Feeling sinister

Fractured wrist  in splint

At the time of writing this blog entry, I am in sinister mode… In the sense that I am largely left-handed, owing to having fractured my right wrist! This was something of a surprise to me, because I actually did the damage at the end of December (when I elegantly toppled sideways off my bicycle on an icy towpath during a frosty winter ride). Being an old school stiff-upper-lip British stoic, at the time I sprang nimbly back to my feet and cycled on homewards, with only an aching shoulder for a few days afterwards as a memento. But while driving to teach at a London school three weeks later, my right wrist started to ache. Luckily I have a GP who is excellent at injuries and it took him all of two seconds of prodding to diagnose a suspected fracture of the scaphoid bone… Which an x-ray at Newbury hospital later confirmed.

Having not even heard of the scaphoid bone before, I was somewhat dubious about the need for wearing a splint, particularly as I’d been carrying on as normal for the best part of a month after my bike accident. But it turns out that this little cashew nut-shaped bone (located at the base of the thumb where it joins the wrist) is annoyingly tricky to heal once you’ve damaged it. Hence the fetching velcro and metal splint which I currently have to wear all day. If all goes well I should be healed and splint-free within a few weeks: in the meantime as I can neither cycle nor drive, I’m doing a lot of walking. I’m keeping my fingers crossed (on my left hand, anyway) that there will be no complications, so I can return to normal functioning by the time my busy teaching season starts in early March.

Kinnersley CastleFortunately I’ve had good things happening in January too. I belong to the Natural Voice Practitioners’ Network, an organisation for singing teachers, choir leaders and voice workers. In early January the NVPN holds its annual gathering, which usually takes place at Wortley Hall near Sheffield (see one of my earlier blog posts, Digging ponds and singing songs for an account of my visit to Wortley Hall in 2013). However, the NVPN membership has grown in recent years to such an extent that the main gathering was oversubscribed and a ‘mini gathering’ was organised for those of us who left it too late to book for Wortley. The venue for this smaller gathering was the beautiful Elizabethan Kinnersley Castle in Herefordshire.

Kinnersley Castle fourposter bed

Kinnersley Castle is still a family home, which can be hired as a venue for events. It is full of character – I was chuffed on reaching my room to find I would be sleeping in a four-poster bed! Our meals were home-cooked and plentiful, and the hospitality from hostess and NVPN member Katherina Garratt-Adams was warm and welcoming. The space that we used for our singing workshops and group sessions had a huge fireplace with a log fire that we all took turns toasting ourselves in front of (including Coco, Katherina’s friendly black labrador).

Relaxing with Coco in front of the fire, Kinnersley Castle

I always get a huge amount from these NVPN gatherings: not just song material for teaching with Sing The World, the Newbury-based choir that I co-lead, but also lots of useful ideas and guidance for all the issues involved in being a singing teacher. Having suffered from laryngitis and lost my voice completely back in September, I found the sessions on looking after our voices and developing our singing range particularly helpful. The NVPN largely follows a community of practice model for sharing expertise, which is an extremely effective way to support our professional development.

Kinnersley Castle: Katherina and Caius

Staying at Kinnersley Castle was a fantastic experience and a great way to ease back into the working year after the festive break. It’s a venue with tons of character and welcoming hosts (including the lovely Katherina and Caius, pictured above).

Chilly winter weather doesn’t generally stop me from going exploring. We’ve had some glorious bright sunny midwinter days and I took advantage of one to go for a walk with my friend Will along the downs in the Vale of Pewsey. It was a route we hadn’t done before, up onto the Tan Hill Way and then round Gopher Wood and Oare Hill, finishing with a loop over Giant’s Grave, an Iron Age hillfort and settlement.

Giant's Grave Iron Age hillfort and settlement, OareWe were glad that we had done our route in a clockwise direction, as the final descent from Giant’s Grave down into the village of Oare was precipitous enough that I had to run down it with my arms outstretched and making whooping noises. (A vital strategy for obtaining maximum speed with the minimum of risk to myself or other walkers coming from the opposite direction.)

Draycott Hill near Oare, WiltshireThere is something about sunshine in the depths of winter that is particularly restorative, even in the Arctic winds that were blowing that day. And the landscape of chalk downland always holds a special magic for me, growing up as I did in the Chilterns. The walk route around Oare is one I will definitely revisit, perhaps in early summer when orchids may be about. Even in early January it was beautiful, with red kites and buzzards wheeling on the wind currents high above the hills.

Festival of Light, Newbury December 2015Winter can feel like a bit of a miserable time, especially if the weather is wet and grey. Fortunately there are opportunities to dispel the darkness: Newbury hosts an annual Festival Of Light, a midwinter celebration where locals make lanterns from willow and tissue before joining together in a parade through the town. There were lanterns of all shapes and designs, including stars, fish, boats, spaceships and even a dalek and a Darth Vader! At the end of the parade there were hot chestnut sellers, brightly-burning braziers to warm your hands at and a lively band to keep everyone warm. There was a great energy there, definitely an inspired way to ward off the winter blues.

Another winter event which got people together was the Thousand Voices evening. Local choirs (including Wacapella, our Sing The World performance group) sang separately at various locations across Newbury town centre, before joining together by the Christmas tree in the market place for a mass sing. It was great fun to take part… I’m not sure that I’ve ever heard The Twelve Days Of Christmas sung quite so loudly before!

Winter trees, Snelsmore Common

In contrast to the gloomy and soggy winter of 2013/2014, December and January have brought a good share of bright days, perfect for getting out and about in. In mid-January I went for a walk across Snelsmore Common, a nature reserve on the edge of Newbury now managed by local wildlife trust BBOWT. This is a site both popular with locals and rich in wildlife and interesting habitats (including bogs with carnivorous plants known as sundews). Going back over a decade, I lived up a tree at Snelsmore for a short time, along with a host of other hardy souls seeking to prevent the dreaded Newbury Bypass from being constructed. The Newbury Bypass protest is well remembered by locals, whether or not they were involved in either the activism or the road building. I lost my heart to this lovely stretch of ancient woodland and like many of my friends it was gut-wrenching to be there when the bailiffs and bulldozers finally rolled in and destroyed a swathe of this amazing place forever.

Happily, activism and opposition to environmental destruction and social injustice is still going strong in the UK. As the media and political parties crank up their apparatus for the General Election campaigning season we’ll no doubt have more coverage than we want of democracy in action… But mindful of what’s going down in other areas of the world (Ukraine and Russia, for instance) it’s a good time to remember that we’re lucky to have a democratic system at all, flawed though it is. Being something of an anarchist/libertarian I’m not a huge fan of our current set-up, but I’ll certainly be voting on election day. The good news is that the Green Party is fielding candidates in every ward of Berkshire, which at least gives me an opportunity to vote for someone whose politics reflect my own interests. And for those who say that voting for the Green Party is a wasted vote because it will allow the Tories back in, my considered response is: thhhbbppppt. *blows raspberry*

Time 2 Act: march against climate change, 7th March 2015

There is a lot of brouhaha written and said these days about non-participation in democracy. Personally I think there is just as much radicalism and engagement as there ever was; it’s just that people have many more ways to express how they wish their locality and country should be run. Also the majority of us seem to be utterly unimpressed by the posturing of politicians and the ponderous workings of government, which these days looks increasingly like an old boys’ club of ex-Eton pupils.

If as some pundits seem to think our political system is in the throes of change, it may not be a bad thing. (It’s worrying that a few folks seem to think that UKIP is an answer, but I suppose all those sulking ex-Tories had to go somewhere.) My response to all of this is to get back into activism, so I will be going to the Time To Act climate change march in London on Saturday 7th March. The climate change debate continues but it’s evident that we can’t go on living as if we had a spare planet as well as this one, so why not come along too and make some noise in London this spring – if only to communicate to those currently hitting the political campaign trail that the environment is not only the concern of a minority bunch of tree huggers.

Rather than finish on a strident note, I will end this blog entry with a photo of a particularly magnificent winter sunrise. I never stop being grateful for this world in which I live… That’s kind of why I feel compelled to look after it.

Winter sunrise, Newbury December 2014

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed the day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

– ‘What A Wonderful World’
Bob Thiele & George David Weiss

Digging ponds and singing songs

2013 is here… So a very Happy New Year to you all. May this year be a good one: peace, health, prosperity, happiness, the whole shebang.

The festive season was certainly a good one for me. I got to catch up with more or less all of my family, including sundry nephews and one of my great-nieces (who is, of course, a total cutie). My mum came through a complicated spinal operation successfully and is recovering well, for which I am hugely thankful. And despite the generally discouraging weather (day after day of grey cloud and rain) I did get out into the wild winter countryside on occasion, as well.

One of many highlights was going to stay with my oldest brother in Norwich for a few days over new year. Not only is he a host par excellence (and a very good cook, to boot) but like me he enjoys rambling along by the sea. We made a trip up to Hunstanton (where the photo at the top of this blog was taken), which is right up on the north-west edge of the sticky-outy bit of Norfolk. I’d never been there before; it’s a funky old Victorian seaside town with the most amazing pink and white cliffs, kind of like coconut ice. (Anyone else remember making that when they were a kid?)

Both the white and red upper rocks are types of limestone, the reddish colour caused by staining with iron. There is also a brownish-red sandstone known as carrstone, similarly iron-stained. The limestone strata are full of fossils – a condition which my brother took full advantage of by spending a couple of busy hours working with his rock hammer to extract several really nice brachiopod fossils.

Being in a more beachcombing mood myself, I strolled for a while along Hunstanton beach, which is littered with curious rounded boulders somewhat reminiscent of stromatolites. Crouching down to eye-level with these boulders put me into what felt like a strange mythical landscape, with rounded hills rolling away to the horizon of the sea.

There’s even a genuine shipwreck on Hunstanton beach: the remains of the 1907 steam trawler Sheraton, mostly buried in the beach. This former fishing boat did duty in both World Wars, ending up rather ignominiously as a target ship for artillery practice. She drifted from her morrings in 1947 and was washed up on the coast, to be nibbled away at by salvagers until all that remains is the bottom section of her hull.

After my Christmas and New Year familial wanderings it was back to work in early January. I had been due to help a team of people build a pond before Christmas, but freezing weather and then flooding had forced us to postpone. In the first week of January however it finally stopped raining so we were able to get to work. You may ask, “How does it take whole a team of people to build one pond?” Well, this wasn’t your average garden goldfish pond. No… This was more on the scale of being a minor civil engineering project. For all those who’d like to try this at home, here’s your step-by-step guide to building a very large wildlife pond:

Step 1, get a nice shiny mechanical digger to dig out a hole the size of, oh say an Olympic swimming pool.

 

Step 2: ensure pond hole conforms to the exacting design of top ecologist and pond-builder supremo Rod d’Ayala.

Step 3: assemble a team of highly-skilled, energetic and fetchingly-attired pond construction staff (aka ‘The Hired Muscle’).

Step 4: pick out stones by hand from pond hole and cover any loose earth with puddled chalky clay (N.B. getting muddy is a vital part of this process).

Step 5: line the entire pond (sides and bottom) with two layers of tough underlay material, to protect pond liner. Note that boots must be removed first, so enabling all those involved to spend the entire day padding about in the pond hole with soggy socks.

Step 6: lift roll of waterproof rubber pond liner (weighing over 600 kg) to edge of pond using digger, then pause to make sure you’ve got it lined up exactly the right way round because if you haven’t it’s going to be rather difficult lifting it out again.

Step 7: let the liner unroll!

Step 8: use your highly-skilled team to unfold the liner and get it tucked beautifully into position. (A great team-building exercise, this.)

Step 9: cover the whole thing with another two layers of underlay material, then cover that with a six-inch layer of topsoil lifted in by digger and spread by hand with shovels. Create marshy and shallow areas within pond by heaping up soil, following Rod’s cunning and intricate pond design.

Step 10: go home to a hot bath and generally ache a lot for a few days afterwards.

Actually, Step 10 should probably be wait for pond to fill with water… So I will re-visit the site over the next couple of months and see how it’s getting on. Watch this space. The pond has been built mainly to encourage toads, so it’s hoped that it will be full enough with water for them to find it attractive as they emerge from hibernation and start to do their courtship and spawn-laying in February. Fingers crossed.

Aching muscles or not, pond building was certainly a great way to start the new year. Being out in the fresh air and helping to create a valuable habitat for declining British wildlife, plus all the Eccles cakes I could eat… Life could be a lot worse!

January continued to be inspiring, with an opportunity for me to attend the Natural Voice Practitioners’ Network annual gathering, which was held at Wortley Hall near Sheffield. As a co-leader of Newbury-based community choir Sing The World I’ve been a member of NVPN for a couple of years now, but this was my first gathering – and what an amazing weekend it was. About a hundred incredibly creative and talented singing teachers and voice workers, gathered together to share ideas and teach songs to each other, in a lovely old country house set in beautiful Yorkshire landscapes.

Wortley Hall itself is an amazing place: a former private residence, it was bought by an independent co-operative organisation known as Wortley Hall (Labour’s Home), with the intention that it would be used by the working class as an education and holiday centre. Today it is still run on co-operative principles, and hosts all kinds of gatherings and events ranging from socialist celebrations and conferences to weddings and parties. My paternal grandfather was a strong socialist, so it felt wonderfully familiar to be roaming around a building whose rooms and wings are named after the likes of Keir Hardie, Robert Owen and Sylvia Pankhurst. In the current political climate it was heartening to be somewhere which celebrated a long tradition of radicalism and social justice. A whole bunch of us even sang The Internationale on the hall staircase – in four-part harmony, of course!

Not only was the hall itself a beautiful and peaceful place, but the staff there were friendly and the the food excellent. All of us at the NVPN gathering were working hard over weekend, so it was great to have such a lovely venue. Being singers, of course we kept the bar filled with song every evening… Until 2am, on one occasion! It was impossible to go to bed when there were always so many wonderful voices joining together in harmonies, wherever you went. Music was everywhere: in the bar; over breakfast, lunch and supper; during workshops; even on a 2-hour singing walk around the surrounding countryside (much to the amusement of a Ramblers group we met along the way). I feel very fortunate to have enjoyed such a great weekend, both from a professional development viewpoint but also because I made so many friends.

So all in all, it’s been rather a good start to 2013. Hopefully this is a good omen of things to come… I certainly plan to be getting out and about a lot this year, working and visiting friends and discovering all kinds of new and wonderful places. I’ll leave you with the wish that your own year ahead may be filled with good things too. Have fun, stay healthy, play in the snow and sing whenever possible. Or dance, if that’s your thing. Or do both! Looking forward to the adventures the coming year will bring…

 

 

Of martyrs and hermit crabs…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Summer term progresses and most of my weekdays are now spent in field teaching, but the May Bank Holiday weekend gave me an opportunity to get away for a break with a friend, down on the Dorset coast. A singing workshop was being led by Gilo and Sarah, two lovely people that I met at the Unicorn Voice Camp last August. They are both fabulous singers and members of the Natural Voice Practitioners’ Network, to which I also belong. My friend and I expected a wonderful workshop, and we weren’t disappointed: Sarah and Gilo led around fifty people in a full day of harmony singing that was simply out of this world. The space we were singing in, the chapel at the Othona community near Burton Bradstock, was acoustically superb as well as being a beautiful setting in its own right. All in all, a great day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My friend Tessa and I had an interesting journey to Othona. We paused en route to eat our picnic lunch at Tolpuddle, the village associated with the famous Tolpuddle Martyrs: six farm labourers (George and James Loveless, James Brine, James Hammett, John and Thomas Standfield) who tried to organise themselves into an early trade union to alleviate the poverty in which they lived. In 1834, the six men were framed by local squire James Frampton and sentenced to seven years’ transportation to Australia. Such was the outcry from the public, trade unions and a few MPs that two years later the men were all pardoned. They returned to Britain but found continuing ill treatment at the hands of wealthy landowners: five of the original six eventually emigrated to Canada where they lived out their lives in peace.

Astonishingly, the Sycamore tree under which the men held some of their union meetings is still growing in Tolpuddle (and is pictured above). I stood under it for a while and thought of those men daring to work together to change their world for the better, despite the fear of retribution from the rich and powerful. A significant message in these difficult times. No doubt certain people in government today wish fondly that transportation was still an option.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before we arrived at Othona, we also went for a walk along nearby Chesil Beach. It was a grey evening with an almost completely calm sea, and the only people to be seen on the beach were fishermen. This mighty shingle bank had an almost surreal quality in the fading light: I could have sat meditatively on it for hours, gazing out to sea. At this western end the shingle is pea-sized, increasing to cobblestone size as you go east. According to local legend, smugglers landing on the shingle at night could tell exactly where they were on the coast by the size of the pebbles. I paddled briefly and narrowly escaped frostbite: early May is not propitious for sea-bathing in Britain. Tessa was far more sensible and kept her wellies firmly on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In places along the shingle, some plants have managed to grab a foothold: I saw plenty of Sea kale Crambe maritima, with its fleshy crinkled leaves looking a lot more impressive than the stuff I’ve grown on the allotment. I tried munching a few leaves and they were surprisingly tasty, in a cabbagey sort of way. I couldn’t help thinking that they would be rather nice stir-fried with some ginger and spring onions and a few seared scallops.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another coastal specialist growing at Chesil Beach is Sea campion Silene uniflora (pictured at the start of this blog entry), with white blossoms nodding above pinkish-green calyxes and slender stems and leaves. Amongst the flowers, black lumps of ancient peat lay scattered over the shingle, washed up onto the beach from sediments formed in a lagoon that lay further offshore when sea levels were lower over 4,000 years ago. Near one I found a wave-worn plastic soldier of unknown regiment, frozen in mid-stride: I left him storming the beaches on a block of peat not far from some World War Two tank traps, as he seemed quite at home there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When we finally arrived at the Othona community to stay for the weekend, we were made instantly welcome and plied with delicious food, including ice cream for pudding with homemade butterscotch sauce. Othona has a core group of members living there as part of a spiritual community and runs a programme of events and ‘Open Space’ weekends that are open to all-comers. Along with its sister site in Essex, Othona in Dorset has a Christian basis but is open to people of all faiths or none, believing that what people share is more important than what divides them. As someone currently following a pagan tradition / the Tao Te Ching / meditation as a spiritual path, I found this open-hearted and inclusive attitude to spirituality refreshing and healing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I would recommend staying at Othona to anyone. Not only was it peaceful and welcoming, but they have the most amazing tree-house in their garden and the sea is only ten minutes’ walk away. Before Othona took on the site in the 1960s it was the home of a small community of women dedicated to a life of self-sufficiency, vegetarianism and prayer. Known locally as the White Ladies (after the undyed cotton or silk habits they wore), each woman lived in her own wooden house and cultivated the land around it: sort of ‘Eco Nuns’, as someone described them. Sounds like a pretty good life to me. And I feel sure that they would have built a treehouse too, if only they’d thought of it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While walking along the beach below Othona we found a Common hermit crab Pagurus bernhardus firmly ensconced in the recycled empty shell of a Common whelk Buccinum undatum. Hermit crabs scavenge on anything from dead fish to bits of seaweed, so are quite happy foraging around the tideline on beaches. Apparently if one hermit crab fancies another’s shell they may try to forcibly evict it. Even marine life has its perils, it would seem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We were lucky enough to get quite a bit of sunshine over the weekend, very welcome after so many grey rainy days. On the Sunday we joined another friend (John) for a fossil hunting walk from Charmouth to Lyme Regis, managing to pick up quite a few nice ammonites and other fossils on the way. The best place to find these is not in the disintegrating (and hazardous) cliff faces, but amongst rocks and shingle on the beach. This doesn’t however discourage lots of people from whacking enthusiastically at anything rock-shaped with fossil hammers, so our walk was musically punctuated by the chink of steel on stone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I went on many childhood holidays to Lyme Regis and have lots of good memories of this part of the coast, so it was especially nice for me to share a day there with two friends. We ate lunch (massive fresh local crab baguettes) on the beach, and soaked up the sunshine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our day out coincided with the Lyme Regis Fossil Festival, an annual event that celebrates all things geological and palaeontological. We enjoyed some of the street theatre on offer, including the roving Big Noise Band and the eccentric Battle For The Winds performance (which was frankly as mad as a sack full of weasels – British eccentricity at its finest). I also spotted a rather enigmatic young lady dressed in period costume (pictured below), taking the air on the promenade. I thought perhaps she was meant to be a young Mary Anning, the nineteenth century fossil collector who is one my earliest heroines.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Also part of the festival was stone balancer Adrian Gray. Some time ago my parents gave me a photograph of one of his delicately-balanced pieces, but I hadn’t appreciated just how astonishing his work was until I watched him in action. He stands one massive sea-smoothed stone atop another, in positions that seem to defy gravity. Lest people grow suspicious of trickery, he periodically takes these balances apart and perches a new stone in place of the first one. I could’ve watched him all day. I think stone balancing could be the new Jenga.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After fortifying ourselves with some ice cream we headed back to Charmouth over the clifftops, following a route that would have given us spectacular views had it not been diverted away from the cliff edge due to coastal erosion in 2009. My understanding is that the path could simply be moved slightly inland when erosion occurs, remaining close to the cliff edge… But that would require the cooperation of local landowners, including a golf course. In the meantime walkers enjoy fine views of local roads and roundabouts, although a small section of the path does still cut through part of the golf course, where I saw my first Early Purple Orchids Orchis mascula of the year, growing alongside Cowslips Primula veris, Bluebells Hyacinthoides non-scripta and Common Dog Violets Viola riviniana.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dorset coast is a stunning and fascinating place, rich in geology, wildlife and poetry. One day I’d like to live closer to it, and walk there often. John Masefield puts it better than I can, in his ballad Sea Fever:

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

Till the next time, Jurassic Coast.

Cogden beach, looking west to Charmouth