A Stormy drive on the Moor.

Today we woke to a day that looked promising weather wise to drive up the moor.  We`ve had dreadful grey wet days that held no hope of a burst of sunshine, so with clearer skies we headed out.  Unfortunately the closer to the moor we got, the darker the sky became, till the heavens opened and it poured....undaunted as always we carried on till we reached a car park over looking Hameldown Beacon and stopped for cake and coffee to assess the situation.  Rain lashed the windscreen and the wind buffeted the car, the views of the tors and hills were obscured with great drifts of rain like net curtains draped across them and the sky the colour of a bruise.  Much to our surprise by the time we`d finished our coffee the skies had started to clear and there was enough blue in them to `make a sailors collar` so we headed down the long steep winding hill to Widecombe.

The village had that lovely early morning feel about it, the green was bathed in sunshine, the trees beautiful and sleek with rain casting long shadows over the grass.  One or two local folk were pottering around the shops or chatting to one and other, and everything had an unhurried feel...

Looking about I was thrilled to see on the church bank the first signs of Snowdrops..

`Fair Maids of February` as theyre known, but in this case January..their tiny snowy heads still tightly closed, nodding gently in the wind...so early, but we`ve had an unseasonably warm winter so far, so I shouldn't be surprised.  I know a lot of people hate January because of its long grey dark days, but I don`t, I always feel that it`s the gateway to the new year and holds lots of promise of new things to do and see, and I always feel that in every day there`s something good to be had from it, and today proved it with this lovely surprise.

I decided to look round the churchyard and walking round noticed that someone had woven this shrub into a fabulous shape above the old stone wall, Im sure in the spring it will look lovely with the new leaves.

The church looked beautiful in the morning sun, the tower soaring into the blue sky, the churchyard was peaceful apart from some Jackdaws that flew about the trees squabbling and calling to each other.  The grass was lush and rain spangled, and on one or two graves Christmas wreaths still lay,  the flowers in them in faded rose, and pink and yellow.

Walking down to the bottom of the graveyard I looked back across the moorland where the tors crouched on the horizon great piles of grey granite, the slopes covered in ginger bracken and the sky behind blue with great billowing white clouds sailing across like galleons in full sail.  There were a few more patches of snowdrops scattered amongst the tombstones, as yet still closed.

We decided to drive onto Grimspound where we were hoping to have a walk.  The moor looked lovely, rain washed and sparkly, the tiny windy roads were very wet, huge puddles ran from side to side, and tiny streams ran off the moorland turf and down the hilly roads.  Grimspound was very peaceful but extremely windy, the wind tugging at my clothes as I got out to take a photo, so we decided against walking, just enjoying the lovely views across the hills with the tinners gerts where tiny white sheep grazed and a buzzard flew above the bracken landing in a tree on the side of the hill.

We drove back homeward across the moor where the rain came and went, and a rainbow brightened the blackened sky.  The rivers ran high and swift roaring over the huge granite boulders no longer visible in the foaming icy cold waters.  Raindrops sparkled in the hedgerows like a thousand diamonds, and hung on the branches of trees like crystal drops.
We stopped at Combestone Tor for our picnic lunch, where the sun was shining, warming the lumpy granite of the tor, but in the distance the black clouds were gathering, moving closer and closer, till they blotted out the sunshine and hail thick and heavy fell all around covering the windows of the car in an icy blanket.  It was certainly a day of contrasts and dramatic in the extreme, but as always the moor is beautiful in all her moods and a place I will always love to be.

A New Years trip to the moor.

 

We woke this morning on the first day of the year to grey skies, wind and light rain, hardly an auspicious start to the new year, but undaunted we headed up the moor for some fresh air and lovely views.  We stopped at Combestone Tor first where we had coffee and cake, and watched the clouds sailing over the tors and the rain like a fine veil hanging in the valleys and combes.  The wind buffeted the car and shook the hawthorn trees, the puddles were ruffled by the wind and crows were blown about the skies like scraps of black paper.

 

Much refreshed we drove on, the moor was wild and beautiful, wind danced and shook the gorse bushes golden with flowers, grey clouds rolled across  the shoulders of the moor and rain stung the windscreen...we eventually reached the turning to Manaton, where we turned off, at the junction is Beetor Cross an ancient old granite cross mounted on the wall.  Its also called the Watching place one of the notions being that in Medieval times it was the site of a gallows erected by the Lord of the Manor.

We followed the narrow winding road down between high banks of hedging now laid bare in their winter finery, thick twiggy bushes in shades of pale brown, orange and a pale blackcurrant.  Ginger ferns sprouted from the hedge banks, and tiny birds flitted from side to side.  We passed Manaton and drove on till we came to Jays Grave, where we stopped and I got out to take some pictures.  Kitty Jay was a servant who worked on a local farm in the nineteenth century, the son of the farmer paid her some attention and she became pregnant, after which the farmer and his wife threw her out.  Kitty knew that she would never be allowed to work again because of the shame of her pregnancy, so she hung herself in the barn...In those days suicides weren't allowed to be buried in hallowed ground but were buried at crossroads to confuse the spirits so they wouldn't return..

Kitty Jays grave is beside a narrow little road, and behind is a pretty wooded track that leads over the moor with lovely views across the tors.

Her grave is never without flowers although no one ever sees anyone placing them on there, and it has become something of a shrine nowadays...today there were the usual gifts of flowers, money and lucky stones, and also because of Christmas there was a spray of holly and a shiny red bauble and a lovely little poem to say she wasn't forgotten, its a very sad little story, but Im glad that she is always remembered and people do leave gifts for her...today was also special for me because if you look at the first photo I have posted there is a strange `orb` to the left of the photo which I only saw when I took the photos off my camera, I really have no idea what it is....

Having paid our respects we drove on and at the bottom of the road is this lovely Dartmoor long house, with lovely granite walls and mossy thatched roof.

I loved that they had decorated the sweet little thatched porch with a garland of greenery and red and gold baubles.

Across the road the folk from the cottage had hung baubles in the tree and they were dancing in the wind.

Behind the tree Hound Tor loomed a lovely avenue tor with wildly stacked tors looking very moody in the low cloud, it was the inspiration for Conan Doyles `The Hound of the Baskervilles`

The signpost had also been decorated with a garland of greenery and coloured baubles, I Iove the fact that people bother to do such things and made it all so magical.

It was a lovely magical first trip on the moor for new year and I`m looking forward to many more..

Happy New Year

 

Ring out, wild bells to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light,
The year is dying in the night,
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
-Tennyson.

Happy New Year to all my visitors, I wish you all the best of everything for the coming year.

St Raphaels Church.

Just before Christmas we took a drive up to Dartmoor along a windy road we use all the time, we stopped beside a dingly dell and I got out to stand in the magical place and listen to the River Dart splashing and rushing over the huge river stones, the water the colour of stewed tea flowing in full spate after the recent heavy rain fall.  It was soothing to listen too after a very busy week, and a lovely tranquil spot.

 

I noticed that the trees were trimmed for Christmas too, their twisty gnarled branches encased in beautiful green velvet.

 

 

They were decorated in long streamers of ivy, wound about their trunks and branches, which danced in the wind that sighed through the dell.

 

 

And the Hazel trees that edged the dell had lost all their leaves, but hung small stubby catkins out ready to shake out in the Springtime.

 

 

Feeling refreshed in body and soul we drove on along the road and stopped at St Raphaels church, a lovely little quaint church tucked into the hillside.  I was hoping that it had been dressed for Christmas...

 

 

 

And I wasn't disappointed..as I pushed open the porch door I saw the lovely display that had been arranged on the flagstones.  Bunches of berried holly, branches of feathery pine, and sprays of cones all sprayed silver amongst the greenery, lovely.

 

 

I couldn't wait to push open the heavy church door and see what had been done inside, and I was enchanted to see a beautiful dainty Christmas tree hung with red and silver baubles and silver bows, it was quite magical.

 

 

 

Besides the tree, the ledge behind the alter had also been decorated with greenery and red bows and flowers, it all looked very festive.

 

 

St Raphaels is a well loved little church I believe, and although quite plain, I think it has a wonderful feel to it, I love the watery light that shines through the plain leaded windows, and the old fashioned seats...it has been used as a school in the past, and is usually laid out as such, with the ink wells on the trestles and quill pens, and a dunces cap on the teachers table. 

 

 

But this day it was laid out as the church it is, and the old granite fireplace stained with many a fire had a delightful nativity scene arranged amongst some branches of berried ivy on the massive granite mantelpiece.

 

 

 

And at the back beside the teachers desk was a lovely pedestal arrangement of assorted greenery and red poinsettia flowers, a traditional sort of church flower display and lovely with the hedgerow holly, firs, laurel and ivy.  I loved my visit to the little church, and it was a lovely start to the Christmas period.

Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas to all my visitors, I hope you all have a lovely peaceful day.

A trip to Chagford

Last week we decided to drive up to Chagford, we haven't been for a while and it`s a delightful old town situated in the Teign valley.

The drive across the moor is lovely too with the winter countryside, lots of rolling hills with the wolf grey woods running down into the frosty valleys, thick bare twiggy hedges lining the narrow winding roads and sheep scattered across the chequered fields.

Chagford has a lovely ancient feel, it was one of the stannary towns where the tinners came to have their tin weighed and stamped. The buildings are quite beautiful with their mossy thatched roofs, tiny mullioned windows and grey granite walls, you can almost feel the history in them.

But Christmas had arrived here too, albeit in a restrained well mannered fashion, and dainty firs twinkled with festive lights.

And some with rather nice silvery baubles and bells and tiny flashing lights.

We decided to walk around the church St Michaels, the grave yard is full of lovely tombstones and crosses, and the views from there are wonderful over the valley.

It was lovely and peaceful in the churchyard, the air was cold and there was a slight breeze, tiny birds hopped about the bare trees,.

Just across the church railings is a lovely old Devon long house, with beetling mossy thatch and pretty pink walls surrounded by lovely old beech trees, I wonder what interesting things have happened in that house in its life time.

There is a memorial inside the church to Mary Whiddon who legend says was shot dead on her wedding day as she left the church.  Her death is thought to be the inspiration behind the R.D. Blackmore`s novel Lorna Doone although that was based on Exmoor not Dartmoor.

The church was surprisingly warm inside, but after the cold outside maybe anywhere would have felt warm!  Its a beautiful church with lovely carved rood screen, and with a wonderful beamed roof, which I couldn't help looking for bats in, to no avail unfortunately
.

There were nice gold bosses on the vaulted ceiling above the alter, and the carvings on the end of the choir pews were delightful.

Having enjoyed the peace and solitude and warmth of the church we ventured out and walked round the town.  Chagford is quite famous for its lovely Market house, the octagonal little building in the middle of the town square, the shop was open with gay green and white awning and lots of lovely local veg and fruit for sale.  There are two shops in Chagford that have been trading for the last hundred years, handed down from generation to generation, James Bowden and son and Webbers and Sons, both interesting shops full of everything you could want in hardware, Ironmongery and general goods, real Aladdin caves of treasure.

The town also has some lovely little galleries, arty shops and cafes, we took a stroll away from the town centre as I love the old houses in these moorland towns.  I love that they are chunky with thick granite walls, that the chimneys are wide and squat, where fires have burned over the years and warmed the country souls home from a hard days work, or back from a mornings shopping, basket in hand filled with fruit and veg and something for tea, to sit and warm themselves and have tea and biscuits for `elevenses`.

The tiny gardens beside the houses were winter bare and dormant, brightened by the odd red berried shrubs or sprawling snow berry ones still hung with pale lemon leaves.

The Bishops house must be the most impressive in the town, it dates from 1261 and is quite beautiful with its thatched roof, tiny windows and beamed porch, I loved the nice green wreath on the door, and wondered what tales it could tell of all the generations that have lived, loved and died there

We headed back to the car having really enjoyed our visit to the town, and headed out on a tiny winding road that wound up and up between high banked hedges bare and smooth in their winter nakedness, where ancient beeches hung their gnarled and smooth branches over the winding road and ginger ferns sprung from the hedge banks.

Eventually we reached Grimspound where we had our picnic lunch and hot tea from the flask, looking out over the lonely and beautiful moor, the hillsides covered with ginger ferns, and the road a shiny ribbon disappearing into the distance.  A shower suddenly sprung up from nowhere, drifting in a white veil across the valley, covering the windscreen in silver drops then just as suddenly it left, travelling away across the hills and a pale wintry sun shone from behind the grey lowering cloud, a pale smudge in the sky.