the dark country roads that led to the small village on the edge of the moor. We could see that the church lights were on and, just as we were about to turn into the parking area, two bright headlights came towards us from the direction of the upper fields. Through the rain we could just make out three sheepdogs barking and running alongside a quad bike that had a very dead looking sheep lashed to the front. It was driven by the local farmer who was returning home to his farm in the middle of this village. In a very short time he too, would be joining us in the church with his family.

I love the simplicity of this church. For this evening, it had been decorated with autumn produce and flowers - laid on window ledges, on choir stalls and around the font. The harvest loaf was in its place on the altar and we were able to enjoy a few minutes of calm before the bells were rung to draw people to church. The Curate chatted to the bell ringers and the other folk who had prepared the church and then set about readying himself. I found myself a seat near the back of the church (a true Anglican!) and watched as the people began to arrive.

Everyone seemed to know everyone else and there were greetings with handshakes and hugs. Slowly church filled up - the side aisle first and then the central aisles (- with the very Anglican empty front two rows). When the local quad bike riding farmer arrived, The Curate discovered that it was not a dead sheep being taken off the moor but a very live one who needed to be dipped. No wonder the dogs had been barking! When the church was nearly full, the service began. 

I imagine the same hymns were sung in hundreds of rural churches this autumn - as they have been sung for many years. Come ye Thankful people come, raise the song of harvest home, For the beauty of the earth and We plough the fields and scatter the good seed on the land. I found the words very thought provoking as this evening, in this small rural village in Devon, they were raising funds for Shelterbox and Sightsavers. The Curate and I know a bit about Shelterbox as younger son met NQT (younger son's girlfriend) when volunteering there and NQT went out in August, to Dadaab, in Kenya, as part of a response team for the refugee camps. So The Curate used his sermon as an opportunity to speak more about these charities - and as the rain continued to fall outside, he talked of the drought ridden areas and the lack of hope for so many.

Our booty - plus the misshapen pumpkin!

 At the end of the service all the produce was gathered up into baskets and we made our way in the rain, across to the village hall. The tables were already laid with supper and we enjoyed a very convivial meal. But the real entertainment came with the auctioning of goods - when we were all refreshed with cider, and ready to bid!  A professional auctioneer - more used to auctioning cattle I imagine, was called upon to get the bidding started. Trays of vegetables, plates of saffron buns, bottles of elderflower champagne and even the spare meals from the harvest supper went under the hammer! We acquired a box of vegetables and some jams and pickles. The Curate was informed that the vicar always bids on the pumpkin (a very misshapen item this year) so we duly acquired this as well! There was much laughter and some high bids ("It'll only go to the taxman" was heard on occasion). When the evening came to a close, it was announced that over £700 had been raised for the two charities - a tremendous effort from  a small, rural village that was able to look outwards, despite the present economic climate in the UK.

Dadaab 2011

(Photographs  -  NQT)                                  

Sunday morning

What a difference a week makes! Last weekend I didn't venture out because I had succumbed to a very heavy cold. I lay in bed reading Annie's blog about her moment of peace on a Sunday morning and remembering similar mornings when we lived in Gibraltar and not on a damp, foggy moor and under the cloud. But this Sunday - after yesterday spent by the sea, I was up and ready for the early dog walk.

 
This was a three service Sunday for the Curate (four -if you count attending the evening service) so he went off to the church early on his motor bike. He has to get to two more churches so the bike proves an efficient and enjoyable mode of transport. I am still finding my feet in all these churches - and it can be a bit of an ordeal to walk through those doors on my own, so this morning I enjoyed the space and the quiet outside the church.

I walked through the church yard in the early morning sunshine, listening to the single church bell ringing and  passing a few folk making their way to the early service. Seeing the lights on in the church, I thought of The Curate getting ready to lead the service. Sentimentalism, romanticism ..call it what you will, but I found myself enjoying a moment of very English peace - and so it continued for  the rest of my walk. There is something very special about England in the Autumn (when it is not raining) and my walk called to mind John Betjeman's Poem Autumn. (I know it's not November!)

Red apples hang like globes of light

Against this pale November haze,

And now, although the mist is white,

In half-an-hour a day of days 

Will climb into its golden height

and Sunday bells will ring its praise.

The sparkling flint , the darkling yew,

The red brick, less intensely red

Than  hawthorn berries bright with dew

Or leaves of creeper still unshed

The watery sky washed clean and new,

Are all rejoicing with the dead.

The yellowing elm shows yet some green.

The mellowing bells exultant sound:

Never have light and colour been

So prodigally thrown around;

And in the bells the promise tells

Of greater light where Love is found.

 

October 2011

6.30 pm 1st October 2011

The end of a beautiful day on the North Coast (yes ...we do go back!).

An Autumn Treat on Dartmoor

  The Curate has been on a training day all day and was able to re energize with a spectacular motorbike  ride  back across the Moor. As the dogs had been in all day. we decided to take advantage of the warm evening sun and we went up to the moor for a picnic supper. The colours are suddenly changing on Dartmoor as the bracken is dying back. The evening light accentuated the changes.

  

A couple of weeks ago we had seen three buzzards in this spot.  This time there were five birds hopping around on the ground. They were fairly unconcerned by us being there - as long as we kept our distance

The Arrival of  Autumn

Why all children should carry a handkerchief.

 If all children carried a handkerchief (and knew how to use it) I am sure I would not now have my first stinking, rotten cold! Week 3 back at work and I am suffering from the worst EVER cold - sore throat, stuffed up nose then streaming nose - (Got the picture yet...shall I go on?) After the long (sort of ) summer, I had forgotten how bad the common cold could be (this is no COMMON cold - this is man flu - well woman flu!)). I mean - where does all this runny stuff come from.....? Slightly indelicate I know but that is how I am feeling.

I thought I had done everything to protect myself from the first round of germs. I have had the early nights and long walks in fresh air, eaten jars of extremely expensive manuka honey, taken fish oils and flower oils, dosed on vitamin C and gorged on fruit.  I have improved my fitness and heart rate and blood pressure by taking regular exercise - and still the dreaded cold bugs get me. IT'S NOT FAIR!The children arrived back this term sniffing and snotting from day one. I suppose I notice it more as I work on a one to one basis with the little dears. I see the yucky fingers being wiped across the nose and then under the table. I get the full experience of an exploding sneeze that often comes without warning and sprays the whole of the working area. (The Curate informs me that the flying droplets are exiting the nostril at a velocity of aproximately120MPH.) What amazes me is that the children seem oblivious to the effect they are creating. Perhaps we should do a school project on this. (mmm .... coloured dyes...possibilities for measuring distance and speed - maths..or art work....!!)

The modern child seems to have little idea of what a tissue (let alone a handkerchief) is for. The new box of tissues in my room is now empty. The children may daintily dab their noses (when asked) but then they will drop the tissue beside them never to be touched again. Others recoil from having to bin a used tissue - even if it is their own. As for arriving with a handkerchief of their own - not a hope. In fact the notion of a cloth handkerchief seems historic to many children. Sleeves, fingers and back of hands are a far better substitute.


I think I should start a campaign - USE THE HANKIE! 





(Moaning over.......and I don't feel any the better for it!)

Whisky toddy next. 

At the end of the day.

Peace at the end of the day

Too much change - I am finding it harder than ever to get into the back to work routine and the early morning starts. After the freedom of the summer, the reality of being in a new parish is proving challenging. But at the end of the day, the Curate and I have been taking off to the hills (well - Tors to be exact) for some re oxygenating! We have been joined by The Collie and our fourteen year old Lakeland who amazes us with her agility over the rocks. We can be ourselves and remind ourselves of how lucky we are to be in the same place now.
 

Of course - someone always gets over excited and can't stop!

 

The Collie seemed to enjoy knocking me flying!