Agatha Christie’s Greenway

Agatha Christie, perhaps the most famous crime writer ever, was born twenty miles away in Torquay. After her first marriage failed (she discovered her husband was having an affair) she met and married Max Mallowan and moved to Greenway in 1938. The gardens are now part of the National Trust, and because of the lack of parking space they encourage you to arrive there by public transport. With a choice of the bus or a ferry up the river Dart from Dartmouth, you can guess what I did on a glorious summer day!

The ferry calls at Dittisham on the west side of the river, a pretty little village in itself, and like Dartmouth, home to many wealthy yachty types. When you disembark at Greenway, you walk up towards the house with the view of the river unfolding, and I’m sure it must have been the most perfect place for Dame Agatha to write. She used several Devon locations in her books, including Burgh Island, for Ten ittle Indians. They have murder mystery weekends there in the 1930’s art deco hotel, just a few miles down the coast.

The house at Greenway is still in the family, and is not open to the public, her daughter lives there. I was there for the garden and was a little disappointed, it was high summer but it isn’t a flower garden. It may have changed now, as the National Trust have been involved a bit longer. The beauty lies in the view, the journey, and of course if you are a fan, the knowledge that you walk in Agatha’s footsteps.

Click any picture for a slide show.

100 Word Challenge forGrown Ups Week# 63

100WCGU (7)

 

Julia has gone for a seasonal prompt this week with ‘and winter will bring . . .’

I didn’t think I would make it, but as I’m babysitting this evening, the late night is an opportunity, so here is

Winter’s Gifts

And winter will bring enduring moon

regal rotund shining for hours through the six a.m. alarm

through sharp ice sky rolling to the west

as  dawn ripples from the east.

And winter will bring ice

crunching crystals on grass shooting veneer onto pond

silvered birch a forest of icycled chandeliers.

And winter will bring

spiralling north wind on street corners

whipping around limbs and petrifying ears.

And winter will bring light precious from low sky sun

concentrated through window an illusion of warmth

no substance and stunted shadows.

And winter will bring thrust from the underworld

Galanthus to herald the spring.

Join in with Julia at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/10/22/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week63/

100 Word Challenge For Grown ups Week# 62

You know sometimes I think that I can’t get any dafter and then I surpass myself! Julia’s prompt this week is …it can’t be that time…. and as usual we can add another 100 words , making 105 this week.

Out of the dark

I feel squashed. I’ve tried pushing those hard bits, but they don’t seem to move now. It’s even difficult to stretch my legs and kick properly. We’ve both got hiccups, and I’ve been upside down for ages with my head in a vice, perhaps she’s been drinking?

Wait a minute.

Oy, I do the shoving, stop pushing on my behind! Agh, I don’t bend that way, let me just . . . put . . . my . . . arm . . . down.

That’s better.

What’s that now? Surely it can’t be that time already. It’s bright out there. I’ll need some sunglasses.

 

Join in and read more at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/10/15/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week62/

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 61

I missed Julia’s challenge last week – she wanted humour and I couldn’t think of anything 🙂 but I was determined to join in this week. The prompt is ‘I woke with another headache’  and my story is based on a dream I had way back, when Shakespears Sister were in the charts, do you remember them?

Shakespears Sister 

‘Come on here’s your costume’, Marcella Detroit handed me a regulation black swimsuit and cap, just like when I was at school. I hesitated, but she shoved me into a cubicle to change. She indicated that I should follow her up a metal ladder, leading to a high diving board, where Siobhan Fahey, the other Shakespears Sister was waiting.

‘We’re not diving from there’ I said panicking. ‘Course we are, it’s perfectly safe’ Marcella replied. I knew it was suicidal, at the bottom there was only a foot of water. We looked like sleek black seals as we jumped.

I woke with another headache.

We Go Out After Dark

I’m finally having a go at Maggie Elizabeth’ prompt, this week she said it could be  a photo, art, writing or a song. 

So I’m using a photo you may have seen before  and have just scrawled this to go with it. You may need to live in Britain to get it, I don’t know?

We go out after dark

Freshness of face hidden

Under identical masks

Displaying our individuality

Our dress sense unique

Only five thousand made

For a top shops 440 branches

Glittered American nails

Rhinestoned sweep of lashes

Scaffolding to access

Gold heeled sparkling platforms

Break our legs on Jagerbombs

When we go out after dark

Very rare huntresses

Maggie would be thrilled to see you if you would like to join in!

Widecombe Fair

Every September on the second Tuesday of the month perhaps the most famous of all the country fairs takes place at Widecombe, on Dartmoor. It began more than 150 years ago as a market but has grown to become a showcase for all the best of what the area has to offer. As well as ponies, cattle and sheep, there are events like terrier racing, bale tossing and tug of war. It is well known for the song Widecombe Fair,

Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me your grey mare,

All along, down along, out along lee

For I want to go to Widecombe fair

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney

Peter Davey, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.

 

And when shall I see again my grey mare?

All along, down along, out along lee.

By Friday soon, or Saturday noon,

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney

Peter Davey, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.

 

Then Friday came and Saturday noon

All along down along out along lee

But Tom Pearse’s old mare have not trotted home

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney

Peter Davey, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

 

So Tom Pearse he got up to the top of the hill

All along down along out along lee

And he seed his old mare down a’ making her will

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney

Peter Davey, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

 

So Tom Pearce’s old mare her took sick and died

All along down along out along lee

And Tom he sat down on a stone and he cried

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney

Peter Davey, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

 

But this isn’t the end of this shocking affair

All along down along out along lee

Nor though they be dead of the horrid career

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney

Peter Davey, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

 

When the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night

All along down along out along lee

Tom Pearse’s old mare doth appear ghastly white

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney

Peter Davey, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

 

And all the long night he heard skirling and groans

All along down along out along lee

From Tom Pearse’s old mare and a rattling of bones

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney

Peter Davey, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all

 You may know the tune? The church at Widecombe, St Pancras, is known as the cathedral of the moor and I found this lovely ‘Old Grey Mare’ model.

The fair will be this Tuesday coming, still time for you to make it!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tis the season for Arachnids

Yes, it’s that time of year again. I leave the house in the morning and as I walk down the front steps I’m trapped, wrapped up in the finest silk, mobbed by a gang of speckled monsters who to me are giants. They cross a metre of path to stretch their tightrope from plant to tree and back a dozen times and each morning I have to be the first to break through. I grab a section checking that the beast is as far away as possible, too close and they rebound back and in a blink they are up your arm. They clearly think I’m one of them because they head for my hair given half a chance. But how do they make those long ropes? If a spider is three inches wide – believe me these are – then to make a strand across my path they have to leap twelve times their own width, all the time spinning and  releasing the strand. Or, perhaps they dangle their way slowly to the ground, spinning on the way and when they reach land they run across it and climb back up the next bush or wall to the opposite side? I know, I know but have you got any better ideas? 

This one was between me and the raspberries, I swear its a conspiracy, someone is plotting to scare me away from my favourite fruit. I have to self administer CBT to pick them. 

and this one was settling in the Rosemary for the night. I know their plans, it can’t be much longer before they want to sleep in my room. They want a warm, dark corner to lurk in until spring and then they will lay their tiny eggs. They will wrap them in a cocoon of white  silk, go and die in one of my shoes, and then as soon as its warm enough outside, three million horrid albino spiderlings will emerge. I’ll spend winter in fear. You think I’m crazy, irrational? Well when I was young, I was bitten on the back of my neck by a big, black, hairy spider and ever since I can’t bear the little horrors. I’m not alone am I?

Good Vibrations but no Haiku

Earlier this evening I read Elizabeth’s post  about four letter words that inspire. She encouraged us to make a list of words of our own, meditate on them and write some Haiku. I chose from Elizabeth’s list because some just seemed right and wrote them in two rows.

Easy                             mind

Life                              pure

Kind                             hope

Love                            wise

Heal                             help

Grow                           give

I meditated on them for a while, I paired and grouped them in my head, added some longer words. I spun and twisted them, counted syllables, got mixed up about five – seven – five, and finally gave up because my saboteur kept telling me I was casting clichés.

Next, someone I’ve been working with for a long time came for her counselling session, she was overwrought, physically and emotionally exhausted. We worked hard for more than half an hour and she had calmed to the point where she was nearly horizontal on the sofa and we talked quietly.

Now I’m side tracking because I want to tell you that I received a very special gift this week, a small bottle of vibrational essence from a blogging friend across the other side of the world. This earth essence is from the Larapinta trail and chosen for me because I said I needed grounding. I have always known that I am governed by the element of air and that at times I need re-balancing, some of you are aware that recently I’ve had a few things rocking around my foundations.

We gradually became silent in our shared space and the energy was buzzing, vibrating even, and my hands were on fire. I asked her to sit with her back to me because I knew I had healing energy to give to her. The way I worked was something like Reiki, I did my first degree a few years ago but chose not to continue to Reiki master – I felt no need to give a name to something that is just there. Afterwards, she said it was the most powerful healing she has ever experienced. I don’t know about that but I do know she needed what I was able to give.

I wasn’t able to write Haiku today but I feel that Elizabeth’s generous post helped to put me into the right space. The essence has already started work on me, bringing me home to myself after a patch where I have been floating anxiously like a butterfly, sometimes trying to settle and hoping for a buddleia. I believe that something shifted as soon as I knew it was flying towards me. It was gathered in an area rich in Heavitree Quartzite, in the Northern Territory, packed safely and sent to me in Heavitree, Exeter. I am blessed, thank you.

Meeting Yuli

As some of you may know I am a crafter and I regularly go to country shows and craft fairs with my friend to sell our work. One of the things that makes it special is talking to people I wouldn’t usually get to meet.

And so I met Yuli, a gentle lady part of whose heritage is Norwegian, she touched my heart. She works with wool, creating the most unusual pieces that are functional and decorative. She began as a weaver in the 1990’s, but now makes felt. She lives right in the heart of Devon and her wool is sourced locally, from Umberleigh, a flock of Lleyn Welsh sheep and Hatherleigh, a Devon Close Wool flock, to keep the wool miles down. Yuli feels that it is important to encourage the growth of sheep farming and believes in sustainability.

Yuli has her felt dyed by a friend who uses only natural plant dyes. The soft but intense red comes from the roots of  Madder, or of Lady’s bedstraw. When researching Lady’s Bedstraw I came upon an interesting coincidence, in Norse mythology, Frigg was the goddess of married women, she helped women in childbirth, and Lady’s Bedstraw was used as a sedative that they called Frigg’s grass. A nice link to Yuli’s cultural history.

The other plant dyes used are Weld, which makes yellow, as does onion skin although the latter is not as colour fast. Indigo is used for beautiful blues as it has been for generations of blue jeans and by the nomadic Tuareg of the Sahara.

Her first felted pieces were hats and the off garment but her range has grown in several directions. I bought a bird token that hangs on a wool strand. She also makes horses, and uses both as decoration for tuffetts – yes just as little Miss Muffett sat on, only Yuli’s are each individual layered mats that give you a soft, comforting place to sit on a chair or even damp grass. Tea cosies, lovely little cushion rolls, hot water bottle covers, oven gloves and wall hangings to dream of, all have recurring motifs from nature.

Yuli has worked with schoolchildren, showing them the history of wool, textiles and dyeing, as well as hands on creating of beautiful art work. It was her own childhood experience that led to her most unusual and stunning creations, felt coffins. She experienced bereavement in her early years that had a profound effect on her and believes that death is dealt with badly in the West. The enduring impact of her loss led her to make her first shroud. I was taken aback when she told me but it quickly made sense, after all ordinary people would have been laid to rest in simple fabric shrouds. She told me that in 17th century Britain an act of parliament stated that woollen shrouds should be used, to help develop the woollen trade.

I have always hated the idea that I might be buried in the ground in a wooden box with brass handles taking a beautiful tree to do so. I had a vague idea of a sleeping bag liner or a cardboard box instead. But how comforting to be wrapped in soft felted wool from local sheep and returned to the earth. Yuli calls them Leaf Cocoons and they are carried on a strong wooden frame. This makes far more sense to me than a polished box.

Yuli’s website is here, visit, enjoy her wonderful work. I was so impressed and I’d like to hear what you think. Thank you, meeting you was special Yuli and I hope to see you again.

I’m a blogging failure, will you forgive me?

I want to share with you a little of what’s been happening in my life recently. It’s been quite stressful for some time and all to do with work. I joined my organisation on a year’s fixed term contract in August 2010 after leaping from a job I hated. My contract was renewed a year later, for a further six months, and then three more renewals that took me up to yesterday. A couple of months ago I had to apply for the job I’ve been doing all this time, and I didn’t get it! I was invited to re-apply when it was advertised again and this time around, just in the nick of time I was successful. So here I am with a permanent contract, you wouldn’t believe the relief this has brought me. I’m single, have to support myself and despite paying tax and national insurance for forty years the state would have only given me around £72 per week to exist on if I joined the ranks of the unemployed. Even working I am still poor but my needs are few and my blessings are many, so this isn’t a sob story.

It is a tale of my failure though. My writing has suffered. I’m behind with my blogging. I’m behind with replying to comments. I’m hoping that you won’t all give up on me because I haven’t been present, you’re such lovely, and supportive people that I feel it will be okay. I can never catch up, it would take a week of solid work, so I’m just going to apologise and now that this huge anxiety has lifted I will refocus. I hope I haven’t totally lost my writing mojo because I begin a new writing course soon and need to be able to pull stories out of the bag. Talking of stories, I’ve failed with Madison Woods Friday Fictioneers challenges, missing the last two. Julia’s 100 word challenge for grown ups I might just manage because we have two weeks this time. I’m most sad because I really wanted to support Maggie Elizabeth, with her brand new weekly prompt Maybe some of you will join in with that one; you are all such good writers.

I have a lot of followers, many of you I haven’t said hi to – how rude am I? I can’t stand rudeness and I am ashamed of myself. I wish I could follow you all as well but at present I’m only just managing to visit everyone I do follow.

For the last few weeks a great contest has been going around, Travel Supermarket’s Capture the Colour and I have been invited to join by Blueberrie, and Elisa, and the closing date was yesterday. Guess what I missed it. Actually, time wise I could probably have made this one but after sending an hour trying and failing to choose the photos I gave up. Sorry girls and I really loved your entries.

Anyway, enough of what I haven’t done, enough beating myself up. How do all of you manage to find time to be a polite blogger, thank your followers and reply to the terrific comments as well as posting, working and living your lives? I LOVE to visit you, I’ve learnt so much and had real peoples views of so many wonderful places and insights into lives so different from mine. I get cross and feel I’ve missed out if I don’t visit. What’s your secret? Please share your time management skills!

Last of all, a big THANK YOU – I hope you’re still here 🙂