Cuttings from a garden in Wales

Last month Jean-and-Brian-next-door invited me out for an afternoon of sight seeing, namely Glansevern Hall and Gardens, over the Shropshire/Wales border near Welshpool. As long term readers know, I can’t get out and about, due to the complete lack of public transport here, so I have barely explored the area I’ve been living in for over ten years; the offer for a trip to somewhere new was very welcome.

On the day we went there was a voluntary payment system rather than a ‘pay on the gate’ entrance fee.

 

It’s a rambling, overgrown wild beauty of a garden, bursting out over grassy pathways and only loosely tamed to some semblance of formality. Let’s follow my neighbours down the veg and herb patch and have a wander. 

 

Through the walled gardens…

 …past the little orangerie…

…down ‘Wisteria Walk’ towards the classical fountain…

…discovering a fairy folly…

…and a handy bench by a fallen beech, where I rested my arthritic knees, while Jean and Brian took a brief detour to visit a nearby bird hide and came back filled with delight at having seen a kingfisher.

Leaving the main gardens, we headed towards the side of ‘the big house’ (which I thought was relatively modest by Georgian standards).

Coming round to the frontage and a drive large enough for a few carriages.

Directly in front  of the house, there is an area of clipped neatness, with the lush, rolling Welsh landscape in the background and tumbling, moody skies overhead. But even here, the planting has been allowed to spread and spill along the edges.

On to the final adventure, a long walk around the lake, with a tantalising trellised canopy decorating the centre; a delicate confection of a frame under which it would be wonderful to sit and have afternoon tea, with tiny colourful cakes and hot tea in porcelain cups.

Dear little lichen covered stone benches for just sitting and looking.

Although it was overcast,  it was one of those muggy, still summer days, and the lake was perfectly still. The Chinese bridge is much steeper than it looks and I almost came a cropper, but I took it very slowly and my dignity remained intact.

 

 

Coming up around the side of the house, and onto the original drive, lined with lovely topiary balls (and as you know, I do love a bit of topiary).

 

Although I found the main house to be too austere for my liking, I was very taken with the humbler red brick out buildings and could imagine myself living there quite contentedly. (Jean and I debated for some time as to whether the fan tail doves on the wall were real or not. I decided the matter by taking a zoom shot - what do you think?)

 

I think we pottered about for around three hours and had a thoroughly lovely time. My head was filled with images of a joyous riot of plants, a mirror lake and tangled woods, with the looming block of the house sat squarely in the centre, keeping watchful window eyes on the wild rowdiness surrounding it.

 

(If you are one of my lovely £3 month blog extra Patreon subscribers, you can read about our visit on the return journey to a special little church in the Welsh mountains with a chequered and ancient history here).

The Flying Scotsman in Shropshire

It was only by happenstance that I discovered that the Flying Scotsman was travelling this afternoon through Shropshire. If Brian-next-door hadn't popped round to tell me he was going over to Craven Arms to search for lawnmower parts, I wouldn't have scrounged a lift to the village Post Office and heard the news. Because due to too many enthusiasts causing disruption in the past, the precise times of it's passing had been kept as hush hush as possible. But the nice people at the post office knew. And I told Brian. So this afternoon, Jean and Brian and I hopped over to a very small country bridge in a nearby village. There is Jean in her sun bonnet and Brian nearby in blue, fiddling with his big camera and trying to remember how to turn the flash off. And a local bobby. Just in case.

  

There were a few of us there, but no serious 'train spotters'. The policeman said they were all crowded up on the other country bridge further up. The sun was very hot. We wilted in the heat and listened for the train, patiently and with good humour. A small boy was hoisted onto his father's shoulders for a better view and the policeman told us that the Flying Scotsman had just left Shrewsbury and was passing Sainsbury's supermarket; it should be arriving soon. Five minutes later, we heard rumblings and squeakings.

Here it comes, around the corner...

Such excitement! Brian had worked out how to turn off his flash and turn on his burst shooting and I just managed to snap it as it thundered through our quiet countryside.

Then it was off and away towards the blue hills of Shropshire, where it would stop briefly at Craven Arms and then head off again to the county of Herefordshire, next door. 

 

As we waved it goodbye, a more modern and dowdier cousin passed it. And then all was peaceful again. The policeman returned to his car, the cyclists headed off and there were friendly waves and nods, as we all shared the happiness of seeing something very special indeed, if only briefly.