I popped down to Yeovil last week for a couple of days, and was delighted to see that the trees by the Library in King George Street had been poetry-bombed! Notices attached to the nearby benches explained that this was organised by Yeovil in Bloom - Words in the Street, whereby residents in South Somerset were invited to write a short poem or phrase about what nature meant to them.

There were too some wonderfully planted beds, a mixture of flowers and vegetables, by the Church of St John the Baptist in the centre of town, where my co-workers and I sat and ate our lunch  on the lawn enjoying the August sunshine.

Later that evening a further blooming of 21st Century culture manifested itself near the Library - crowds of youngsters with their faces lit by mobile phone screens, playing Pokemon.

“I thought you were supposed to walk round catching them on your phone?” I asked a colleague.

“Apparently, there’s a Pokemon gym here where you can fight other people.”

You learn something every day!

(I see, thanks to my friend Google, that there is an active Community Arts Association in Yeovil, so I look forward to attending some of their events on future visits.)

www.yeovilarts.co.uk

I've recently (rather late in the day, she’s 92!!) started to write a weekly letter to my mother, who lives about 35 miles away. She’s hard of hearing, and not always in a wakeful state, so phone calls aren’t an option, and it’s always a bit of a thrill to get post, isn’t it? (With the exception of bank statements or letters of an official nature!)  It’s quite therapeutic to get a pad of writing paper out of the old bureau inherited from my husband’s family, rather than boot up the computer for an email. Mum has a tablet, but doesn’t use it, and is still a voracious reader, so I thought a letter might be welcome.
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Earlier this week, on a beautiful January morning, I was looking out for things on my way to work I could include in my letter. I waved goodbye to Martin, (who had kindly scraped my frosty windscreen - he likes doing it, strange creature!) after pointing out to him the winter jasmine just beginning to unfurl its delicate small yellow flowers in a neighbour’s front garden. As I drove through Speldhurst I spotted daffodils blooming, and then in Poundhurst Lane the first primroses peeping out from a bank which, in a few weeks’ time, will be carpeted with them. At Penshurst the meadow between old stone bridges crossing two rivers at its edges, had flooded, and driving past Penshurst Place I saw some of the black-faced sheep had tiny new lambs. There were glossy crows high up in the trees at Chiddingstone Causeway church-yard surveying their demesne, and in the old orchard at Bough Beech reservoir I saw, and heard, robins and blue-tits. The birds always sing up when the sun shines. The birdwatchers’ board reported that over 250 fieldfare had been spotted in the last week.

At lunch time I strolled up the hill to see what stage the bluebell wood had reached in this mild winter (the snowdrops have been out for some time), and noticed clumps of  their thick green leaves were already pushing through the dead leaves, and wild honeysuckle is flaming into leaf along the hedgerows.

In all this bucolic splendour I finally met with a large Landrover and trailer which screeched to a halt in front of me at the gate to a muddy field. Out popped half a dozen men with shotguns, flat caps, and eager spaniels. As I walked past I saw more people inside the trailer, a sort of Anderson shelter on wheels with  benches inside. On the back of the trailer hung a bunch of dead pheasants. They all (the people, that is) looked very jolly. Pheasant-shooting seems a sad kind of sport to me ...  going out into the country and killing birds that are famously rather slow and stupid and stand little chance of getting away, bred specifically so that people can have a day in the country and kill large numbers of them? Sorry, I just don’t get that... I feel bad enough if I run into one on the road.

I recently came across, on my way home  in the dark, a young deer which had been hit by a car that had failed to stop. It sat in the middle of the road, blood seeping from its nostrils, unable to get up - I guessed its back or legs were broken. A helpful young man stopped and moved the deer to the side of the road under some trees so that it wouldn’t get hit again. I drove to the house of a vet I knew lived nearby. Sadly he was away, so I drove home and got on the internet to seek help. The RSPCA will come out to an injured wild creature, but you must have the animal in sight when you call, as many will crawl away before an inspector gets there, which is therefore a waste of precious resources for a hard-pressed charity. Martin kindly came out and sat in the car with me for two hours until an RSPCA worker reached the scene. She had been on call since early morning and drove 40 miles to get to us as soon as she’d finished an earlier call out (this was now about 10pm). She said that she would give the deer an injection and put it out of its misery, that this was necessary due of its severe injury and because a wild deer can only tolerate about half an hour’s travelling in a vehicle before receiving treatment, because the stress of being handled is too much for their nervous temperaments. She said it would only have lived so long after the initial impact because it was quiet and on its own in the dark. I’ve got the number on my mobile now, so if this ever happens again I can act immediately. In the meantime we’ll be making a contribution to the RSPCA to help with their compassionate work.

So, there you have it, plenty of news to tell my Mum. 

Every year we come to that pleasant time when we talk about where to go on our annual holiday. The last few years we’ve got hooked on lakes and mountains. We love visiting museums, art galleries, historical sites etc, but culture-vultures like us can wear themselves out picking the carcass clean! When, for example, we stayed on Lake Garda a couple of years back, we spent three whole days ‘doing’ Verona, and came home still pretty exhausted!

So recently, although we toy with the idea of coastal destinations, cities, and new exciting countries, we’ve been drawn back to the peace, quiet, beauty and fresh air of the Wilder Kaiser region of the Austrian Tyrol.  We’ve already explored the local towns and cities on previous trips, and now we find that we want nothing more than to venture out each day with walking boots, rucksacks and yummy Austrian rolls and fruit, and wander in the mountains, listening to the birds and cowbells, resting our eyes on the views, exchanging friendly smiles and Grüss Gotts with other walkers, and having an occasional swim in mountain lakes. After another year of sitting at computer screens, being bombarded with information via social media, radio, shopping in supermarkets, sitting in traffic jams, etc, it’s the least we can give our minds and bodies. After a walk, there’s always a fresh buttermilk or coffee and an hour’s reading to enjoy before dinner! Bliss!

This area seems to draw many people back  -  some have been returning regularly for up to 50 years, bringing further generations with them. Must be something in the air!

We bought another walking map (our first one had fallen apart) - the Mayr XL Edition Wilder Kaiser: Ellmau, Going, Scheffau,Söll - a bargain for 5 euros at the Söll Tourist Office (the new edition is helpfully crease and waterproof). It comes in a plastic wallet with a little booklet that describes local walks, but we found these unclear and not detailed enough, so, for anyone who might be thinking of staying in Söll,  here are some of our favourite walks. Just one warning: most of the mountain Hütte and Stüben, where you can buy lovely homemade eats and drinks, have a rest day (Ruhetag), and it’s worth checking this before you plan your walk. The local Tourist Office have a pamphlet giving details of all the Hütte. The whole valley can be accessed via the yellow bus, the Kaiserjet, free to all visitors with their Wilderkaiser Card, and we usually buy (our biggest expense, but worth it) a lift pass, which gives you use of all the ski-lift gondolas and chair lifts. This year we spent the first week walking on the Wilderkaiser side, and bought the pass for the second week for the Going -Hohe Salve side of the valley.

Hintersteinersee to Söll

Ellmau to Söll along the Jakobsweg

Catch the 8.08am Kaiserjet to Ellmau dorf. Excellent packed lunch ingredients can be purchased at Billa in the village - another friendly small supermarket. The Jakobsweg is signposted - it is part of the pilgrims way to Santiago de Compostela (a couple of places are marked by the traditional white scallop shell), and this beautiful walk is along the Schattseite (shadow side) of the valley, through meadows where farmers are mowing and raking the organic grass, full of clover and wild flowers. We hardly saw a soul except farmers. There is a spring along the way where you can fill your water bottles (all of the villages have fountains where you can do the same, with clean mountain water). We got slightly lost at the Scheffau Brandstadl lift station, where we exited the car park at the wrong place. You have to walk to the end of the car park past the former lift building on the left, and cross under the main road to the hamlet of Blaiken, go though the houses towards Söll, then take the left-hand fork (the 70) marked Bärbichl, and back under the main road, for 54/55 paths. We arrived at the Ahornsee in Söll at 1pm, having stopped for lunch en route, and had a swim in this wonderful man-made lake. Spring water runs into it, and about a third is roped off for ‘regeneration’, planted with bullrushes and lilies, with dragon and damselflies scooting over it. In the winter, the lake is used to fuel the snow-making machines.

Summary: paths 3,1,30,14,70,54,55. Three and a half hours’ walking with half an hour for lunch and water breaks.

Söll to Scheffau via the Steinerne Stiege

Oh we love the Steinerne Stiege! We were first told of this way by Adrian, an excellent Thomsons Rep. It’s become a favourite, but we always give it a few days’ training before we go up it, and there are lots of heavy-breathing breaks to get the heart-rate down! This year we were only overtaken by one white-haired local, so that was OK! We set off from Söll at 8.30am, walking past the Moorsee and across the Kufstein Road at the Oberstegner Inn. You turn left along the 55 and follow it along the riverside (there’s a No Through sign and a little link chain across the path at one point but that’s just for vehicles) and up hill, past a farm or two. It comes down for a (very) short time onto the main road, but you can walk on the verge till you come to the sign for the Steinerne Stiege on the right. It’s a steep old path through lovely woods, going up and up. There a bench part way up (labelled the Schwoicher Aussicht but I think this should bear the translation The Most Welcome Bench in the World!) which is always further than we think!  Eventually you come out at the top of a green valley, and pass the Hagenhof farm before coming to the Pension Maier (we arrived at 10.45am) where there is a gorgeous view of the Hintersteinersee and excellent refreshments available. You can then enjoy a walk along the left hand side of the lake before catching the Seebus down to Scheffau and the connecting Kaiserjet back to Söll (Tip: consult the timetables for both buses before setting out - available from Tourist Offices).

Short and sweet - Hochsöll to Filzalmsee and back

If you fancy a light day on the walking, you could get the gondola from Söll up to Hochsöll, the middle-station, and walk to Filzalmsee, which takes us about 45 minutes. You could stop along the way to play the Giant’s Xylophone, and on arrival at the Filzalmsee you could give your feet a treat on the Kneipp trail (complete with peat bog - wunderbar!) and then have a dip (free) in the lake. As with every middle-station in the valley, if you have children, you’ll find wonderful playgrounds and activities both at Hochsöll (Hexenwasser) and at Filzalmsee. Needless to say in the Tyrol, you’ll always find sparkling loos. You could also catch the gondola on up to the Hohe Salve, and eat delicious Nettle and Spinach Dumplings at the Gipfelrestaurant and then walk down to Filzalmsee via the Jordan Spring, where local legend has it that the water is especially good for eye-troubles, but the path is very steep down from the Hohe Salve, and you would be wise to take walking-sticks for this one.

The Big Yin - Going (Astberg) to Hochsöll

We walked part of this route a couple of years back (Tea with a Wild Mountain Man) on a cold rainy day, but this year we were determined to go the whole way. On a sunshiny day with blue skies and just the occasional cloud we walked through some wonderful terrains: woods where raindrops still hung from the pines and the air was fresh and clear, meadows with cows and calves, roads past farmhouses, moor, heath, streams and swamps, with fantastic views as the way between the Wilderkaiser and Kitzbühel valleys.

We took the 8.08am Kaiserjet to Ellmau and popped into Billa for rolls, walked along the road to the Going Chairlift (road forks at the end of the village, take upper fork). We took the chair-lift up at 9.30am onto the Astberg, then took the 11 path (straight ahead from top of lift) through woods and heath, then turned right at the bottom of this path where it met a road and past a red bench (lovely to sit on and gawk!), and beautiful farmhouse ‘Kathen’. On past the Hohenangeralm, Boden Alm. Then we took the 11/99 direction Brandstadl Scheffau/Jochstuben See, and then the 11A, up, up up!

At sign marked 1388m we turned right up a path through woods (99/11) and then the 99. We sighted the Hohe Salve at 12.55pm, stopped for lunch, then left at 1.15pm. Before you get to the Jochstuben, take the 96/99 for Filzalmsee. Arrived Filzalmsee at 2.15pm, had a coffee, a Kneipp, and left at 3.10pm for Hochsöll, getting downward gondola at 4pm!

Incidentally, for a shorter version of this walk, you could walk from Astberg to the hut at Jochstuben (SO welcoming and gemütlich!) and then take the lift down from Brandstadl to Scheffau and get the Kaiserjet back to Söll. Or even shorter, just do the Astberg round walk through the woods, and go back down the chair-lift and Kaiserjet back!

I’ll finish with my husband’s amusing off the cuff comment on this long walk:

Me: Pyrenees are supposed to be good for walking.

Martin: Yeah, I’d be lost without my knees.

One of the many joys of living is the annual cycle of favourite plants flowering, in their turn - in spring there are snowdrops, daffodils, bluebells of course, and I love to see the horse-chestnut coming into bloom and then the conkers forming once they start to die off.  Hollyhocks always  lift my heart; I watch them growing upwards in June and early July and wait eagerly for the flowers to open. This traditional old cottage-garden plant isn't much in evidence in the urban setting locally, but there is a trail of them through Speldhurst, Penshurst and Chiddingstone Causeway. I thought I'd share them with you - enjoy!

A visit to Audley End had been on my wish-list for years, so a recent gift of a year’s entry to English Heritage properties combined with a friend’s birthday celebration in Maldon, Essex, gave me all the impetus I needed.  We were lucky enough to arrive on Audley in Bloom day, with music from the Saffron Walden County High School Jazz band and gardening events laid on. Readers of this blog will already know that I have a great passion for museums, history and gardens, so my English Heritage card is, for me, the equivalent of an enormous box of chocolates, only much better!

Like that of many English country houses, Audley End’s history is a long, eventful one. Thomas, Lord Audley, Henry VIII's Lord Chancellor, converted the buildings of the original Benedictine priory, Walden Abbey, into a mansion after the abbey’s suppression in 1538. His grandson Thomas Howard, 1st Earl of Suffolk, rebuilt it in about 1605–14 on the scale of a royal palace, which it briefly became after Charles II purchased it in 1667. In the 1760s Robert Adam transformed the house for Sir John Griffin Griffin, while Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown landscaped the park. Richard Neville, later 3rd Baron Braybrooke, made further changes after 1820. During the 1940s the House was taken over by the Ministry of Defence, and used, among other things, as the headquarters of the Polish Section of the Special Operations Executive. There is a memorial to the 108 Poles who died in its service on the main drive.

There were some fascinating things to see in the house  - I particularly liked the cabinets of curiosities, packed with shells, minerals, oddities picked up on travels, including some grave-beads from Egyptian tombs. Not for me the cases of stuffed creatures, though this might attract visitors who have embraced the recent trend for taxidermy classes!  There is a small case in the Saloon of mementoes from the Crimean War, in which two Neville sons, Henry and Grey, were killed, a touching reminder that war brings grief to families across the social divide. An envelope with faded writing contains “Flowers gathered from cemetery of Scutari where the English officers are buried”, and another “Flowers gathered from the grave of The Hon Henry Neville, Grenadier Guards, picked at Cathcarts Hill Cemetery on 6th September 1867. The gravestone was in a good state of preservation”.  Henry was killed aged 30 at the Battle of Inkerman on 5th November 1854, and his younger brother Grey died six days later, aged 24, in hospital at Scutari (Florence Nightingale’s base) after being injured in the Charge of the Heavy Brigade at the Battle of Balaclava on 25th October 1854. Was it their mother, or sister, I wonder, who picked these flowers after making the long journey to Turkey?

The children’s nursery wing has been restored, and there are drawings of the two boys, along with their siblings. Here, as in other parts of Audley End, there is a living breathing personification of a former staff member - the governess, who is happy to chat, in character.  There are dressing-up clothes, a large dolls’ house, and wooden Ark and animals to play with for younger visitors, and, gratifying sight for this former child, the bookworms’ delight - a full book-case in each room.

The changing of the seasons is one of life’s many quiet joys. I love the signs of autumn: spiders spinning webs in the hedges, blue-black scarab beetles on Southborough Common, skeins of wild geese flying high, toadstools in the forest.

My primary school was a converted oast-house in Rolvenden, where John Wesley had once preached under a nearby oak. In September, the beams were always hung with hops, and at home there were apples drying in the attic. I loved the harvest hymns, and often whistle “We plough the fields and scatter” now as I walk along the lanes through Bough Beech’s fields and woods.

I treasure my copy of Ladybird Books’ What to Look for in Autumn, published in 1960. The page pictured here shows women picking up potatoes in the field. When we lived in the Sussex village of Robertsbridge, I met a lovely old lady in her nineties, who had farmed there since 1947. She recalled that when she and her husband first moved there, they employed almost everyone in our lane of about thirty houses to pick the potato crop. By the 1990s, none of the residents worked on the land.

Some things change, and some things stay the same, thank goodness. There are still hops, apples, blackberries and conkers to be found in the hedgerows of the High Weald.

Another perennial pleasure is the annual scarecrow competition in Speldhurst. I drive through the village on my way to work, so it’s always fun, in the first week of September, to come upon this year’s entries. I don’t know which one won the prize at the Village Flower Show last weekend, but Bertie Bassett, sitting on the bench by St Mary’s Church lych-gate, was probably my personal favourite, made with great attention to detail from biscuit tins. Fantastic!

 A couple of years back I enjoyed visiting some of the places in the French department of Yvelines, including the Palace of Versailles. The gardens there are renowned, but personally the grand formal gardens are not my cup of tea. Even Sissinghurst (dare I say it!) leaves me a tad cold. 

I read this week that a huge number of front gardens in recent times have been concreted over to make parking space for cars. Many others, following a certain kind of designer-led gardening, have been covered in slate, or the kind of chippings you used to see mostly on graves. Apparently the decline of sparrows is one of the things that’s  been linked to the decrease in foliage because of this change.
 
My own garden is currently somewhat neglected, as our time is diverted to writing   activities, but I’m sure the local wildlife is finding it a sanctuary! It is currently boasting the odd bindweed trumpet (drat that bindweed – its roots go to the ends of the earth), but also a rumbustious display of nasturtiums, wild strawberries, white roses, fuschias, love-in-the-mist, rosemary etc. Cheeky cats high-wire along the trellised fences and friendly blackbirds and fat wood-pigeons visit daily.
 
I  am very fond of the homely front gardens of ordinary houses, often very small, where householders lavish love, attention and quite a lot of money on making something of beauty to share with passers-by.  I have occasionally heard the odd sniffy comment about such gardens being fussy and vulgar, but I find them infinitely charming and heart-warming, and I am ever grateful for them. Here are a few pictures of some of our Southborough gardens, with a couple thrown in for good measure from further afield. I hope you might enjoy looking at them!