Counting Crosses

DH is churchwarden, for the third time!
Some people never seem to learn ;)

Agreeing to be nominated is the start of the process of becoming church warden.
You then have to be elected at the AGM.
Finally, you are required to roll up to a large service
and agree to practice true religion,
promote unity and peace,
look after the buildings and chattels of the church
and, when your stint is complete,
pass everything on to your successor.

The ministry dates back to the 13th century, and although many Churchwardens are mature in years, none are thought to be that old.
Actually, when I looked around at those gathered, many are retired, but there were an encouraging number who were relatively young.

Churchwarden charging churchwards

The service we attended was held at St. John's, Bromsgrove. A large church situated on the highest land in the immediate area. Not surprisingly the lofty spire dominates the skyline of both the town and surrounds.

There is very little room for cars in the grounds of the church, and the small number of places that were available were probably reserved for the great and the good, and those less mobile.
However, this was not a problem, as there is plenty of  street parking close to the church and we had no difficulty in finding a space.

One bemused resident looked with puzzlement at the cars lining the normally empty streets.
"There must be something on at the church" 
he pronounced, before realising that he had spoken loud enough for those parking their cars to hear!

I have probably only attended about five services at this church and several of these were many years ago.

St. John's is dominated by a large cross that hangs near the front of the nave.  I would love to know what it is made of
The KHT, however, was fascinated by the backlit cross in the alcove on the left hand side of the main arch.
We then started counting crosses,
those on the altar,
the ones incorporated in the east window,
the crucifixion window,
the small brightly coloured glass cross.
A large piece of art hung above the north aisle, incorporating various Christian symbols,
including a cross.
Would any other method of brutal torture and murder,
lend itself so readily to being incorporated into so many art forms?



There was a goodly number gathered for this annual service and there will be at least one more in the Diocese. Churchwardens are expected to attend, or make alternative arrangements to be admitted to office.

Afterwards, there were lots of familiar faces to catch up with and refreshments to enjoy.

The KHT was worried that she would get a hangover as the water she consumed was in a wine glass.
"The miracle in Canaan was a one-off." I reassured her, 
"I have not heard of another occasion when it happened."

"What about the Archdeacon's Charge?" you ask.
Well, there is a high price to pay - services to attend,
meetings to sit through,
forms to fill in,
returns to make,
faculties to apply for,
and hopefully, books to balance.
Someone has to do it, or ensure it is done,
and that is what churchwardens sign up for - knowingly, or otherwise!

The price may feel high in terms of time and commitment, but it is nothing compared to sacrifice given by the one, in whose honour the crosses are displayed.

Green

Tuesday - time to disengage myself from the monotony of the apparently never-ending laundry cycle, and do something useful - i.e. return to work!

I walked home afterwards to clock up some km towards 'hatching eggs' in Pokemon Go - sad I know, but it does encourage me to walk!

The exponential explosion in vegetation growth has not been restricted to our garden. This is one of the major footpaths and, as you can see, the branches are reaching out to shake hands with their neighbours across the aisle, like Anglicans shaking hands with those in the adjacent pew.
It is not a wood, I told myself, it is a living cathedral!

As I walked through the woodland, I was startled by a sudden noise, as some small animal or bird made a hasty departure.
I turned to try and identify what it was, but it was gone. All that betrayed the rapid exit, were some plants,
whose gentle swaying betrayed the passage of whatever it was.
I found myself pondering on the immenseness of time, and realised that compared to the life of the created world, my life was like that frantic flight - a brief disturbance, unnoticed by most.
Let's face it, within a few generations I will be no more than another name on a family tree.
No-one will remember much about me - what colour eyes I had, what makes me laugh, what songs I knew ALL the words to!
I have no right to complain. I can remember a lot about my own parents, though doubtless there is much more that I never knew.
However, my memories of my grandparents, particularly my grandfathers, is far more sketchy. I do remember my maternal grandmother doing a surprisingly good impersonation of Lena Zavaroni, though I doubt very much if it was her favourite song!

In the afternoon I sneaked off to one of the local nurseries to stock up on bedding plants. My previous visit was a bit early in the season, and there were a few gaps that I wanted to fill.  When we added the extra parking space at the front of the house, we rehomed the hebes into pots. Three years later and the poor things are potbound and in desperate need of some tlc, so I am in the process of replanting them, and adding some colour to the pots as they are vacated.

The garden centre was surprisingly busy - the car park was nearly full. I made my selections and left. Buying plants is a bit like ordering food off a menu - whatever your selection, you always think you have made the wrong choice when the food arrives and you see what others have ordered. I was reminded of this as I trundled out with my trolly of small plants, surrounded by flamoyant examples of mother natures bounty.  Forget green fingers, I was green eyed...

The table on the patio is now hidden under a profusion of verbena, lobelia, nicotiana and assorted small daisies.
Now all I have to do is find time to do some planting....

Back to reality

Monday dawned warm and sunny - the best morning for about a week - and we were going home!
Typical!
In preparation for our departure windows were closed and the roof lights shut.
Meanwhile, I was gently dissolving,
as I gave the van a final, final clean, prior to our departure.
In desperation I dug out the small fan I had already packed away, to help me keep my cool,
but even that stopped working when DH unplugged the electrics!









We headed north up the M5. The motorway was busy with haulage lorries, slowly inching their way past each other,  producing a bottleneck in their wake, as they effectively take a lane out of action for several miles.
A lot of families were also traveling home, have delayed their return by a few days in an attempt to beat the end of half-term motorway madness.

We paused for a break at Tellytubby Land - our favourite services.
As we had journeyed north we had watched the gauge recording the external temperature drop by a degree or so for every 50 miles traveled.
However. it was still warm enough to enjoy some fresh air, so we took our coffee outside,
only to find a film crew had beaten us to it!
Well, that was free entertainment thrown in for good measure.
This was the place where they recorded an interview.
I have no idea if it was for a promotion
or something more in depth.
I was rather amused to watch one dog walker walk past the bollards, and the film crew, to exercise his dog - oblivious to what was happening!
Cut!





We left Gloucester services and the Sat Nav immediately had a hissy fit
rerouting us off the motorway,
only to cancel the instruction a few minutes later,
then to repeat the instruction to leave,
and then quickly override it again
as the poor satnav tried desparately to work out if it really was better to stay or go.

Unfortunately, there had been an incident further up the motorway
which had resulted in a bent central crash barrier,
and the inevitable queues resulting from a lane closure.
The signs admonished us not to exceed 40mph - as we crawled along in the middle lane at 10mph.
Meanwhile, the in-car music system blared out "stuck in the middle with you".
The KHT is in to 80's music.
As each track starts I have to see how quickly I can name the track and artist.
As we crawl along the M5, I sing along with cheesy songs which I had forgotten existed.

Once we pass the incident the traffic quickly returned to normal speed,
and we covered the rest of the journey in the same time that it took us to travel three agonising miles in a traffic jam....

On arriving home we unload the car,
the washing machine goes on with the first of several loads, and we head off to a meeting.
Real life doesn't wait for us to unpack. It begins straightaway.

After tea DH digs out the lawnmower. The warm but moist weather has inspired significant growth in the garden and the lawn has not been spared.
When we left, only one water butt had any rainwater in it. On our return, they were all surprisingly full.

In our absence, the woodruffe and the small blue spears of pale flowers (which I have forgotten the name of - but it definitely isn't forget-me-not) have finished. Meanwhile the poppy, and white foxgloves are in bloom, though the poppy is down to its last few flowers.

Very quickly it feels as if we have not been away.
However, the mound of clothing and bedding quietly awaiting its turn in the washing machine,
reminds me that we have!

Glory on the highest

Saturday was cool. The KHT was suffering from the after-effects of too many train rides on warm trains the day before
"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.  

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.

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.  

Time, Tide and Visa Wait for No Man

Falling Tide at Totnes

Having heard about the 'Round Robin' Tickets on the Dart, we did some online research. However, trying to decipher a complicated leaflet using a flakey phone hotspot, drove us round the bend. We decided to head off to Totnes to investigate further.

I had a vague recollection of catching a steam train not far from the mainline station, so we began there. Alas, we couldn't find any sight of a boat, nor any information about robins of any kind, and concluded that we were probably in the wrong place.

We decided to head over to Steamer Quay, where sure enough a ferry was loading up with daytrippers. Unfortunately, by the time we had parked the car and located the ticket office, the ferry had departed. We understood that the tides influenced when the ferries ran, but what we had not appreciated was that there would not be another ferry until late afternoon! The 'Round Robin' had flown the nest - for that day, anyway!

As we had already paid for parking for the day, we decided to walk back across town to where we had originally parked, and catch the steam train to Buckfast Abbey. It was a good walk, but we consoled ourselves by remembering that exercise is good for you!






We purchased our train tickets and settled down in first-class. The seats were covered in garish cloth. The KHT's interesting combination of clothing colours added to the visual discord. However, we couldn't complain about the comfort of these generously proportioned seats.

When the Ticket Collector appeared to punch our tickets he delivered the following important piece of information
"And of course you do realise that these are 'all day' tickets and you can go up and down the track as often as you like?"




Buckfast is a regular destination for us, so we decided to enjoy two trips up and down the line, just because we could, and so that I would avoid the temptations of the bookshop at Buckfast Abbey...

Heading up the Dart Valley, the best views were on the other side of the train. The KHT took some convincing that she was allowed to stand in the corridor, and everytime anyone came, she darted back into the carriage before she spotted.














There was about 45 minute turn around at Buckfast. Plenty of time to watch the train have its water tank refilled, witness the engine to move to the other end of the train and go and get an ice cream.



We reboarded the train in an ordinary carriage and enjoyed the return trip to Totnes.

For the second trip back to Buckfast we ventured into the buffet car. It was really weird sitting on dining chairs on a train... We decided to indulge ourselves with a coffee. Alas, the lack of refrigeration available on a vintage train meant it came with UHT milk. I honestly would not have bothered if I had known. I drank a few sips and that was more than enough! Yuk! <understatement>

Having completed our train trips we walked back along by the river into Totnes town centre, and up the main shopping street. Fortunately, we found a coffee shop that was still open,  and serving decent coffee, as by now it was nearly 5pm.  DH's card was refused. He thought this was odd and used a different card, which went through without a hitch.

We headed over to Newton Abbot, where we had booked a table at a very good fish and chip restaurant, which also serves lemon sole - yum! DH had his fish served in rice crumb.

Checking the news we discovered that there were widespread problems with the VISA network that were affecting many retailers. Whilst we were relieved to know that it wasn't DH's card that was the problem, we hoped that whatever the issue was, would soon be sorted, for everyone's benefit.

We popped into Asda, who were taking cash payments only. Fortunately, we only wanted one item and that cost under a £1. DH had the excitement of inserting money into a self-serve checkout for the first time ever!

We make plans, but bigger forces are at work - some natural, some caused by man - albeit inadvertently.

We adapt. We change. Life goes on.

Looking for the right Aisle.

We were going to head off to Anthony, a National Trust property just over the border in Cornwall.
"Not another National Trust property!" declared the KHT.
She did have a point. It would have been the third one in three days - a veritable hat-trick of historical heritage.

Buckland Abbey on Tuesday was egg-citing.
The magnificent multi-mirrored cosmic egg on display in the Tithe Barn was a sight to behold.
No, the KHT has not shrunk, nor is it a trick photograph - it really is five metres tall!
Do go and see it if you get the opportunity.

However, one thing was bugging me - just how big was the bird that laid that particular egg?
No-one seemed very keen to commit to an answer on that one!






The KHT also had great fun following a trail around part of the grounds.
We were concerned that we might not discover all the eggs, especially as the first one we found was number five, but they were surprisingly easy to locate, even if the number order was a tad random!
I thought this one might have been Humpty Dumpty, but apparently, it was something far more sensible.
Though I have a sneaking suspicion that the eggs were larger than they would be in real life.








Wednesday was Castle Drogo - a trip that took us to new and vertigo-inducing heights.

Wrong Isle ;)

Thursday ended up being a chill at the beach day.

The forecast wasn't fantastic, but somehow the sunshine found us, and it was all very pleasant. We left as the clouds started to gather, but hopefully not in an ominous Graham Kendrick sort of way.

On the way back we popped into Tesco in search of something suitable for tea.  DH is waiting to find out if he is officially gluten intolerant, as opposed to just irritating wife intolerant. Unfortunately, he also seems to be reacting to pepper - which rules out absolutely anything in the ready meal department. We do not normally eat ready meals, except when we are away...

To speed up our shopping expedition, we kept splitting up to track down items we needed and then losing each other, which defeated the objective, but we weren't going to let that deter us.
It highlighted the fact that we do not normally shop at Tesco,  and the layout of the store is different to our local one.
Having lost DH for the second or possibly third time, I sought the help of a member of the staff in the chilled section.
"Excuse me, I wonder if you could tell me which aisle the 'Free From' food is located?"
She was very helpful and wanted to make sure that I found what I required.
"What in particular are looking for?" she enquired.
" My husband!" I replied.
I could tell from the expression on her face that this was not the answer she had been anticipating. Now her curiosity was piqued. Would my husband really be browsing the stock in this aisle, or would the 'Free From' section be husband free?
"I will take you there., " she announced, and sailed forth down the store, with the KHT and myself trailing behind.
She paused, at the end of the aisle, and turned and faced me
"Is that him?" she enquired triumphantly, spotting a man in an M & S T-shirt perusing the 'Free From' range.
"Oh yes," I replied with a smile.
She gave a satisfied nod and left us to our browsing.
Another customer query successfully resolved.

Up On The Roof

There is nothing like a grey drizzly day to trigger indecision.
"Let's go to Castle Drogo" said DH.
DH doesn't often make suggestions and there didn't seem any reason why we shouldn't.
So off we went, up the Teign valley.


For those not in the know, Castle Drogo was the last castle to be built in England, and almost since it was built early in the 20th Century, the roof has leaked.

Fairytale Cottage

The National Trust took it over, thinking they could sort it, and failed.
So now they are undertaking a five-year project to reroof the entire building.
The project is already overrunning by a year, and there is still plenty of work left to do.
As we hadn't been there since work had begun, I was curious to see what the KHT remembered.
She certainly remembered the little house, built for the children of the family, and in case you are wondering, yes, you can go inside and sit on the basic furniture within.







The gardens are glorious, even on a grey day.













The house has been covered in a free-standing plastic covered tent,
to allow all the building work to take place.

The KHT on the Stairway to Heaven

Tours are offered to visitors brave enough to climb up the staircases in the scaffolding to view the work currently being undertaken.
Hi-vis waistcoats and matching hard hats are compulsory wear for those foolish enough to accept the challenge.










I am pleased we took the opportunity, but I was even happier to be back at ground level.






Looking at the photos later,  a friend observed that my husband was one of those people who looks naturally right in hi-vis gear. Maybe he missed his vocation!







Having been up many church towers in her life, I asked the KHT afterwards how she found the experience
"Gut churning!" was her verdict, but she was pleased with herself.
We were pretty impressed too!