A Wild and Sacred Beauty

I realised today that I was in danger of missing my favourite month of the year; May for me is like Christmas - I cannot wait for it to arrive, spend weeks in anticipation of it and miss it dreadfully when it is (all too quickly) over. However, I have to earn my mortgage every month and that means working (making and selling) pretty much all day and every day, with no guaranteed results. The only sure result is that I am constantly tired and anxious. So this morning, with my inner batteries feeling totally flat and my creativity at a low, I pumped dear old Marjorie's tyres up for the first time this year and we set off for a short jaunt to a  tiny village across the way, turning off the main road and up into this narrow, high banked lane, which has been here for centuries. 

I stopped to inspect this huge polypore fungus which has been here for a while. It is just sending out a 'baby' underneath, which feels cool and tender as opposed to the main body, which is hard and powdery. The hedge-rowed banks were sprouting ferns and all the winsome Spring flowers were speckling the greenery - Red Campion, White Stitchwort, Bluebells and Buttercups. Further up the hill and the best of all, the creamy froth of Queen Anne's Lace lining the lane all the way to my destination. This is richness. This is freedom.

All Saints Church at Berrington is small, but beautiful - and ancient. Unusually, it sits within a raised circular enclosure, leading to suggestions that there may have been an even older older scared grove here, before the first Christian church was built. The grounds certainly have a magical, secret garden atmosphere. I parked Marjorie in the foyer and went to explore.  

The older, original part of the churchyard has been left to gently wild, with slim pathways cut through for access to still tended plots. There is an abundance of Hawthorn, which drips blossom laden branches and scents the air heavily.

To the side, there is a venerable yew tree guarding a small gate, with views to the surrounding countryside.

The original church is recorded in the Domesday book of 1086, however the present church was built in the 13th Century and like most British churches, has had many alterations and additions since. Inside, I was drawn like a bee to the Norman (or possibly Saxon) font, which stands upon a Roman pillar. I counted the faces carved around it, instinctively thinking that there would be seven - and so there were. There is no record of who or what the faces depict, that I can find.

I sat on a pew in the still peacefulness and had a little think and a prayer, my thoughts returning as they so often do to Andy and how he would have loved this place and the mysterious faces around the stone font. 

I am only just feeling more like myself after over ten years of finding myself alone in a strange county. Time has (to some extent) healed, but there is still a deep scar.

Outside, the sun had risen high and after quietly closing the old wooden gates, I had a last look at the wild loveliness of the churchyard. Feeling much better for my adventure, I cycled home.

I am indebted to the 'Friends of Berrington Church' website for much of my information; if you'd like to read more of it's long history, do give it a visit. 

(If you are one of my Patreon subscribers, there is a more in-depth account of the church interior here).

Art at the Orangery

 

I’ve had the pleasure of the company of an old friend recently, who I haven’t seen in person for about three years. We had a lovely couple of days together and I was taken out for meals, some local sight seeing and thoroughly spoilt. (Subscribers to my Patreon blog extra can find a picture packed post about our visit to Attingham Park and house here).

As if this social whirl was not enough, I returned home to find an invitation to an art exhibition which was being held at the nearby Pitchford Estate, at the Orangery. My distant neighbours, Mary and Hugh, who own the Twenty Twenty Gallery in Ludlow, had put together a small but carefully curated weekend show for a handful of artists. And so I took Marjorie out for the ten minute cycle down the road and around the corner, to the long, lime tree walk that leads up to the main entrance of the hall. 

At the bottom of the walk sits the small church where, a lifetime ago, I sat alone and bleak, mourning the recent loss of my beloved Andy. It was good to be returning for a happier occasion. The estate was peppered with the work of local sculptor Sharon Griffin, a couple of her heads seen here beneath the tree house, which is said to be the site of the world's oldest tree house with origins in the 17th century. This is a much later construction, built in the style of the main house itself. (Read more here).

I parked Marjorie near a pair of heads so that she could  soak up some artistic atmosphere as well,  and entered the orangery.

The orangery itself sits to one side of a spacious walled garden, where more of Sharon’s work could be seen.

 

Inside and feeling a little shy, I was greeted warmly by Mary and introduced to to Sharon herself, who was spending the weekend demonstrating and working on another piece. 

We had a very nice chat, and then I went to look at the paintings, which included a collection of Pitchford Hall interiors by Matthew Wood - 

 

 And gorgeous, haunting works by another Shrewsbury artist, Ann McCay

My very favourite was 'Collecting Sticks', which, had it been within my means, I would happily have purchased. But there are boring things such as bills and a large mortgage to pay, so I sighed a little as I told Mary how much I loved it and as it happened, Ann was sat nearby, so we were introduced.  She immediately said 'red shirt' and I replied 'electric bike' and it turned out that we'd seen each other in June when we had all attended a performance of 'Tess of the d'Ubervilles' which was my first post lockdown treat to myself back in June, also held at the Orangery. I (of course) had cycled there on Marjorie and she and her husband had passed us on their much faster electric bikes.  And I had been wearing a red checkered shirt.

 

After another lovely chat, it was time to head home. I haven't had a social life since moving here nearly nine years ago, but in the last few months, with two new local friends to do things with and now making some more connections, I am starting to feel a little less isolated at last.

 

One final glimpse of the Elizabethan splendour of Pitchford Hall, glimpsed through the trees as Marjorie and I made our way back to the cottage.  

Marmalade and a mouse

 

Well, I wasn’t expecting this! A few days ago, this sweetly painted parcel arrived - even the address was beautifully hand scribed and must have taken so much time and care. I’m still in the dark about who it came from, as there was no return address and I suspect the gift giver wanted to remain anonymous. 

I think there may be a clue with the foxgloves and bees, but I may be wrong. Anyhow, it contained two lovely pots of Frank Cooper’s marmalade, including the dark, chunky bitter gold that is the vintage type. The kind of card I love, with a Paddington quote, and an adorable hand knitted mouse, who is now known as ‘Coops’ for obvious reasons. He does look as if he is protecting my jars with a ‘none shall pass’ stance.

So I am hoping that the generous gifter reads this, perhaps having read my previous post about buying a jar on an extravagant whim. And I hope they know how very touched, pleased and smiley their present made me. Coops is now installed in the bedroom, I am going to cut out the painted box front and display it somewhere and I know just what to do with the marmalade...

For my Patreon subscribers, (£3 monthly and upwards) my latest post is a photo packed jamboree called ‘The Way of the Horse’, exploring pastures new, having tiny adventures and discovering lovely Shropshire views. With Marjorie.

A scenic U-turn

Yesterday we had the luck of the sun again - October has been largely kind, weather wise. I had a workshop kit to post out; I normally do this using the online postage service and then hand my parcel over to the collecting post person at the top of the lane. But  today, I decided to cycle over to the village post office, where I haven’t been since early this year. It was all going well and I had a jovial exchange with an elderly walker who commented on my going at ‘sixty miles an hour’, to which I replied that yes, I was going so fast! (I wasn’t). And then just as I got to the turn off for the village, I came up against this;

There was a man with a mobile phone wandering about, but no workers, so I enquired if it would be possible for me to push my bike through, as the diversion was quite a large one. He investigated what I could see was a fairly deep cut trench (the electric mains wires were being replaced) and advised against it, as there was barely any road to work on. I had to agree with him. So I turned homewards. Said hello to the elderly walker again. Pushed Marjorie up the hill.

Investigated some gnarly bits of hedgerow.

And took a scenic shot, before returning home feeling thwarted but virtuous. And later that day I got my order sent off the usual way, stopping to chat to our farmer who (cheerfully blocking the traffic with his enormous tractor) offered to give the outside of the cottage hedge a trim as he always does. He’s a good sort. 

I have been busy juggling various things and have been amazed that my new Patreon page has gained twelve lovely subscribers since I launched it last week. It’s been good to have a safe place, where I can post freely and chat more easily with people. With the benefit of subscriptions, I’m able to take the time to craft longer, photo rich posts, and update more regularly here. I’ve also added three extra tiers, which allow people to save towards a small piece of my work over six months. 

This week, my subscribers shared my quiet weekend, in ‘A Letter from Saturday Night’. 

And have been on a long, autumnal ramble with me, with lots of photos, as I took Marjorie out for a very long spin, finding (at long last) some woodland to explore in ‘Seeing the Woods and the Trees’. 

If you’d like to join me in my wanderings, you can find my Patreon page here. I’d love to see you! (And Marjorie would be pleased too). 

In search of Langley Chapel

It's been a long time since we went for a bike ride what with one thing and another. So this week we went off in search of Langley Chapel, less than four miles away. I had done my Google map research and was convinced it would be fairly easy to find, despite being in the middle of a Shropshire field. We cycled up to the small but pretty village of Acton Burnell.

 

 

Once through the village however, it all became very uphill-y and with our cycling legs being a bit rusty, there was a lot of pushing. Alright, pretty much all pushing.

As we climbed higher, the views were spectacular. This is looking across to our main town of Shrewsbury. Somewhere in there towards the right, I think.

I found a lovely roly-poly field formation for painting inspiration. There aren't that many dry stone walls in Shropshire and this picture reminds me of the dear Cotswold countryside, which is lined with them.

Joe found me a tiny cottage in a field, sadly ruined with no roof, but very sweet seen through the hedgerow. 

Anyway, we got higher and higher, in search of Langley Chapel - or even a handy signpost - until we got to a point where I knew that it became EVEN MORE hilly. And unfit as we were, we decided to turn back. Happily, it was downhill all the way to Acton Burnell. 

Now, we had seen a footpath sign in the village and wondered if we had managed to miss the chapel. So Joe went ahead and explored, and waved me to follow. He had found something.  We followed the field footpath and discovered a promising looking portico. 

However it did look familiar and as we neared, we realised it was the beautiful Catholic graveyard for the old 'big house' which we had investigated last year. Slightly daunted but determined to have one last shot, we tried another part of the footpath. Which was very pretty but showed no sign of a chapel. 

We found a few wild damsons though and jolly nice they were too, after all that exercise.

So well exercised but feeling a bit defeated, we hastened home, with rain clouds looming overhead.
 

Back home, we looked at a map and were chagrined to find that had we ventured a little further (towards the EVEN MORE HILLY bit), we would have found Langley chapel. It was about five minutes away from our turn-back point. So that's a trip for another day. Nonetheless, it was lovely to get out and explore. We may not have found Langley chapel. But we did get some exercise.