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| From Blaenau Festiniog to Harlech- 23.3 miles |
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| Under the Festiniog Dam |
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| Charlie against the quartz |
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| The evening before the storm |
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| Charlie in the woods |
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| Crossing Trawsfynndddd Resevoir |
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| Second camp site |
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| Local resident |
Thursday, 30 June 2016
Welsh Walk
Sunday, 5 June 2016
A Morning Walk
A Saturday morning in Saxthrope, I set out for a morning stroll.
Well it was not so bright; in fact cold damp fog hung heavily in the air.
I walked down Post Office Lane, past the old post office, now up for sale.
Next to it, the Old Bake House, also empty and cold.
I discovered a lane full of names.
A long line of bungalows, named like a multicultural city.
First the prosaic- 'River View', 'Sunny Side', and 'The Bungalow'.
Then, the slightly more useful, 'Bysteps', indicating my route up past the church.
Next the more fanciful, 'Pandora', 'Utopia' and 'Vespers'.
Finally the giveaway- 'Russlynn', Hey Russ, is Lynn in?
And Jaybee, across the lane. No, Jay, she be not in.
I crossed the bypass and down Monk's Lane.
The tarmac ran out and became a green sodden track, punctuated by a line of over hanging oak trees.
As I walked beneath the canopy, large droplets rained down on me.
These green clouds in an otherwise clear sky formed a localised weather event.
Then across a potato field, through a nettle bed and into the woods.
I guessed I was coming close to Mannington Hall when I approached an impenetrable wall of flowering rhododendron trees.
These towered upwards, like images from the Himalayas.
My route back passed the church in Itteringham with it's ruined nave,
Next to it, the '11 parishes' rectory, looking somewhat tired.
We prayed for Marion the vicar today at Baconsthorpe, one of her churches.
The return route followed the River Bure,
This river meets the Yar, and being a diminutive river, this is at Yarmouth, as apposed to Buremouth.
Some kind souls had laid old sleepers along much of the way,
I picked my way through the flag irises.
Through a hedge, round the back of the church, through more nettles, and home for bacon and eggs.
Well it was not so bright; in fact cold damp fog hung heavily in the air.
I walked down Post Office Lane, past the old post office, now up for sale.
Next to it, the Old Bake House, also empty and cold.
I discovered a lane full of names.
A long line of bungalows, named like a multicultural city.
First the prosaic- 'River View', 'Sunny Side', and 'The Bungalow'.
Then, the slightly more useful, 'Bysteps', indicating my route up past the church.
Next the more fanciful, 'Pandora', 'Utopia' and 'Vespers'.
Finally the giveaway- 'Russlynn', Hey Russ, is Lynn in?
And Jaybee, across the lane. No, Jay, she be not in.
I crossed the bypass and down Monk's Lane.
The tarmac ran out and became a green sodden track, punctuated by a line of over hanging oak trees.
As I walked beneath the canopy, large droplets rained down on me.
These green clouds in an otherwise clear sky formed a localised weather event.
Then across a potato field, through a nettle bed and into the woods.
I guessed I was coming close to Mannington Hall when I approached an impenetrable wall of flowering rhododendron trees.
These towered upwards, like images from the Himalayas.
My route back passed the church in Itteringham with it's ruined nave,
Next to it, the '11 parishes' rectory, looking somewhat tired.
We prayed for Marion the vicar today at Baconsthorpe, one of her churches.
The return route followed the River Bure,
This river meets the Yar, and being a diminutive river, this is at Yarmouth, as apposed to Buremouth.
Some kind souls had laid old sleepers along much of the way,
I picked my way through the flag irises.
Through a hedge, round the back of the church, through more nettles, and home for bacon and eggs.
Friday, 27 May 2016
Cavaliers and Roundheads
At Lala's recent birthday, Margaret asked John Coffey, a senior lecturer in History at Leicester University if the Horrible History series had affected the student populations interest in studying history? John said yes, they now had to make show what they taught was exciting enough, with lots of blood gore and intrigue. The Civil War fits the bill exactly. I recently read Grandpa's book by Christopher Hibbert called 'Cavaliers and Roundheads'- The English Civil War from 1642 to 1649. Interestingly, Scotland, and Ireland appear to have suffered far more greatly than England. London got off the lightest I believe.
What I learned.
Charles and his new bride, Queen Henrietta lived in Somerset House on the Strand. Nothing from the original building remains as it was rebuilt in 1775. However it is the place both Inigo Jones, and Oliver Cromwell dead. Queen Henrietta came back to live their after the restoration until the plague in 1665, when she left for France. Charles the seconds wife, Catherine of Braganza lived there after the death of Charles.
Did the English war start in Scotland? The Scots resented Charles trying to Anglicises the kirk. First blood was said to be Richard Percival, a weaver in Manchester. First war was said to be two sallies by the parliamentary defenders of Hull against the Royalist attackers.
London, Oxford and other towns and cities at the time were surrounded by earth embankments. Not much can be seen of these except at Newark, where two earth defensive works are well preserved. There are a few others around the place, but not many. Cities like Read, Gloucester, Chester.
Oxford was royalist- though apparently 'town' were against the crown and tried to close the gates. Cambridge were for parliament. Hull gave the greatest indignity to the king. When he arrived at the city gates they were charged to open the gate in the name oif the king. The city elders ask for 15 minutes to think about it.
Sir Arthur Haselrig, from Leicester, provided his men with articulated armour. They were nicknamed 'the lobsters'. Leicester got a bit of a kicking before Naseby. The city attempted to keep the gates closed, and couldn't hold out for long.
After the barbaric battle of Edgehill, bodies lay dying on the cold near subzero field. Stripped by thieves, two men, Sir George Scrope one of them, were found the following morning to be alive. His son rescued him and a surgeon commented that the cold night and keeping still had probably kept them alive, despite 16 wounds to the head and body.
Oxford, capital of England from 1942 to 1946, became a city full of rich people learning to live as average mortals. The queen lodged in the warden of Merton College's rooms. The King was in Christchurch. The churches of Oxford were saved from being rid of their statues by Lord Fairfax, who took control of Oxford at the King's demise. He ordered that all churches were to be respected.
The parliamentary siege of Basing Castle was an epic of the war. Where is Basing House? It's near Old Basing...and? Oh yes, just outside Basingstoke. Ah 'Basing House (as apposed to Bassing Castle. What's left? Not much, a deep moat, and steep banks and some crumbled ruins.
Naseby. I've been there. I read nothing about Cromwell not being there at the beginning of the fight because of the Self-Denying Ordinance. He was General of the Horse after all. Also nothing about the novice New Model Army firing muskets over the heads of the Royalists, because of the kick back on the guns. The wounded cavaliers limped into Market Harborough parish church and lay dying on the church pews.
And what about Basing House? On 15th October 1645 the outer walls of this nest of Romanists was broken down. Priests were killed and a young woman who tried to defend her father. Inigo Jones was found and stripped naked, and sent out with only a blanket. He later went on to fulfil commissions for the restoration of Somerset House for the widow Queen Henrietta, when her son Charles II was brought to regain the throne in 1658. And yes, he was collected from Holland in a ship named 'The Naseby'.
What I learned.
Charles and his new bride, Queen Henrietta lived in Somerset House on the Strand. Nothing from the original building remains as it was rebuilt in 1775. However it is the place both Inigo Jones, and Oliver Cromwell dead. Queen Henrietta came back to live their after the restoration until the plague in 1665, when she left for France. Charles the seconds wife, Catherine of Braganza lived there after the death of Charles.
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| Queen's Sconce Newark |
London, Oxford and other towns and cities at the time were surrounded by earth embankments. Not much can be seen of these except at Newark, where two earth defensive works are well preserved. There are a few others around the place, but not many. Cities like Read, Gloucester, Chester.
Oxford was royalist- though apparently 'town' were against the crown and tried to close the gates. Cambridge were for parliament. Hull gave the greatest indignity to the king. When he arrived at the city gates they were charged to open the gate in the name oif the king. The city elders ask for 15 minutes to think about it.
Sir Arthur Haselrig, from Leicester, provided his men with articulated armour. They were nicknamed 'the lobsters'. Leicester got a bit of a kicking before Naseby. The city attempted to keep the gates closed, and couldn't hold out for long.
After the barbaric battle of Edgehill, bodies lay dying on the cold near subzero field. Stripped by thieves, two men, Sir George Scrope one of them, were found the following morning to be alive. His son rescued him and a surgeon commented that the cold night and keeping still had probably kept them alive, despite 16 wounds to the head and body.
Oxford, capital of England from 1942 to 1946, became a city full of rich people learning to live as average mortals. The queen lodged in the warden of Merton College's rooms. The King was in Christchurch. The churches of Oxford were saved from being rid of their statues by Lord Fairfax, who took control of Oxford at the King's demise. He ordered that all churches were to be respected.
The parliamentary siege of Basing Castle was an epic of the war. Where is Basing House? It's near Old Basing...and? Oh yes, just outside Basingstoke. Ah 'Basing House (as apposed to Bassing Castle. What's left? Not much, a deep moat, and steep banks and some crumbled ruins.
Naseby. I've been there. I read nothing about Cromwell not being there at the beginning of the fight because of the Self-Denying Ordinance. He was General of the Horse after all. Also nothing about the novice New Model Army firing muskets over the heads of the Royalists, because of the kick back on the guns. The wounded cavaliers limped into Market Harborough parish church and lay dying on the church pews.
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| The siege of Basing House |
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| Aerial view of Basing House today |
And what about Basing House? On 15th October 1645 the outer walls of this nest of Romanists was broken down. Priests were killed and a young woman who tried to defend her father. Inigo Jones was found and stripped naked, and sent out with only a blanket. He later went on to fulfil commissions for the restoration of Somerset House for the widow Queen Henrietta, when her son Charles II was brought to regain the throne in 1658. And yes, he was collected from Holland in a ship named 'The Naseby'.
Wednesday, 23 March 2016
30 minutes?
Nicholas Murray Butler (April 2, 1862 – December 7, 1947)
Quote: "All the problems of the world could be settled easily if men were only willing to think. The trouble is that men very often resort to all sorts of devices in order not to think, because thinking is such hard work."
Quote: "All the problems of the world could be settled easily if men were only willing to think. The trouble is that men very often resort to all sorts of devices in order not to think, because thinking is such hard work."
- Attributed to Butler in: American Dental Association (1959) The Journal of the American Dental Association. Vol 59. p. 28 (from Wikiquote https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Nicholas_Murray_Butler)
It's such a simple quote, but true. I am sure this is not original but my quote would be...
"Find me a kind intelligent ten year old, and I believe they would sort out most of the problems of the world in less than 30 minutes."
Sunday, 20 March 2016
He lives
It's truly a great relief! Our pack is alive again. For two days now I've been concerned that ‘the past’ had come back to haunt us. I’d seen groups of dogs back scavenging at
the rubbish tip. At least one of us has
been involved in a scuffle and come off worse for wear.
I think we had forgotten what it was like before Jaycie came
and formed the pack. Strange how that
rag-tag collection of mutts, mongrels and pedigrees jelled together under a bit
of leadership.
In contrast to the other
packs in our territory, Jaycie’s was different.
There was no submissive hierarchy needed, but we all pulled our weight
near enough. Gone was the indignity for
some of having to steel scraps, and beg.
For others it was the opposite, as the pack meant giving up ‘lap of
luxury' lifestyles. Jaycie taught us we
did not need to snarl and bite. Other
packs were wary of this, and that was probably what lead to the tragedy. The other packs just couldn't make us
out. They became increasingly hostile.
The final attack was terrible. They came down on him with deathly
snarls. He didn't put up a fight at all
despite being quite a big dog. It wasn't long before we smelt the stench of blood.
He didn't stand a chance and was torn limb-from-limb. We saw it all from a safe distance, whimpering and hiding in the bushes. The pack fell
to bits after that.
Then Macie, you know? the pretty little bitch collie; she
said she’d met Jaycie. Of course I thought
her delusional, but I must say, this morning at daybreak, I did hear a very distinctive
soft howl on the breeze. It lifted my
spirits, and I felt instantly warm. The
other dog have all picked up on this too.
They say they can smell him in the wind.
The pack’s been seeking each other out all day, and I think other packs
have noticed. They seem more frightened
and cautious of us.
I get the sense something significant has happened – Jaycie’s
pack is forming again.
My Sunday school class notes for today said Tell the story of Jesus death...To under 5's!!! This is how I told it.
Inner Workings
A lane, a courtyard, an alley,
Tracing the neurons of the city.
Firing across at intersections,
People anticipate close connections.
To a end, barred, impenetrable, gated,
A forbidden land, my existence, negated.
Nearby, a window, faces, wrapped in conversation,
Behind inconspicuous doors, oblivious to consternation.
A car giddies past down a narrow lane,
Screeching brakes halt my path, screams 'insane.'
Following behind a siren car swerves....gone,
Relief for those left, not them that done wrong.
Here's a dead building, backs turned in shame,
Foretells a complex extraction, another twist in the city's game.
I gaze as Orhan walks the streets of Istanbul by night,
A lazy camera bobs in the daze of strange empty light.
Dogs patrol, loose fences scrape in the night-air breeze,
Istanbul floats in a box, like all cities, ill at ease.
Back in my city a woman talks to a phone in a distant tongue,
Her sleeping bag, symbolic of her place at the bottom rung.
A young couple, arm entwined, cross quickly, a furtive glance,
Contrasting disharmonies mix, urging cities to advance.
Tracing the neurons of the city.
Firing across at intersections,
People anticipate close connections.
To a end, barred, impenetrable, gated,
A forbidden land, my existence, negated.
Nearby, a window, faces, wrapped in conversation,
Behind inconspicuous doors, oblivious to consternation.
A car giddies past down a narrow lane,
Screeching brakes halt my path, screams 'insane.'
Following behind a siren car swerves....gone,
Relief for those left, not them that done wrong.
Here's a dead building, backs turned in shame,
Foretells a complex extraction, another twist in the city's game.
I gaze as Orhan walks the streets of Istanbul by night,
A lazy camera bobs in the daze of strange empty light.
Dogs patrol, loose fences scrape in the night-air breeze,
Istanbul floats in a box, like all cities, ill at ease.
Back in my city a woman talks to a phone in a distant tongue,
Her sleeping bag, symbolic of her place at the bottom rung.
A young couple, arm entwined, cross quickly, a furtive glance,
Contrasting disharmonies mix, urging cities to advance.
Saturday, 19 March 2016
Charlie
This weekend belongs to Charlie. Not only is he 50 years old, he also has a Chocolate Factory which Joanna and her cousins visited today with Lis, Mum, Jesse and Frances.
I enjoyed following my nose of two and a half hours round London.
In the morning Mum, Joanna and I visited Leighton House, House of Lord Frederick Leighton, the Pre Raphilite painter. John Diamond wrote about one of this paintings in the Independent today.
My Route.
First to Somerset House where I very much enjoyed Orhan Pamuk's 'The Museum of Innocences', featuring his father, and objects associated with his book of the same name. This was exhibited as 83 display boxes, though Somerset House only has 14. They were beautifully constructed, and I enjoyed watch the film of Orhan walking the streets of Istanbul at night.
The to the zany young contemporary artists of the world in an exhibitions called Venturing Beyond.
"Thinking means venturing beyond." Ernst Bloch, 1959.
I enjoyed following my nose of two and a half hours round London.
In the morning Mum, Joanna and I visited Leighton House, House of Lord Frederick Leighton, the Pre Raphilite painter. John Diamond wrote about one of this paintings in the Independent today.
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| The Fisherman and the Siren, Bristol Art Gallery |
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| The Arab Hall - Leighton House Kensington |
First to Somerset House where I very much enjoyed Orhan Pamuk's 'The Museum of Innocences', featuring his father, and objects associated with his book of the same name. This was exhibited as 83 display boxes, though Somerset House only has 14. They were beautifully constructed, and I enjoyed watch the film of Orhan walking the streets of Istanbul at night.
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| The first sample of Istanbul |
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| The old city |
"Thinking means venturing beyond." Ernst Bloch, 1959.
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| Somerset House- A new flag for Britain |
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| St Dunstan in the Wrst |
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| Now a Romanian Orthodox church |
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| An octagonal interior |
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| A clearer picture. Said to be pseudo-Arabic |
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| British Museum- Picture for Peter |
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| Spotting buildings |
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| I'm interested in this shape |
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