"Let's just go the the beach!" she announced wearily.
''Good idea, but let us also go for a walk along the coast path first." I agreed.
When we arrived, we noticed that it was much warmer than it had been on the campsite, and so we had an unexpected beach day, which never did include the walk!
However, it was enlivened firstly by the visit of a lifeboat, probably on a training/reconnaissance visit,
and secondly by some strange mist that drifted ethereally off the sea.
Initially, I thought it was a BBQ further down the beach, but when I couldn't identify the source I realised that it was some metrological phenomenon, possibly haar.
In the evening we joined the Mid Devon ringers for their practise at Bovey Tracey.
Birds are a great feature of any National Trust cafe area. They soon learn that there will be an endless succession of leftovers to enjoy. We enjoyed watching bluetits, a robin, blackbirds, thrushes and of course the ducks in the adjacent pond - both the mallards and more unusual breads.
Afterwards, we diverted to Whitchurch Common to eat a late picnic tea, noting that Brent Tor was still visible on the horizon.
Meanwhile, the sheep settled down, having decided that nothing of interest was going to happen
We drove back enjoying a glorious sunset.
On Sunday we had arranged to join the local ringers at Brent Tor church for their evening ringing.
I first saw this church through the fog/cloud when we were exploring the moors north of Tavistock on a damp summers day several years ago.
It has been on the list of places I have wanted to ring at ever since I realised that it had a ring of bells.
The plan had been to have lunch on the beach and then drive north, but Sunday dawned even cooler than Saturday, so we headed off to Saltram, a National Trust estate on the edge of Plymouth.
Most of the inhabitants of the city and surrounding area, plus holidaymakers, appeared to have had the very same good idea as ourselves. How rude!
Thus the main footpaths were busy
with couples and families,
cyclists and dog walkers,
buggy pushers, electric buggy riders,
runners and amblers.
Like many of the other visitors we set off on the yellow route.
However, as we only had a photo of the map to guide us, we only really got our bearings when we reached the Quay. We paused to enjoy the views across the River Plymm, reminding us of the city from which we had sought to escape!
The KHT diverted to explore the amphitheatre, and was quite taken with it, spending sometime surveying the world from her lofty vantage point.
As there was a good phone signal DH decided to play Pokemon Go for the first time in ages. DH has a bit of history with this game. Firstly he plays so infrequently that he always needs to carry out several updates before it will work.
This usually results in a software mismatch, that leaves his character about a quarter of a mile from where it should be - usually running up and down some river!
The consequences of this is that Pokestops are never quite where they should be. Then, whatever phone case he has seems to cause the game to stop working...
The Yellow route ended with a short climb up to the house, and cafe, where we sat and enjoyed lunch in the outdoor seating area
Birds are a great feature of any National Trust cafe area. They soon learn that there will be an endless succession of leftovers to enjoy. We enjoyed watching bluetits, a robin, blackbirds, thrushes and of course the ducks in the adjacent pond - both the mallards and more unusual breads.
Next we toured the house. Its full of old stuff, like many other National Trust properties. The KHT enjoyed trying on costumes - replicas made for the purpose!
Soon it was time to head north for the evening service at Brent Tor church - the highest church in Southern England, and I do not mean Anglo-Catholic! There were about seven other ringers who turn up faithfully to ring these bells for evensong during the summer months. In the winter they practice on Saturday morning to ensure that these bells are still rung.
As the bells are rung from the back of the church, some bemused foreign tourists watched this strange English bellringing with interest.
The church tower seems to be a magnet for moisture and even on a warm summers evening, the slate floor was damp with condensation.
We stayed for evensong, led by one of the local Readers. Music was provided by a small keyboard. The small congregation of about twenty, plus dogs, who had all climbed the hill faithfully to attend worship, produced a volume that would have done credit to a larger congregation. One of the dogs added their own discordant counter melody to each song. Maybe he did not approve of Mission Praise... The sung chants and recited psalms seemed fitting in such an ancient place of worship. Three out of four of the selection from Mission Praise were traditional hymns. Nothing too radical was happening to rock traditional worship on this ancient rock.
As the bells are rung from the back of the church, some bemused foreign tourists watched this strange English bellringing with interest.
The church tower seems to be a magnet for moisture and even on a warm summers evening, the slate floor was damp with condensation.
We stayed for evensong, led by one of the local Readers. Music was provided by a small keyboard. The small congregation of about twenty, plus dogs, who had all climbed the hill faithfully to attend worship, produced a volume that would have done credit to a larger congregation. One of the dogs added their own discordant counter melody to each song. Maybe he did not approve of Mission Praise... The sung chants and recited psalms seemed fitting in such an ancient place of worship. Three out of four of the selection from Mission Praise were traditional hymns. Nothing too radical was happening to rock traditional worship on this ancient rock.
Afterwards, we diverted to Whitchurch Common to eat a late picnic tea, noting that Brent Tor was still visible on the horizon.
I do wonder how far from the church the bells can be heard.
We sat and watched as the sky turned from blue to gold.
Meanwhile, the sheep settled down, having decided that nothing of interest was going to happen
Then we drove back over the moors, at the end of another day that had not turned out entirely as we anticipated.
No comments:
Post a Comment