A Kiwi in Yorkshire

Last word...

2010-04-22T12:57:00.000-07:00

I promised a final image of Tilly the Tum. The lump...

...and the culprit...

And to demonstrate how lucky I was to exit the UK just before the volcanic dust shut down all flights, here are stranded passengers in Changi airport, Singapore.

D-day...

2010-04-13T18:36:00.000-07:00

I can truly say that this house-swap and my time in York has been the best experience possible. I leave sadly - will miss much, especially the people I have met. Neighbours Maggie and Don, Chris and Wendy, Trevor, Philip and Phyllis, George and Marion, Philip and Janet, Jonathan. Sue and Al's friends Richard and Jean, Jill M, Jill B, Maire, Christina; Sue's colleagues Jenny, Glynis, Yvonne and Miranda; Wendy's friend Wayne; the many people I met through the York Ramblers... (I will have forgotten someone important). Thank you to everyone.

I will miss Tilly of the rounded tum and dirty feet. I have one last 'under the duvet' photo which will have to wait until my return home to add in here.

There is so much more I could have done - but it is ever thus...

I have felt 'at home', the best possible feeling.

Above all my thanks to Sue, Al and Tom for making it all possible. One day we will meet!!

A final image - me taking a photo of the tithe barn (thanks Richard!).

A time of farewells...

2010-04-12T22:22:00.000-07:00

The farewells to newly-made friends continue. Yesterday I went out to Poppleton for the last time to sit in the SUN in Richard and Jean's beautiful garden and to walk through the village to Nether Poppleton...

...to see the (originally) 16th century tithe barn.

A very lovely, tranquil spot with a little 'sensory' garden...

Then back to Greencliffe Drive to have dinner with Chris and Wendy down the road.

A poignant time...

More whānau...

2010-04-12T01:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I caught up with my cousins Jenny and Tom and Tom's new partner Karen and her youngest son Max. Tom, Karen and Max motored up from Alesbury, Jenny trained and bused up from London, I trained down from York and we all met in Birmingham for the day.

Max bungied bravely in the Bullring...

...and then we all talked over a pub meal...

Upstairs/downstairs

2010-04-11T03:32:00.000-07:00

Duncombe Park was holding a craft fair - an opportunity to see the inside of the stately home whose grounds I had previously walked in. What intrigued me most (and I requested permission to photograph) were the bells...

Very decorative.

These were only a small proportion of the total. One rang while I was close by. Certainly very audible! The reason for my interest is because my Aunt Nora worked as housekeeper for the Cracroft-Wilson family in Christchurch from the late 1950s - 1980s and their house, constructed post-1945, also had a built-in system for summoning household help. So a system more closely associated with the landed English gentry of past centuries was alive and well in twentieth century New Zealand! Enough said.

Things I will miss...

2010-04-10T21:11:00.000-07:00

In no special order and quite incomplete...

Things I will miss

Yorkshire tea

The moors and dales

The Clifton community especially the residents of Greencliffe Drive

Tilly

The Minster bells

Train travel

The local butcher and his steak pies

The soft, gentle light

The view out the study window

Yorkshire dialects

Su and Al’s lovely friends who befriended me

The local architecture

Sound of the pigeons

Spring

Things I won’t miss

The traffic

Rubbish

Queuing

Volumes of people

Mud

Lindisfarne mead...

2010-04-09T19:52:00.000-07:00

Made on the island...

I still don't know if it was the combination of crab sandwich and a thimbleful of mead that caused me to throw up on the walk home from the station...

More abbeys, more alcohol...

2010-04-09T09:14:00.000-07:00

Abbeys, priories, monasteries feature significantly in this blog. Religious history is writ large on the landscape. However some days ago I drove up to Ampleforth Abbey (close to the little village of Ampleforth) which is emphatically not a ruin but a thriving (and I would say quite wealthy) Benedictine community set in amazing rolling countryside bordering the North York Moors.

The visitors' centre...

The Abbey church...

Next to the Abbey is a stunningly situated college http://www.college.ampleforth.org.uk/ with views like this...

I went into the visitors' centre - beautiful arts and crafts style building, very peaceful - and had a pot of tea and the most delicious slice of cider apple cake - truly the most delicious cake I have ever tasted!! The cider is made at the Abbey :-) Not sure what possessed me to come away with two litres!!!!

Maybe I missed my calling. I stayed at St John's Abbey in Minnesota, US in 1989 - also Benedictine and set in similarly beautiful surroundings - and loved the peace and serenity.

Lindisfarne again..

2010-04-08T03:43:00.000-07:00

The visitors on the island mostly made a beeline for the Priory and the Castle before returning to eat in the village. Later afternoon there was no-one on the beach and I had a wonderful time taking these snaps. I loved the shapes of the upturned boats (part of the old herring fleet) and was drawn to the flotsam and jetsam of a working fishing harbour and the dashes of colour - since bright colour has not been a feature of my time in the Yorkshire landscape.

The Holy Isle of Lindisfarne...

2010-04-07T03:20:00.000-07:00

I always wanted my experience in York to be a local one - to be a resident and explore York and Yorkshire. Apart from the brief foray down to London I did not feel the need or desire to hive off in other directions. However there was one place in Northumberland that I longed to visit - the Holy Isle of Lindisfarne http://www.essentially-england.com/lindisfarne.html

Lindisfarne (as I call it) or The Holy Isle (as the locals call it) was always going to be tricky to organise. Access to the island is cut off at high tide so visits have to be planned around the tides. Also I wanted to travel up and back in the day rather than stopping overnight, so that was an added constraint. Yesterday I caught an early train from York to Berwick-on-Tweed. Because at this time of the year the bus service only runs from Berwick to the island two days a week (and not yesterday) I took a deep breath and a taxi. Costly, but the driver was a gem who provided not only the means to an end but a wonderful, unsolicited commentary.

For me small islands (Stewart Island, the Chatham Islands...) are magical places. There is something special about the light, the landscape and the isolation. In the distance Lindisfarne is sea-flat with two rocky outcrops, one of which anchors the Castle - the undoubted focal point of the island. The day was cloudy with a hint of rain and a very strong, cold wind off the North Sea.

Once a Tudor fort, the Castle was bought in 1902 by Edward Hudson, owner of Country Life magazine, who employed architect Sir Edwin Lutyens to restore the building. The interior is a maze of rooms the design of which is heavily influenced by the Arts and Crafts style. Gertrude Jekyll later designed a small walled summer garden at a distance from the Castle.

From the Castle you get views of the island topography. Looking towards the village...

Towards the walled garden and beyond...

It was the founding of the Priory in 635AD by St Aidan (who had come from Ireland via Iona) that gave Lindisfarne the name 'Holy Isle' and its reputation as a spiritual retreat. Here the Lindisfarne Gospels were created between 715 and 720AD http://www.bbc.co.uk/tyne/features/gospels/gospels_tense_past.shtml

I tried to imagine what life must have been like for the first monks in a place so much more remote than it is today, lashed by the wind and sea...What did they do for fuel? There are no trees on the island.

Here three symbols of the island, secular and spiritual, come together...

My favourite part of the island was the little harbour - I'll save those images for another post because they are a photo-story in their own right.

Easter...

2010-04-06T08:57:00.000-07:00

Philip and Phyllis gave me one of the nicest Easter eggs I've ever had - as Philip said, so that I wouldn't feel lonely and overlooked away from home!!

But the real Easter treat was seeing my Aunt Christine and cousin Marjorie who had come down from Glasgow on a bus trip. We spent Easter Sunday at Greencliffe Drive, away from tourist-infested central York, talking, talking, drinking tea/coffee, talking...

Helmsley Walled Garden

2010-04-05T11:27:00.000-07:00

It's still too early in the season to appreciate the plants in the Helmsley Walled Garden on the edge of the North York Moors, but there were other things that caught my eye.

This little bird bath...

...and this cute elephant (who, I think, might have water pumped up through his rear end and out through his trunk).

There was also this sign... (I understand from Al that Richard is a rotter).

And many poignant ones like this...

Well-shod...

2010-04-04T22:37:00.000-07:00

Continuing the black and white theme of the previous post, these shoes (?) spotted in a York shop window. The scary thing being that someone will buy and wear them...

Tilly...

2010-04-03T08:55:00.000-07:00

Five minutes after I had finished making up the bed with fresh linen...

Real ales again...

2010-04-02T22:55:00.000-07:00

Ale Mary
Ale and Arty
The Holy (G)rale
The Prince of Ales
Pistols over Egypt

...with thanks and apologies to Richard.

Travelling by train: the Settle-Carlisle Railway

2010-04-02T07:00:00.000-07:00

The longer I am here the less I feel inclined to drive and the more I enjoy travelling by train. I think back with wonder to 1979 when I drove a Morris Minor all over England and Scotland.

Yesterday I took to the rails for a round trip: York - Leeds; Leeds - Settle - Carlisle; Carlisle - Newcastle; and Newcastle back to York. This was on the advice of George who popped a note through the letter flap many weeks ago...

What was so wonderful about this note was that it told me absolutely everything I needed to know!

As I came down the ings towards the river on my early walk to the station I saw two supercharged swans travelling down the river at an unbelievably theatrical speed. On account of the current - it took me some seconds to realise. The Ouse was running full and swiftly (could almost be the Heathcote in flood).

The swans obligingly exited the river to have their photos taken...

York railway station has become very familiar and I am always delighted by the play of light through the ironwork (these photos taken at the end of the day).

It was almost impossible to get a decent photo from the window of the moving train so I have little record of the famous Settle - Carlisle leg of the journey. The line was nearly closed in the 1980s but has been championed by The Friends of the Settle-Carlisle Line. This shot suggests that the most elevated parts are not unlike the Canterbury high country...

There had been a fresh fall of snow on the moorlands (reflected coffee mug a bonus!)...

I was very impressed by the fact that this man, who was by no means young, was a volunteer on the Settle-Carlisle leg, helping with the drinks/food trolley and selling little brochures about the line (his jacket reads 'Settle-Carlisle Line Volunteer').

The little railway stations along the way are cared for by volunteers and are all charming. This one (not my photo) is of the Kirkby Stephen station.

In central Carlisle there was a very busy local and continental market including lots of flowers for sale.

A wee story that says something (maybe) about English people. On the final, Newcastle-York leg of the trip there was a man who was accidentally sitting in a reserved seat. He moved very cheerfully when the 'owners' pointed this out, but in the kerfuffle of shifting he dropped his laptop which fell with a heavy thud. No-one commiserated; everyone remained resolutely silent, minding his/her own business. I don't think this is from a lack of concern. Rather I think it is an unwillingness to make a fuss or intrude on someone else's business. However the fate of the laptop and the man's frame of mind concerned me for the rest of the trip and as I left the train at York I passed him and asked if the laptop was OK. He smiled and said it was much sturdier than he was! I felt relieved and pleased.

Happy Easter!

2010-03-31T23:46:00.000-07:00

Not a great photo but I was trying to capture the beautiful handmade chocolate eggs in Betty's window...

...while also reminding myself to take time to remember the essential message of Easter.

Doing my bit for 'real ale'...

2010-03-31T09:06:00.000-07:00

(Actually I don't know whether these qualify as real ale...)

This one I bought at Castle Howard (where else?)

These, which come as a badger sett (!) I couldn't resist. I tried the Fursty Ferret first...

In Memoriam...

2010-03-31T08:35:00.000-07:00

In London...

And in the Minster precinct in York...

"When you go home

Tell them of us and say

For your tomorrow

We gave our today"

Seasons...

2010-03-29T07:29:00.000-07:00

As the spring flowers unfurl, the clocks go forward and Easter approaches, I wonder what it must have been like for the first wave of European immigrants to New Zealand, adjusting to an autumn Easter, a summer Christmas, a gardening/farming/holidaying year turned upside down. Easter in autumn makes no sense either in the Christian or Pagan tradition. Perhaps this is the reason why we have no Maypoles (that I know of) in New Zealand. The meaning and purpose is lost. At a distance I find I have lost the garden rhythm. Al asks what he should plant in my garden for the winter and I struggle to tell him. I realise that my gardening is dependent on the continuity of being there, of knowing instinctively what to plant when, of what follows what as the seasons change.

I have lost touch with the garden in another respect. Being here in winter I have purchased all my fruit and vegetables and, for some reason, have felt absolved from my usual commitment to buying only what is in season locally. So I have consumed large quantities of courgettes, capsicums and tomatoes from Spain and Morocco. Were I to continue to do this at home I would miss the seasonal changes in vegetables and while my diet might be more varied year round it would also be blander. I would miss that point where I sigh at the very thought of yet another serving of brocolli and long for the beginning of the first salad greens - which are all the more delicious for the wait.

Yorkshire Sculpture Park...

2010-03-28T23:31:00.000-07:00

Spent yesterday (the first day of UK daylight saving) at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. This entailed a drive south down the M1 (is there a speed limit???) to a glorious country parkland and gardens landscaped in the 18th and 19th centuries. The Sculpture Park was established in 1977 and is today billed as 'the only one of its kind in Europe' (though there are certainly other outdoor sculpture venues in Europe - I recall one in Oslo...). The Park positions itself as 'a centre of excellence in the display, creation and study of sculpture and art in the landscape'.

It was a day that invited many photographs! One of the main featured sculptors was Peter Randall-Page who was exhibiting such rounded organic forms as these...

Amongst my favourites were Taiwanese Ju Ming's works that took inspiration from Tai Chi...

Jonathan Borofsky's Molecule Man 1+1+1 made a splendid statement amongst the trees...

...while this Henry Moore was probably my favourite for its sinuous elegance and sheer joy...

There were so many delights...

James Turrell's Skyspace located in the Deer Shelter, brought the sky down to just above head-height and engaged viewers with the changing sky and light-scape, while the interior windows of the YSP Centre had been transformed to cast whimsical shadows on the walkway...

The park was full of families having a day out. I had the best piece of carrot cake ever in the cafe and lingered longingly around the excellent YSP design shop.

Other things that impressed me - excellent provision (in a difficult location) for disabled people; dogs were allowed; the wonderful exhibition connected to the Stone Project; beautiful works that it was impossible to do justice to with my basic camera and photography skills; the variety of innovative indoor as well as outdoor exhibition spaces; informative brochures... I thought about Sculpture on the Peninsula and that fact that it could morph into a permanent exhibition site not unlike YSP albeit on a smaller scale.

York buskers...

2010-03-28T11:57:00.000-07:00

On a super busy Saturday lunchtime in the centre of York, these two young men were drumming on plastic rubbish bins, fitted out with other kitchen appliances to provide a variety of drumming tones. They were fantastic. They performed with great enthusiasm and skill. Hearing them in the distance before seeing them I could have sworn the drumming was Korean or Japanese. Maire and I joined the large and appreciative crowd and then went on to have delicious curried parsnip soup at Cafe Concerto.

Mass protest - Kinder Scout

2010-03-27T03:12:00.000-07:00

In conversation with Richard and Jean about walking, public access and the at-risk countryside, Jean mentioned the 'mass trespass' or 'Kinder Scout' protest. I was very keen to find out more, having been hugely impressed in the past three months by the extent of public access/rights of way. From Wikipedia...

The mass trespass of Kinder Scout was a notable act of willfultrespass by ramblers. It was undertaken at Kinder Scout, in the Peak District of England, on 24 April 1932, to highlight weaknesses in English law of the time. This denied walkers in England or Wales access to areas of open country, and to public footpaths which, in previous ages (and today), formed public rights of way. Political and conservation activist Benny Rothman was one of the principal leaders.

The trespass proceeded via William Clough to the plateau of Kinder Scout, where there were violent scuffles with gamekeepers. The ramblers were able to reach their destination and meet with another group. On the return, five ramblers were arrested, with another detained earlier. Trespass was not, and still is not, a criminal offence in any part of Britain, but some would receive jail sentences of two to six months for offences relating to violence against the keepers.

The mass trespass had a far-reaching impact, some of which is still playing out today. Eventually, changes in the law would allow all citizens access to public footpaths (and bridleways and byways), regardless of whether they crossed private land. This culminated in the Countryside and Rights of Way Act 2000, which legislates rights to walk on mapped access land (see Open Country). Some people might call this a right to roam although this is a misnomer, as the rights only apply to mapped access land, and not gardens or fields everywhere. The phrase right to roam truly refers to a campaign by the Ramblers Association in the 1990s, which has subsequently been adopted by the media. Introducing the CROW Act 2000 was a key promise in the New Labour manifesto which brought them to power in 1997.

This website http://kindertrespass.com/index.asp tells the full story and brings it up to date. It's a wonderful story of what determined and dedicated people can achieve.

Snickets, ginnels and snickelways again...

2010-03-26T01:14:00.000-07:00

I like the fact that I have three choices of route from Greencliffe Drive to the centre of York. I can walk past the Green, along Clifton Road and Bootham to Bootham Bar. This is the comparatively busy and 'urban' route - tall buildings, schools, cars... noisy but always interesting.

Then there is the river route. Down to the end of Greencliffe Drive, across the ings to the river path which follows the Ouse into town. This way is open, quieter, the preserve of dogs and their owners. It is also the best way to the Railway Station and to Lendal Bridge.

The third way is what an ex colleague would term 'up the middle'! And this is the one that employs the snickets, ginnels and snickelways (I doubt anyone calls them that but I like the words, all of which basically describe narrow alleyways). This route runs behind Clifton Preparatory and St Peter's Schools, around St Olave's School and along Marygate Lane to emerge at the Museum Gardens. I first walked this route in the snow with Maggie and Don. It too is surprisingly quiet, known, I imagine, only to locals.

I choose according to destination but also to frame of mind.

And yet more about moles...

2010-03-25T02:41:00.000-07:00

Below, from The Morville Hours by Katherine Swift. This is the book I am currently reading - and imagine my delight when I came, entirely unexpectedly, across this... (if you are not interested in moles, stop here!).

The moles are on the move again too, heaving up their miniature castles in long Maginot lines across the lawn. When the ground froze in January they retreated deeper underground, following the earthworms. Now, as the soil warms, they abandon their winter quarters and move closer to the surface, spring-cleaning burrows which may have collapsed from disuse, pushing the soil out on to the surface with their broad white palms: fine, dry, friable soil- the best potting compost in the world. Later on in the year the young moles will emerge onto the surface and will live for a time in the outside world, in the air, among the grasses and flowers, looking for new territory of their own;when they find it, they will disappear again into the world beneath the surface - a world they will rarely leave for the rest of their lives. Adult moles are solitary beings, fiercely protective of their territory, each inhabiting its own subterranean world of tunnels and burrows, independent of others. They have underground larders where they store food, nests for sleeping furnished with leaves and dried grasses. They lack for nothing. They have no predators. I can understand Mole's affection for his home in The Wind in the Willows. It is a safe solipsistic universe, in which the senses in general need not be especially acute. But the mole has one sense of almost unimaginable sensitivity: touch. It is through using touch that the mole experiences the underground world. Using its naked snout, the bristles on its face and tail, the fine hairs all over its body which brush against the tunnel walls as it moves, it gathers information not only from contact with solid objects but from such insubstantial sources as changes in temperature and vibrations in the soil and air. The snout in particular is exquisitely sensitive to changes in air pressure, to the slightest draft in the tunnels, the merest movement of air - occasioned perhaps by the distant presence of another creature, by worms dropping into the feeding runs, by the soft fall of soil. In the pitch-darkness of its underground world, the mole can detect solid objects and avoid obstacles merely from the compression waves set up by the movement of its own body.

With sincere and memory-full acknowledgements to Arthur Rackham.

A moor adventure...

2010-03-24T13:36:00.000-07:00

Here's a story that's going to require a bit of telling and lots of photos. Chris, John and I set off this morning from Low Mill in Farndale on the southern edge of the North York Moors to cover the ground of a walk John is leading in a couple of weeks time. Farndale is famous for its wild daffodils or 'Lenten Lillies' as they are sometimes called. It was too early for the daffodils to be blooming in this exceptionally late spring season, but hopefully they will be in full flower when the Yorkshire Ramblers return. It was a gently misty day and very boggy underfoot. All was well as we started to climb out of the dale and up onto the moorland above.

The going got steeper...

...and soon we were high on the moors, walking for quite some distance along a misty ridge. There was a strong, cold wind and the heat that had been generated on the long climb up was soon dissipated. At first the moor looks bleak and monotone, but soon you discern a wealth of rich colours - chocolate brown - almost black, red, green a swamp warning... We saw dozens of pheasant on the lower slopes and on the open moorland it was grouse that proliferated. The grouse were superbly camouflaged and we would never have known of their presence had they not insisted in flying up out of the heather with a persistent cry. Pheasant, partridge and grouse are all bred for shooting - a rich man's sport as John observed. Grrrrrrrrr....

We were looking for a path that would take us down off the moor and back into Farndale, though much further up the valley from where we had begun. At this marker we turned back along the ridge because Chris and John thought we had gone too far.

Following what we thought might be the route, we soon found ourselves pathless and making our way through bracken, heather and deceptive swamp ground. The amount of moisture in the ground was remarkable. I was beginning to feel both tired and chilled. Also I had seen The Hound of the Baskervilles on television a previous evening and the scene where the villain gets sucked into moor bog was fresh in my mind!!

Eventually we stumbled rather than navigated a way down which included negotiating old mining tailings.

We finally made it back down to the valley floor - much to my relief...

Then a long, beautiful walk back along the valley through the occasional farm and hamlet to Low Mill.

It was a superb walk through the most glorious landscape. It was also a salutary reminder that this can be unforgiving country.

On the bright side...

2010-03-23T12:36:00.000-07:00

Something to dispel the gloom of the previous post. In Durham this afternoon this Jack Wills window caught my eye...

Jack Wills is new to me and I love the stores. Trading on Englishness but with a twist that pulls in the young people. This outfit, from the sidebar, is Jack Wills and I love the combination of tweediness and frivolity.

And at the railway station, students from the university were competing to welcome new 'recruits' at a university open day. They were very gracious in their willingness to be photographed...

Another UFO...

2010-03-22T21:28:00.000-07:00

The first time I crossed the North Yorkshire Moors to Whitby I was entirely unprepared for this structure...

While I took these photos on a more clement day, the weather on that first occasion was grey and drizzly and the structure loomed out of the mistiness - unsettling, disturbing and ugly.

It is, I discovered, an RAF installation - RAF Fylingdales. From their website...

Welcome to Royal Air Force Fylingdales. Our mission is “to provide an uninterrupted ballistic missile warning and space surveillance service”. Our tasking from the Ministry of Defence, through Headquarters Air Command, splits into four jobs. Firstly we are charged with continuously providing warning of ballistic missile events to both Her Majesty’s Government (through the UK Missile Warning Centre at RAF High Wycombe) and the United States’ authorities (through the Missile and Space Domain, which is situated in the Cheyenne Mountains in Colorado). Secondly, the Station’s complementary mission is to support – on a non-interference basis with the warning mission – the United States’ developing Missile Defense System. The Station’s third job – and secondary mission – is to contribute to the Allied Space Surveillance Network, and this enables, fourthly, the Station to support UK forces worldwide through the Satellite Warning Service.

I was unprepared for the degree of RAF presence/activity in Yorkshire - which has caused me to think about our comparatively fortunate status in New Zealand where the need and desire for such systems is largely absent.

From the same vantage point I could also look down on the high moor village of Goathland, location for the filming of the TV series Heartbeat! What a strange juxtaposition.

Tilly...

2010-03-22T00:06:00.000-07:00

Who me??

Did I do that????

No, not me... never!!!

Country living...

2010-03-21T10:27:00.000-07:00

A walk this morning from the small village of Welburn in the Howardian Hills, skirting the Castle Howard estate.

There were dancing trees...

...and a UFO...

The UFO plus mole hills...

The UFO in a neighbouring field...

...but we weren't interested...

...nor were we...

There is an interesting juxtaposition of village/farm life and incongruous yet attractive grandeur. The mole hills, the Mausoleum, the rolling Howardian Hills, the trees - the shapes all reflect and repeat one another. Even the sheep and the horses' rumps have that rounded solidity.

A day of two halves...

2010-03-20T10:31:00.000-07:00

Why I was in Ripley in the rain early this morning is too complicated to detail, but, having heard a rooster crow, I went searching and found this charming gathering...

Then, in the afternoon, I had been invited to a rehearsal (the York Musical Society, thank you Jenny) of Dvořák's Stabat Mater in the Minster. So I trotted off in the rain and was utterly overwhelmed by a choral work of which I knew nothing but which (despite the fact that it was a rehearsal with stopping and starting and visitors moving round the Minster taking photos) I found profoundly moving. I have just been finding out more about Dvořák. He wrote the Stabat Mater at a time when he had lost his three small children in quick succession. I didn't know this as I listened to the music, but I did find myself close to tears.

Loo with a view...

2010-03-19T00:36:00.000-07:00

I went to the toilet when I arrived in Whitby (necessary after the drive from York) and there was an excellent view out the open window behind the cistern so I took this photo...

Then later, from the other side of the river, I spotted the very window (lower open on the left) from which I had taken the snap and realised that I could well have been on show, if only for the cormorants...

At least the toilets no longer empty straight into the harbour as they once did - though the colour of the water might suggest otherwise.

Pigeon post...

2010-03-18T22:15:00.000-07:00

The ubiquitous pigeon. Not just in Trafalgar Square or the Museum Gardens but in every back yard. As we negotiate our clumsy ways along the pavements, the well-camouflaged pigeons watch and wait (these from the facade of the Catholic Cathedral in York)...

In Whitby, these brave pigeons were roosting impossibly on the sea wall, directly above a tumultuous sea (click on the image to get a closer and better view)...

Pets and hens...

2010-03-18T22:01:00.000-07:00

I like living in a place where the local butcher can call me 'pet' and it sounds neither condescending nor overly familiar.

My Aunt Christine also called me pet on the phone the other day and Sue's Scottish friend Christina said it is a particularly Glaswegian expression. It takes me straight back to childhood with the endearments 'my wee pet' and 'my wee hen' used by my Dad and (in writing because sadly I never met her) by my 'Nana in Scotland'.

'Rambling' again...

2010-03-17T23:29:00.000-07:00

Another outing with the York Ramblers yesterday, this time between Harrogate and Ripon, starting and finishing at a little village called Markington (not so far from Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal). I continue to be amazed at the extent of public access in the UK. Our whole 4 hour 'ramble' was over farmland on recognised right-of-ways. So much more walking access here than is available in New Zealand...

Here we are at what I think was Farnley Grange - sixteenth century. I thought perhaps I could live over the entrance gateway...!!

Some of the outbuildings (could live here too)...

And an idea of the country we were walking through (though not usually on roads)...

I talked with a lady who had been a pest control officer and learnt more about moles! One mole hill does not equal one mole. Average is about six moles to the acre. So each mole must be really earning his/her keep given the number of hills...

Campaign for Real Ale...

2010-03-17T01:40:00.000-07:00

The other evening Richard invited me to a CAMRA presentation at the Lord Collingwood pub in Poppleton on the outskirts of York. CAMRA is concerned with preserving and promoting real ale and traditional English pub interiors (both of which appeal to me!). It was a warm, convivial evening with lots of local people gathering to support their pub of choice. And guess what - the first person I spoke to had done a 5-week tour of the South Island! You can find out more about CAMRA in York here http://www.yorkcamra.free-online.co.uk/

The following is taken from the above website and explains why the Lord Collingwood received its award.

The Country award went to the Lord Collingwood at Poppleton, a first time winner. Beer choice has expanded dramatically since Steve and Alice Massey took on this Marston’s pub two years ago. At the time it sold onlyBanks’s Bitter and one guest, but Steve makes good use of the considerable range on the brewery’s list and now there are up to seven ales at weekends. There is usually a choice of Jennings, Banks’s, Marston’s and Ringwood, supplemented by others such as Wychwood and Brakspear. It’s a lovely old pub in a Grade II listed building, on the edge of the attractive village green where a traditional Maypole celebration continues today. Outside in front is the church and a car park and at the rear an attractive beer garden, illuminated by fairy lights after dark, with patio and children’s play area. On Wednesday nights there is a well-supported general knowledge quiz with cash prizes. The food is good value, honest pub grub, including snacks, main courses and desserts. There’s no food on Mondays, otherwise lunch is available 12–2.30pm and dinner 6–9pm: features are curry nights on Thursday and grill nights on Tuesday.

I was too busy (!) to take photos and also I am a bit reluctant to snap people without their agreement so these photos are lifted from a couple of websites...

Thoughts...

2010-03-16T01:30:00.000-07:00

One of the things that I keep running up against in my Yorkshire travels and conversations is the shifting industrial landscape. It began with my awareness of what was happening on Teeside with the closing of the steel works. Then in visiting Whitby and reading about Whitby history, I became aware of the multiple layers - fishing, boat building, alum production, jet jewellery manufacturing and so on - many or most of which have disappeared or dramatically declined. The visit to Saltaire gave me new insight into the scope of the 19th century textile industry and its demise. I expect the same story exists for mining and many of the other activities of the industrial revolution. All this I knew, intellectually, but this visit has made that knowledge more concrete. In a conversation last night in The Lord Collingwood Inn at Poppleton, Peter made the observation that generations of families had once worked in the same industry, but that such patterns had now largely been destroyed. I remarked that Britain feels primarily like a service country, the manufacturing having moved offshore. I suppose the same is true of New Zealand. While I don't want to sound nostalgic for an age that brought misery to millions, I can't help but feel some regret, especially knowing that the misery is simply being exported!

Saltaire

2010-03-15T23:58:00.000-07:00

I had never heard of Saltaire. However, at Al's suggestion, I caught the train to Leeds and then on past Shipley to the village. Saltaire was/is

a purpose-built 'model' Victorian industrial village, built by the Victorian philanthropist Sir Titus Salt, to provide self-contained living space for the workers at his woollen mills, a welcome alternative to the then "dark satanic mills" of Bradford and Leeds. More recently Salt's Mill has been converted by the late Jonathan Silver into shops and the "1853 Gallery" which houses a collection of the works of the famous artist, David Hockney (who was of course born in Bradford ).

In 2001 Saltaire was designated a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. This is why I felt surprised and rather ashamed at not having heard of it and why it is now a 'destination' in its own right.

The sheer size of the factory made it almost impossible to photograph. Even by 21st century standards it is huge.

And the village is full of rows of houses like this, very orderly...

Haha!

Inside Salt Mill you get vistas like this...

The things that struck me were: the sheer beauty of the factory complex itself; the vision of Titus Salt and his ability to combine humanitarianism with entrepreneurialism; the scope of the enterprise - 3000 workers in the heyday of the factory; the somewhat eerie feeling that I experienced in this whole village preserved in time - there was a disjuncture for me between its original purpose and current 'status'; the contrast between the regimentation of the Victorian industrial architecture and the chaotic exuberance of David Hockney's work; the extremely high quality of the commercial use to which the Salt Building has been put.

Sea danger...

2010-03-14T10:32:00.000-07:00

On both my visits to the North Yorkshire coast I have been reminded of its isolation (cut off for many centuries by the moors) and dependence on the sea. Everywhere there is evidence of the vital role played by the lifeboats and their crew. In Robin Hood's Bay there was this difficult-to-ignore request for support...

...and this one, which I actually liked better because it was looking a bit tarnished and the poor fish's mouth had sadly clogged up.

One of the most amazing of the many stories associated with the lifeboats is this one (click on image to enlarge and read clearly - it is worth doing so)...

In a much sadder story, this young man Henry Freeman, on his first outing with the Whitby lifeboat crew, was the only survivor when the lifeboat capsized following multiple rescues. Twelve men died. It was thought freeman survived because he was wearing a cork lifejacket...

And, if you can put up with (or switch off) the music, this link pays moving tribute to the brave lifeboat crews http://www.whitby-yorkshire.co.uk/lifeboat/lifeboats.htm

Finally, a warning to daft tourists, like me...

Robin Hood's Bay

2010-03-14T10:08:00.000-07:00

Robin Hood's Bay is just a little south of Whitby. It lacks its larger neighbour's harbour advantages, but it too has a history of isolation and dependence on the sea, especially through fishing. The houses tumble down to the sea...

...and many, over the centuries, have tumbled into the sea, hence this huge retaining wall.

The town is full of narrow alleys, hidden corners and a jostle of chimneys...

Although there is not much fishing from Robin Hood's Bay now, there are still examples of the traditional fishing cobles to be seen.

This very short video clip about the cobles of the east coast is well worth watching...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5UmmQjAS8Tw

Seaside delights...

2010-03-13T10:35:00.000-08:00

Following exchanges with HB and the hairdresser, I've found myself less judgmental and more curious about the seaside entertainment arcades, casinos and suchlike. I'm trying to view them from a sociologist's perspective, rather than as ugly, noisy blots on the landscape...

I even ventured into Olympia Leisure on the Scarborough waterfront. It was huge. Everyone walking round with what looked like margarine containers filled with coins. Parents, children ... definitely family entertainment. I am currently re-watching Blackpool. This was it!!

Actually I felt nervous about taking photos inside. There was so much money around I expected a heavy hand on my shoulder any moment. But I couldn't resist these little fellows waiting to be won...

And I've just thought about the sideshows at the Canterbury A&P show. Cheap, tacky, designed to part you with your money, but irresistible nonetheless.

In Scarborough...

2010-03-13T10:02:00.000-08:00

The 'possibly' and 'near' made me chuckle...

By the seaside...

2010-03-12T00:29:00.000-08:00

Normally I am shorn every 5 or so weeks. With 7+ weeks having passed since the last cut, I finally bit the bullet and made an appointment at the local Clifton hairdresser. This required some courage and faith. To subject what little hair I have to an unknown scissor-wielder was a scary prospect. The cut was fine but of particular interest was our conversation - which linked to comments my perceptive friend HB had made on her blog some days back.
http://www.harvestbird.com/blog/2010/03/05/the-house-thats-on-our-nose/

HB had observed:

The thing that struck me about seaside kitsch in the UK was the extent to which people were enjoying it, the way in which it was an intractable part of the day at the beach. To New Zealand eyes it seemed to be impairing access to the key feature: the coast, the beach, but for the people from the provincial towns, it’s as if it were the beach!

As always my 3-month residence prompted curiosity and wide-ranging discussion. At some point, quite unbidden, the young hairdresser mentioned the English seaside and the fact that, because the sea is far too cold for swimming, a visit to the coast is synonymous (for her) with amusement arcades, fish & chips on the pier and suchlike. Thus confirming HB's hypothesis!

It reminds me of a visit to Brighton in 1979 when I was welcomed with several G&Ts and then whisked off to the Brighton Pavilion whose surreal splendour I passed through in an alcoholic haze...

The York Ramblers...

2010-03-10T23:09:00.000-08:00

Ramble - huh!! This was a 10-mile tramp across moorland, through woodland, down valleys and up again. Seriously, the semantics of 'ramble' suggest a gentle stroll while our New Zealand 'tramp' seems more appropriate for my walk with the York Ramblers yesterday. I hasten to add that, despite my uncertainty about the distance, I had a fantastic day.

We gathered at Newgate Bank, north-west of Helmsley. I arrived with Chris, a neighbour who had encouraged me to come along, John and Jonathan while other cars arrived from Beverley, Scarborough, County Durham... The walk took us up onto the heather-covered moors above Newgate Bank, through fields and woodland until we dropped down into the valley where Riveaulx Abbey is situated. I was able to look up from the Abbey and see the Riveaulx terrace where I walked a week or so ago. We returned along the other side of the valley, across the river with a final slog back up the hill to the cars.

Not only did I enjoy the exercise and the lovely landscape, but I talked with a lot of most interesting people. There is no doubt that one of the highlights of my stay here will have been the warmth with which I have been welcomed by a wide range of Yorkshire dwellers.

Chris, a good friend (as I discovered and whose name I have forgotten) of Richard and Jean's and the two lasses from County Durham...

On campus...

2010-03-10T22:23:00.000-08:00

I paid a second visit to the University of York campus the other day. This time it was alive with students but even that couldn't save the sadly tired and surprisingly dated 70s (?) architecture. I loved watching and listening to the students as I waited for Wendy's friend Wayne in the library. Wayne and I spent a special hour sharing stories over a coffee and then I headed off to a public lecture given by Lord Nicholas Stern on climate change. This was the man who drove much of the British contribution at the recent Copenhagen summit on climate change. Economist, global mover and shaker and formidably impressive in his command of the topic. No powerpoint, little reference to notes, just a cogent call for global action based on evidence and suggestions as to what that action might constitute. I was very interested in his comments on first/third world tension over the climate change issue and his comparative optimism regarding the speed at which substitute technologies will emerge. He described Copenhagen as chaotic and disappointing but a springboard for further action.

On the Pocklington canal...

2010-03-09T22:05:00.000-08:00

This canal, which once connected Pocklington in East Yorkshire with the River Derwent, has largely been restored to provide a valuable wildlife habitat. It was good to see a pair of swans 'in the wild' rather than the one I saw being fed fish and chips in Whitby or the many clamouring to be fed by willing families in Kensington Gardens.

Wensleydale...

2010-03-08T22:45:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I ventured up to Wensleydale in the Yorkshire Dales National Park - James Herriot country. It was a sad day because I had just had news of my Auntie Margaret's death and that shadowed my view of the countryside. I drove north-west to Leyburn and then west to Hawes, returning to Aysgarth to walk past the Asygarth falls towards Castle Bolton.

This is typical of the landscape with its soft, end-of-winter muted colours...

Here are the ubiquitous dry-stone walls with Castle Bolton in the distance...

I was intrigued by the narrow gaps in the stone walls that provided access for walkers and featured flap gates to prevent stock from straying...

Faintly, on the horizon of this last photo, you can see smoke. It seemed they were burning off heather on the moors. There were a number of fires and, as I left the Dales the plumes of smoke could be seen from a great distance. It reminded me of Canterbury burn-offs.

While walking I met yet another Yorkshire lass, from Ripon, who had recently spent five weeks travelling in New Zealand and loving it. Are there any Yorkshire people who have not been to New Zealand or who do not at the very least have a family member who has???

And more friends...

2010-03-08T22:15:00.000-08:00

I knew no one in York when I arrived for my three month stay and was quite content to make my own way. But, as I've mentioned in previous posts, I've been overwhelmed by the friendliness and generosity of neighbours and friends of Sue and Al's. Prior to London I met up with Jill at Cafe Concerto on Bootham and had a lovely chat. This Sunday just past I spent the afternoon/evening with Richard and Jean at Poppleton, seeing their lovely garden, walking on the outskirts of the village, being fed exceptionally well and enjoying wide-ranging conversation.

Here is the maypole on Poppleton Green - Richard and Jean tell me the local children still do the traditional maypole dances each year...

And here is me shielding the late afternoon SUN and carrying a pick-up rubbish bag!

Beatrix Potter...

2010-03-06T22:54:00.000-08:00

One of the unexpected delights at Nunnington Hall was an exhibition of Beatrix Potter original drawings and watercolours. Strangely I had visited the drawing archive at the British Museum and asked to view Beatrix Potter work, so here was an additional treat. I never cease to be amazed at her skill - not only technical, for she was a fine botanical artist, but her imaginative ability to depict little creatures in a human landscape and make them credible and endearing. I think we have become over-exposed to her images but they repay close attention and it is always good to see less familiar work. These photos are not from the exhibition and are not mine for obvious reasons...

Beatrix Potter, Kenneth Grahame and AA Milne were childhood companions and, interestingly, have shaped much of my adult thinking and interests.

Nunnington Hall and Rievaulx Terrace

2010-03-06T22:35:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I drove up through the Howardian Hills, through Terrington and Hovingham (where I stopped at a very good local market and bought pies - yum) to Nunnington, there to visit Nunnington Hall - a National Trust 17thC manor house on the banks of the River Rye. This was a large but 'liveable' home as opposed to a stately mansion, most of it in original condition. Once again I was reminded of how cold it must have been in these homes, even with fires in every room. And how dark - the bedrooms with their lovely four-poster beds and dark, dark wooden panelling, floor to ceiling. Beautiful floors - stone flagging below and lovely wide wooden floorboards above. Nothing on the level, everything sloping this way and that.

There was this splendid bridge just to one side of the house over the River Rye...

...and banks of snowdrops.

From Nunnington I drove on through Helmsley to Rievaulx Terrace. Constructed by the owners of Dunscombe Park (see an earlier post), this terrace was an 18thC landscape feature designed to take advantage of the views of Rievaulx Abbey in the valley below.

The moles are still mightily active and I was tickled by the similarity - in shape, if not size - between mole hill and temple...

Famous cats...

2010-03-05T22:44:00.000-08:00

I went in search of Samuel Johnson's house and found...

Hodge was Johnson's cat.

As a non-cat person himself, Boswell was much surprised at the "indulgence with which he [Johnson] treated Hodge". Dr Johnson would go out himself to purchase oysters for the cat. Apparently he did so, in case the servants became resentful of doing so and took "a dislike to the poor creature". Boswell also writes that he recalled seeing Hodge "scrambling up Dr Johnson's breast, apparently with much satisfaction", while the Doctor rubbed the cat's back and gently tugged his tail. To his credit, for a non cat lover, Boswell remarked that Hodge was a fine cat, to which Dr Johnson replied "Why yes, sir, but I have had cats whom I liked better than this". However, upon observing that his poor cat seemed put out, added, "But he is a very fine cat; a very fine cat indeed."

I found, and spent some time in, the house as well and, in the process, learnt more about Johnson than I had previously known. His treatment of Hodge seems symptomatic of his relationship with others. His house was a refuge for an assortment of human waifs and strays whom he could ill afford to support but to whom he was very kind. I am now primed to read Boswell's biography.

Dr Johnson's house, built in 1700 - very tall but only one-room deep, with a vertigo-inducing wooden spiral staircase! http://www.drjohnsonshouse.org/index.htm

London...

2010-03-05T11:10:00.000-08:00

I can't 'photograph' London. It is too big, too busy and too easily predictable. Nor do I want to record 'what I did' as such. What follows are some (hopefully) off-centre images that caught my fancy...

Searching for treasures along the tidal banks of the Thames between St Pauls and Tower Bridge...

The iconic deflated...

In Kensington Gardens - I liked the red stockings...

Inside Covent garden public toilets...

A painting by Victor Pasmore at Tate Modern...

...and the poem that is a part of the painting...

Space...

2010-03-05T09:28:00.000-08:00

Space takes on another dimension when 61,000,000 people live in a country about the size of New Zealand.

I was the last body that could possibly have squeezed onto the tube the other day. Under what other circumstances would people tolerate being herded together in such close, voiceless, physical proximity? On the pavements, a seething mass of bodies all intent on a particular destination but with no apparent etiquette governing which side on which to walk. Silent negotiation. Cars passing amicably on impossible narrow roads. Drivers courteously waving others ahead into the flow of traffic. Proximity demands courtesy – which may help to explain why, in New Zealand – we are often intolerant of the needs of others and resentful of their presence in ‘our’ space. I realise, shamefully, how profligate I am with space in Governors Bay. I spread out, through the house and over the section. I do not have to be compact, selective. I do not have to stand aside, wait, queue, negotiate…

It is useful to be reminded of the treasure of space and also of the tolerance and grace that lack of space can engender.

Puss-in-Boots...

2010-02-28T09:13:00.000-08:00

Thank you for visiting. Back on-line at the end of the week... :-)

And Whitby again...

2010-02-28T09:06:00.000-08:00

I spotted this fetching Whitby cat and we had a chat. Then he (she?) moved and I saw he had only three legs. Must be an old salt. So I went home and told Tilly she didn't know how good she has it!

Also in Whitby...

2010-02-28T09:02:00.000-08:00

Whitby...

2010-02-27T22:03:00.000-08:00

Oh, I loved Whitby. I hadn't realised, until I got there, how much I had missed the sea! And what a sea...

It was a case of seizing the day - a promising forecast wedged between snow and heavy rain that had tragically caused one woman's car to be swept away on the North York Moors just the previous day. So an early start from York to Malton, on to Pickering and then up onto moors that were nearly black and truly lonely, made all the more menacing by a structure that warrants a separate post.

The ruins of St Hilda's Abbey dominate the Whitby skyline.

I parked high on the hill near the Abbey. The first thing I heard, apart from the sea, was the cry of gulls - a constant throughout the day. I circled round the Abbey and the adjacent church of St Mary, with its graveyard fully exposed to the sea, and caught my first view of the river, harbour and town.

Down the 199 worn stone steps (up which coffins were once carried to the church) and across the swing bridge. Whitby was already busy with people, many of them kitted out in walking gear. Lots of dogs and children - a day by the seaside. There were also the inevitable pier entertainment arcades.

A fascinating little Lifeboat Museum which gave an all too vivid insight into the dangers of the coastline and the bravery of the men who have operated the lifeboats over the centuries. Then out onto the harbour walls which were exerting a magnet-like attraction! Even on a fine day the sea was heavy and crashing with huge force into the walls - very dramatic.

Despite a heavy padlocked gate that prevented access to this part of the wall (below) there were men out at the far end fishing. Later I saw two locals with rods climb over the stone wall at the side of the gate!

Up the hill on the other side of the town to the Captain Cook Memorial. I had an unexpected rush of pride when I read the plaques (there were four) on the memorial.

From here you look down to the harbour (see above) and back across the river to the Abbey and St Mary's and the pantile-roofed houses tumbling down to the sea.

I walked further up river to the dry dock, thinking about what a hive of activity Whitby would have been in Captain Cook's day when it was a major boat-building and fishing town. Still lots of evidence of fishing as well as recreational boating.

A visit to the very fine Captain Cook Museum, in the house where Cook lived as an apprentice ship boy. The house typical of the 'high-rise' Whitby buildings where flat land was scarce.

A wander past the last remaining Whitby jet works and then back up the 199 steps to the Abbey and car and a return home across the moors at dusk, very satisfied and full of sea air.

At the York Art Gallery...

2010-02-26T10:25:00.000-08:00

I meant to write about this a while back because it was one of my first visits upon arriving in York...

The gallery was featuring a travelling exhibition of Japanese Sashiko textiles. I knew nothing about Sashiko but I love textiles and so was very interested in the items on display. Sashiko (I learnt) is a form of stitching used by the Japanese to make their work clothes until the mid 20th century. The exhibition featured historic items from Japanese collections as well as garments made by contemporary artists influenced by Sashiko. It was the historic items that fascinated me.

From an article by Michele Walker...
http://www.sashiko.org.uk/publications.php

The word sashiko means small stitches. It is a technique used for hand sewing layers of cloth together. A geometric pattern of white stitching on indigo coloured ground distinguishes the work. Due to the low social status of the communities from which sashiko arose, the people’s lives were restricted by sumptuary laws that only permitted them to wear cotton clothing. The blue indigo dye was hardwearing and thought to repel snakes and insects. Sashiko evolved from a need to conserve and repair garments at a time when cloth was a precious commodity. Women from fishing and farming communities made sashiko at home.

In the older items you could see the layering of fabrics and the patching of garments using the sashiko technique. So they were both functional and incredibly beautiful.

More moles...

2010-02-25T09:49:00.001-08:00

I have continued to see mole hills everywhere. Apart from Mole in The Wind in the Willows (which long ago predisposed me to being fond of them) I know nothing about the animals so, curious, I googled them. Sadly just about every site that comes up is to do with mole extermination.

Here, however, is more than you ever wanted to know about moles (personally I am very impressed by the amount of tunnelling they can get through in a day and I love the word mouldywarp)....

Moles can be found almost anywhere in North America, Asia, and Europe, although there are no moles in Ireland.

A mole looks very distinctive, if you can see one. It has a rounded body, velvety, grey-black fur, spade-like front claws, a short, furry tail, tiny eyes and a pink, pointed snout. They can probably tell night from day but otherwise they are blind. Moles are often considered pests by gardeners and farmers. They live underground, tunnelling up to 20m a day and leaving characteristic mounds of earth on the surface – molehills. They also dig out large chambers, which they line with dry grass for resting. Once made, mole tunnels are often used by several generations. Moles eat small invertebrates living underground. They are solitary creatures, except during the breeding season. After mating the female gives birth to a litter of up to five young during the summer.

By the era of Early Modern English, the mole was also known in the British Isles as mouldywarp, a name echoed in other Germanic languages such as German (Maulwürfe), and Norwegian, Swedish and Icelandic (muldvarp, mullvad, moldvarpa where the muld/mull/mold part of the word means soil and the varp/vad/varpa part is a descendant of the old-Nordic word for throw), hence "one who throws soil" or "dirt tosser".

Male moles are called boars, females are called sows. A group of moles is called a labour.

So now we know where nail extensions come from!

Home grown...

2010-02-25T00:29:00.000-08:00

I remember the first time I drove across the border into Scotland in 1980, I was aware of a change in the domestic architecture. I'm sure it wasn't as abrupt a change as memory suggests, but I recall the village houses lining the roads as being more severe/austere, greyer, harder up against the road edge.

Sitting alongside my pleasure in accent/dialect is my delight in the regional variation in building styles in the UK. In Yorkshire, particularly in (what I have so far seen of) the dales and moors, the village houses look as though they have grown out of the earth - organic. They are solid, boxy, generally unpretentious and often of a glorious creamy-gold, or darker. Sometimes the building material looks less like stone, which it is, than like rammed earth. These buildings seem to belong in and compliment their landscape in a way that much New Zealand domestic architecture (at least of recent decades) does not.

And here a touristy complaint! It can be very difficult to photograph little villages from a good vantage point because it is almost impossible to stop on UK roadsides to take a photo. And then it can be very difficult to take a photo that is not jam-packed full of parked cars!!! But I will persevere and, in the meantime here is a building in Helmsley that, although more substantial, has some of the qualities I am describing.

Queen Tilly...

2010-02-24T06:40:00.000-08:00

Familiarity...

2010-02-24T02:17:00.000-08:00

The window cleaners have just been. They first came a couple of days after I arrived and I was anxious that I followed Sue's instructions for letting them through, paying them. Now I know the ropes and we had a chat about (guess what?) the weather, snow... This business of familiarity in a new place is always intriguing. Now I know (roughly) where to find things in the local supermarket, I know (sufficiently and once again) how to negotiate the roundabouts, I know (superficially) how the recycling operates... I may even know enough to be able to help someone from the Youth Hostel when they ask for directions! All these actions produce a warm glow of 'belonging'. But then my fumbling in a shop or at the petrol station once again marks me out as a stranger. When you are living away from the familiar, every action takes a little longer and a little more energy because it is not automatic.

Layers...

2010-02-23T23:44:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking - and Niki's comment has prompted me to write it down - that the layers of history are very evident in the York built environment. Roman, Anglo-Saxon, Viking, Norman... and that only takes us up to the 12th century. All those centuries of invasion and disruption, of destruction but also of regeneration. I find it disrupts my notions of nationhood. Perhaps we are too precious about our nationality, since we are all hybrids. I guess we just have to settle for a fluid nationality and an identity that is always in the making...

A cuppa...

2010-02-23T09:05:00.000-08:00

At first glance I thought this queue must be for a show or movie. Wrong. These people are waiting (in the cold) to get into Betty's Tea Rooms in Harrogate (you see similar queues in York). Would it just be tourists I wonder or would locals (be daft enough to) queue too?? (No offence to locals or Betty's - just a personal aversion to queuing!).

Back to Bolton Abbey...

2010-02-23T03:18:00.000-08:00

Never in my visits to the UK before have I been so aware of the material presence of Christianity. In the 12th - 15th centuries especially, churches, cathedrals, minsters, abbeys, monasteries, priories... must have utterly dominated the physical landscape, in addition to being major employers of lay people and of course, providing a spiritual framework for belief and behaviour. I know all this but the last month has made that knowing more tangible.

Even today in a much more crowded landscape, the churches, cathedrals and minsters remain central in their communities - right there, towering, demanding attention, whether it be spiritual or commercial.

Also more in the forefront of my awareness than ever before is the damage wrought by Henry's reformation and the huge social change it initiated.

Here is a photo of Bolton Abbey (actually a priory) from a very icy hillside pathway where, for the first time ever, I wished for a walking stick...

...and here is a view of the River Wharfe looking down from the priory on a sparkling, frosty morning.

The Yorkshire Dales...

2010-02-22T09:34:00.000-08:00

At Burnsall in Wharfedale there is this wonderful seventeenth century (1602) school house which is still in use...

...and on the gate a friendly reminder...

Burnsall also has this magnificent bridge...

Priorities...

2010-02-22T09:24:00.000-08:00

This, at the entrance to Bolton Abbey, made me smile...

In the news...

2010-02-22T09:11:00.000-08:00

The mothballing of the Corus steel works at Redcar on Teeside. About 1,600 workers have lost their jobs and the snowball effect is likely to affect a further 8,000 workers.

The almost daily 'repatriation' of the bodies of soldiers who have died in Afghanistan and the mourning of local communities.

Gordon Brown, David Cameron and the election.

Britain's aging population and how to address this 'going forward'.

The recovery of Cockermouth in the Lake District from devastating winter floods.

Winter weather..........

A surreal morning...

2010-02-21T06:31:00.000-08:00

I watched the snow falling and doubted that Maggie, Don and I would get to an 11.00am film as planned. They laughed when I knocked on their door and voiced that doubt. We walked the 20 minutes into town through falling snow and then saw a gloriously quirky movie by Pierre Jeunet called Micmacs.

Neighbours Maggie and Don in the Museum Gardens en route to film

Weather forecast was spot-on...

2010-02-21T01:53:00.000-08:00

Looking down into Maggie and Don's back garden.

Looking out to road from bedroom window...

Sue and Al's car!

Weather and words...

2010-02-20T22:56:00.000-08:00

UK weather banner for today... 'More snow, rain, ice and frost...' (just covering the bases!). Highs hovering around 1-2 degrees.

On a brighter side, here are some more Yorkshire place names...

Wombleton
Fangdale Bek
Scagglethorpe
Duggleby
Ugglebarnby
Giggleswick
Uckerby
Sneck Yate

Sutton Bank...

2010-02-19T11:13:00.000-08:00

Today I finally got up to Sutton Bank, an escarpment north of York and in the south-west corner of the North York Moors. I visited the Sutton Bank National Park Centre - excellent for information about the North York Moors National Park - and did some brisk walking along the escarpment. The almost 360 degree views were stunning - but something I could so easily have overlooked caught my attention. It was on the back of a wooden seat...

The young man would have enjoyed views like this...

and he might have walked in snow as I did today...

Winter garden...

2010-02-18T21:46:00.000-08:00

A day of pleasures large and small. I had resolved to spend the day at home writing, but a call from Al's friend Jill with an invitation to join her in a visit to the Royal Horticultural Society garden Harlow Carr in Harrogate, put paid to that.

Visiting gardens in winter is like going into a gallery with just one or two paintings. You pay particular attention to what is there. So, in the winter landscape (complete with boots and umbrellas) we spotted tiny cyclamen, snowdrops, the first hellebores, the bright red stems of cornus, glorious gold witch hazel... and I got particularly excited when we came across New Zealand flaxes and cabbage trees!

I was also taken with the wonderful willow structures in the vegetable gardens, especially the way the willow had been woven to form edgings, straight and circular.

The outdoor highlight for me was a tiny bird hide from where we watched goldfinches, bullfinches and blue tits tucking into the feeders. (And it was a day for two robins - one at home in Clifton and the other elsewhere in the RHS garden).

A hot drink in (Yorkshire famous) Betty's Tearooms, overlooking the gardens and buzzing with people, capped a lovely afternoon.

Skipton...

2010-02-17T22:19:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I crossed country westwards from York, through Knaresborough and Harrogate to Skipton, in thick fog. Was cheered by these house boats (both for tourists and for residents) on the Skipton canal...

...and more snowdrops in the Skipton Woods through which there was a lovely walk curving round behind the castle and town.

Brrrrrr - can you feel the cold?

And, I spotted the Hawkshead shop!!!! ;-)

Meeting people #2...

2010-02-16T09:32:00.000-08:00

In addition to the lovely neighbours mentioned in an earlier post, I have now also met Phyllis and Philip, from further up Greencliffe Drive and Janet from across the road. Phyllis and Philip I met at Beningbrough Hall where we got into conversation entirely without knowing that we lived in the same street. It was one of those 'do you by any chance live in... and are you by any chance...?' And I was! And we got to know each other better over tea at their home. Janet appeared on a drizzly morning and, over another cup of tea, talked about living in Whitby and gave me good ideas about walking places on the Yorkshire moors and in the dales. All the people I have met have shared their stories with warmth and generosity.

This is one of the pleasures of 'living in' as opposed to 'passing through'. The most similar of my experiences in this sense would be living in Kibbutz Gal'ed in Israel.

Spotted locally...

2010-02-15T21:54:00.000-08:00

The latest in doggy chic - even has a hood!

More window-cleaning...

...and the local casino...

On the (real) home front...

2010-02-15T01:51:00.000-08:00

I noticed a lump in Tom's bed this morning, not something I had spotted before. I patted the lump firmly to flatten it. Lump remained.

Went round the other side of the bed to check and found...

Grand estates...

2010-02-14T23:31:00.000-08:00

My politics have always disinclined me towards any sort of aristocracy and opulent displays of wealth but I am beginning to appreciate the relevance of the great houses and estates in Britain today. Visits to Duncombe Park and, most recently, Castle Howard (both still in private ownership) have made me realise what an important part these estates play (alongside the National Trust and English Heritage) in preserving not only cultural heritage but natural heritage as well. Hundreds of acres of land that might otherwise be gobbled up for development. And the families who still live in these grand homes are actively conserving the land, which often provides an oasis for humans and other animals/birds in an increasingly stressed environment.

When it comes to opulence it must be hard to beat Castle Howard (the setting for the 1980s? TV adaptation of Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited). The approach alone (of which I have no photos since I was behind the wheel) is mind-boggling. Again, despite the cold, there were lots of families enjoying the grounds (house is closed over winter) and the wooded areas. Here is a selection of Castle Howard shots on a day that alternated between sun and showers. Click on the images for a larger version.

And here is a photo of the landscape typical of this Ryedale area taken from one of the boundaries of the Castle Howard estate.

Illusions of grandeur...

2010-02-13T09:02:00.000-08:00

Me...

...at my country house...

...surveying the land.

More shop windows...

2010-02-13T08:50:00.000-08:00

Shop windows intrigue me (see The Hairy Fig post). They can encourage or discourage entry. They can induce longing. They can be works of art in their own right. In Helmsley - a little market town on the edge of the North York Moors - I happened to see this shop and its window about lunch time, so there was a lot of longing!

And while on shop windows, I liked these elegant models in a rival delicatessen...

Window climbing...

2010-02-13T00:21:00.000-08:00

This photo was taken out the car window as I waited patiently to join the traffic on Clifton Road. The purpose was to record my admiration for the window cleaners who are much in evidence, regardless of the weather and often in precarious circumstances. This chap has left his ladder and has a foothold on the masonry above the window! What's the name of that body which monitors safety in the workplace in NZ??

I must say the local windows are almost unnaturally sparklingly clean. Much unlike my windows at home.

My Dad used to talk of the coal men in Glasgow who would heft bags of coal up many flights of stairs in the tenement buildings. Which reminds me, as a child, of watching the men empty huge bags of Strongman coal into my Nana's coal box. Interestingly, my Clifton neighbours have just had a second clean wood burner installed... which may say something about shifting perspectives on heating...??

More names...

2010-02-12T22:43:00.000-08:00

Yesterday a drive out into the East Yorkshire wolds, through Market Weighton to Beverley, up to Driffield and home. Icy cold wind and showers coming off the north sea!

Names continue to delight me. My favourite from yesterday was Fangfoss. And in Beverley this caught my eye. This one's for you Niki...

Kiwis can be tough...

2010-02-11T00:44:00.000-08:00

Hehehe Looking up 'my' street, 8.30am...

Snow...

2010-02-10T07:18:00.000-08:00

I abandoned my attempt this morning to get to Sutton Bank as the roads were becoming increasingly treacherous. Not a lot of snow but enough to be wary. As I write (mid afternoon) it is snowing again heavily.

Meeting people...

2010-02-09T23:25:00.000-08:00

I would hate this blog to be only a record of places because in the fewer than three weeks I have been here, I have had contact with wonderful people. Neighbours Maggie and Don, George and Marion, Trevor; Sue's colleagues Jenny, Miranda, Glynis, Kathy and Yvonne; Al's friend Roger and Sue's friend Jill; nameless people with whom I have talked in different places, so many of whom have been to New Zealand - for example, the lady on duty at Ripon Cathedral who had nursed at Christchurch Women's Hospital in the 1970s! I have met with great warmth.

Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal - world heritage site

2010-02-09T23:08:00.000-08:00

My visit to 12th-century Fountains Abbey prompted some thinking about the cycles of history, the rise and fall of belief systems and their tangible representation in buildings, art work etc. Fountains Abbey was founded by just 13 monks and grew to be a powerhouse of prayer and wealth. Plundered during Henry VIII's Reformation, it was abandoned, like so many of the beautiful religious houses across the country.

I thought about Angkor Wat in Cambodia. Of a (very roughly) similar era but such very different styles. Angkor Wat much larger (it was an entire city) but also far more complex and elaborately decorated. The Cistercian abbeys have a wonderful simplicity perhaps best illustrated in the cellarium...

I also found myself trying to draw parallels with the present day. I thought of the twin towers in New York, personifications of capitalism and perhaps a twenty-first century equivalent of the great medieval churches and abbeys...

I walked around the Georgian water garden at Studley Royal - in the construction of which the ruins of the abbey became a focal point, an oversized 'folly'.

6 Million + Every Person Counts

2010-02-08T10:06:00.000-08:00

Today was yet another day when the main event was overshadowed by something entirely unplanned and unexpected. The unexpected first.

Driving back from Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal (the main event) this afternoon, I decided on the spur of the moment to stop in Ripon, for no good reason other than that it was dominated by a rather grand cathedral. The cathedral was indeed very old and beautiful - all the more so because there was a violin and cello quartet practising for an evening concert. It also had some stunning examples of modern ecclesiastical art.

But the thing that stopped me in my tracks was the 6 Million + Every Person Counts installation. It had me in tears. If you are reading this blog PLEASE have a look at one or both of these links...

http://www.digyorkshire.com/HighlightDetails.aspx?Article=564
http://www.thenorthernecho.co.uk/news/local/ripon/4860968.Remembering_the_six_million/

I have never experienced a more powerful way of conveying the enormity of the Holocaust. And the community made it possible - with their contributions of buttons. What better way to involve children in learning about the Nazi Holocaust - and subsequent genocides. It reminded me, just a year ago, of being in Tuol Sleng - the Khmer Rouge security prison (now a genocide museum) in Phnom Penh.

I didn't take any photos inside. This is the banner outside Ripon Cathedral, announcing the installation.

Beningbrough Hall

2010-02-07T22:03:00.000-08:00

Some images from Beningbrough Hall, a National Trust property just north-west of York which also houses a number of works from the National Portrait Gallery in London. The day was misty and cold but there were still families with little children enjoying the interactive portrait-related activities (great!) inside the house and the children's playground and garden walks outside.
http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/w-vh/w-visits/w-findaplace/w-beningbroughhallandgardens.htm

The rear view!

I was re-reminded of how well the National Trust manage their properties, in every sense. No fanfare, no intrusive signs, few reminders that one is a tourist. Everything superbly maintained. The greatest possible emphasis on providing a high quality and authentic experience.

Something about arches...

Beningbrough has a wonderful walled garden and the gardeners were out in force, working in the chill. At this time of year one has the advantage of seeing the 'skeleton' of the garden. For example, the different forms of espaliering...

I also discovered wooded areas covered in tiny snowdrops which, given the temperatures, is a little miracle...

And I made a friend at the neighbouring farm...

Music and birds...

2010-02-07T00:46:00.000-08:00

Often, when I travel, I find it is the little, serendipitous things that give great pleasure...

Yesterday I went to a concert at the University of York - part of their 'cello weekend'. The music (Beethoven, Faure, Saint-Saens) was wonderful and I enjoyed a lovely chat with an older lady sitting next to me who had bought a weekend ticket and was attending all the events (stamina!). She had also spent a month bed and breakfasting on her own around New Zealand last year...

Prior to the concert, as I was exploring the campus, a figure appeared close-by, on whom dozens of the water birds from the adjacent lake immediately converged. She led them away from the path (I learnt that all the paths around campus are adorned with piles of greenish bird poo) and began to feed them. I couldn't resist having a chat. She feeds them daily and the birds 'belong' to the university - they don't migrate. Amongst the many species there were snow geese (memories of Paul Gallico) and coots (the funniest little birds), neither of which I had seen before.

Events of different significance but equally great pleasure.

Addendum...

2010-02-05T23:43:00.000-08:00

Hmmm - here's a riff on technology and memory. The other exhibition that impressed me greatly at the Leeds Art Gallery was this...

The premier of a moving-image installation by Corinne Silva. In 1949 David Oluwale, a stowaway from Nigeria had dreams of studying engineering in Leeds. Twenty years later he was found drowned in the River Aire. Subsequently two police officers were found guilty of assault. This work relates to Oluwale's final journey down the river and also narrates a journey through the city, a journey of time, change and transition that applies both to the contemporary development of the city and the experience of migration.

(Commissioned by Leeds Art Gallery with support from Arts Council England).

It worked on two levels. The journey by river through the city, revealing both the wealth and poverty, absolutely beautifully filmed - and the stories narrated by other Nigerian and Caribbean immigrants.

And memory? Well, quite aside from the fact that the installation deals with memories - recording them and keeping them alive - it was the one memorable exhibit that I did not capture on camera. As a result, when I came to do a blog post this morning, it was not 'in front of me' so to speak. I have always been doubtful about the value of seeing travel experiences through a lens (camera/video - glasses are helpful!). What gets fixed in the mind becomes so image-dependent. And this experience tends to confirm that - except that I did remember, in the shower...

Some treats in the Leeds Art Gallery...

2010-02-05T21:59:00.000-08:00

My interest in Stanley Spencer goes back to 1979 when I was first in the UK and spent a day with Liz Mandler and Barbara Brooke (of the ChCh gallery) visiting Cookham - Spencer's home town and the setting for much of his painting. Later I saw his work in the Tate and read about his life. The works I was most familiar with were those related to the local 'swan-upping' and also the ones in which the residents of Cookham are depicted rising from the dead! He is a complex artist whose subject matter can sometimes obscure the fact that he is a superb draftsman and colourist.

The Spencer work in the Leeds gallery were a surprise, especially this one titled Two Sisters. It was quite stunning and so unlike anything of his I had seen before.

And then there was this sad work, of Spencer's wife and daughter, whom he had left for another woman and then tried, unsuccessfully, to return to. Such a psychologically penetrating and poignant painting.

It was lovely to see Frances Hodgkins represented, though no mention of her New Zealand origins.

And, to end on a happy note, this piece of anthropomorphised sculpture delighted me. Such energy and joi de vivre - makes you smile :-)

Incidentally, this is the first time ever that I have taken photos in an art gallery. There was no suggestion that I shouldn't - as there is in many galleries. But I'm not really sure how I feel about the ethics of this...

A day in Leeds...

2010-02-05T21:33:00.000-08:00

A foggy, drizzly day yesterday and I trotted off to the station to catch a train to Leeds - a city I haven't visited before. Spent quite a bit of time in the Art Gallery (see next post) and the rest wandering around the central city. Impressions? Very multicultural (in a way that York is not). Very youthful. Full of contrasts - for example extravagant new shopping precincts check by jowl with the old (but thriving) covered markets. Not a 'beautiful' city architecturally but it had a sense of vibrancy. Some great public sculpture.

I was very taken by the shop windows - some of which were works of art in their own right. Here are a couple of examples...

This is Vivienne Westwood's shop in the prestigous Arcade area...

...while this was just one of many skeletons featured in the Firetrap shop!!

'Talk proper...'

2010-02-04T09:11:00.000-08:00

I'm always intrigued by accents/dialects. Because we live in such a global world with such homogenising influences (in particular US film and TV) I always fear that we will become more and more alike in our ways of speaking and sounding. But Yorkshire is disabusing me of this idea. Walk into a shop and you're listening to a foreign language - especially the young people (whom you might expect to be more influenced by global-speak). So yes, it can make for difficult communication - and the accent can be hard on the ear, but hooray for variety and regionalism and long may it thrive, here and everywhere!

I found this website http://www.bbc.co.uk/northyorkshire/voices2005/glossary/dialects.shtml and was delighted to read the comments of all the proud Yorkshire folk. Here are three examples...

Helen (From Morley - West Yorks.)

I spent the first three months at university having to 'translate' between accents so my hall of residence flatmates could understand a conversation! 'Translating' Geordie to Yorkshire took some doing!When I was little, my Gran would tell me to 'talk proper, a bit more like the Queen' and then promptly chelp away with the broadest Yorkshire accent I'd ever known! As fas as I'm concerned, it IS talking proper!I'm proud to be a white rose!

Susan

Brought up in Wensleydale and went on a course for Barclays Bank in London and will never forget the looks of amazement on the other girls faces at our first evening meal when I blurted out "Pass us t'taties wilter"....I had not been beyond Northallerton until then!!

Sam

oreyt am from barnsley n a dunt fink theres owt rong wi r accent ya might funk its all thee n tha but in it int so gu n tek mick art o sum one elses town!

Laddie...

2010-02-03T11:57:00.000-08:00

Also at The National Railway Museum... Laddie was a 'railway collecting dog'. Between the end of the 19th century and the middle of the 20th century, these dogs collected money for railway charities (especially railway orphanages) at large stations throughout the UK. Laddie collected at Wimbeldon Station between 1949 and 1956, when he retired. He raised over 5000 pounds for the Southern Railwaymen's Home at Woking and spent his retirement living with the residents at the Home. When he died in 1960 he was stuffed and returned to Wimbeldon where he continued to collect for the Home until 1990 when he was retired for a second time to the national Railway collection!

Would we condone this now? Probably not. Were the dogs exploited? I guess so. And yet it's a nice story and I suspect the collecting dogs were well cared for and enjoyed their 'work'.

On track...

2010-02-03T11:40:00.000-08:00

I walked to The National Railway Museum this morning, more because it seemed to be something I should do, rather than something I was deeply interested in.* My mistake. I was blown away by the size, scope, and sheer fascination of the place. I loved the big engines, the warehouse (open to the public), the model railway, the amazing technology everywhere in evidence. Above all I loved the fact that the museum was full of children who were having a ball. Excited, engaged and clearly learning.

In fact I have to admit to being seduced by the sheer power of technology and mechanical inventiveness. Plus I had forgotten how big train engines can be - and how beautiful in their own way.

*This sense of obligation was maybe compounded by the fact that my Clifton next-door-neighbour Don works at the museum, as does Jenny's (friend of Sue with whom I had coffee yesterday) partner!

High-rise apartments...

2010-02-02T12:32:00.000-08:00

Synchronicity...

2010-02-02T11:19:00.000-08:00

Not long before I left for York, I read for the first time a diary my Mum had kept when she was living and working in the UK in 1950. She was 35 and made the trip by sea, on her own, well before the 'big OE' became a New Zealand rite of passage. She was away for two years in all, including a six-week period of youth-hostelling and hitch-hiking on the Continent with an Australian friend. All this at a time not so very long after the end of the war - when Britain and Europe were still rationed and travelling in Europe was neither easy nor necessarily safe. Reading the diary, though not much more than a daily account of 'things done', was both inspiring and moving. While I knew that she had been to theatre, ballet, concerts and exhibitions in London (I still have the theatre programmes), I had not realised just how much she packed in, or that nearly every weekend was spent getting out and seeing different parts of the country, meeting friends and making the most of every opportunity. This was also the time when my parents' friendship (which had begun in 1939 and been complicated by the onset of war and the fact that my father was in the Merchant Navy) very clearly became a romance.

The Hairy Fig!

2010-02-01T09:27:00.000-08:00

I am collecting words and names which have delighted me - and this one just made me laugh out loud.

And then in the window, what should The Hairy Fig be advertising but quail eggs. As a child I remember my father talking about quail eggs but I was never quite certain if such a thing really existed. In my mind they belonged in the category of 'hens' teeth' - i.e. probably didn't exist but I wasn't quite sure...

The quail eggs are the little spotted ones. Some of the larger hen eggs look like the blue-shelled ones my Aracana hens lay. If you enlarge the second picture by clicking on it you will read that the eggs were laid 'by Camilla and her feathered friends..."

There is a price of £1.50 on the quail eggs - not clear if this is per egg or per something else. Are quail farmed? Or has someone stolen eggs from a nest?? Must find out more about this.

PS I did and they are...see http://www.gardenquails.com/index.html

While on the bird theme. I saw a robin today. Great excitement. Such a pretty, perky bird. Also lots of large water fowl - ducks and geese? This was while walking on the Ings (another wonderful word).

Merchant Adventurers' Hall

2010-02-01T00:00:00.000-08:00

I trotted into town early yesterday morning thinking the Merchant Adventurers' Hall was open free of charge as part of Residents' Weekend, only to discover that it was closed for a private function and that I had confused it with the Merchant Taylors' Hall! (which I saw later). Never mind. I wandered around the exterior of this lovely 14/15th century building and then, just as I was leaving, a procession of distinguished gents (if you click on the photo you will see one woman) emerged. I waited and followed them around the corner and snapped. Back out on Fossgate there was an elderly gentleman standing opposite the MAH. At first I thought he was sheltering but, as I was waiting for a shop to open and as he remained there and was still there sometime later, I think he was a kind of watchman. Watching me ;-)

Right beside the entrance to The Merchant Adventurers' Hall was a shop with the lovely name of.... (wait for next installment).

On the map...

2010-01-31T08:43:00.000-08:00

Almost everyone (it seems) with whom I have had a casual conversation has been to New Zealand! The lady in Marks and Spencers the other day; Glynis, who was the first of the group to arrive at The Yorkshire Terrier; the gentleman in the Merchant Taylors' Hall today (who had stayed with friends at Orari, part of my old tramping ground). I felt so sorry for the elderly clergyman in the Minster who was easing his back. I commiserated and he talked about the stone floors and standing around on duty in the cold. He was very regretful that he had not been to New Zealand - too far and, with the recent memory of yet another interminable flight, I agreed.

Speaking of which, I have been puzzling over this poster at the entrance to the Methodist Church I pass on the walk into town. Not a good photo (it's behind glass) but I haven't been able to work out the relationship between the picture and the instruction. I wondered if a key to the mystery might lie in the fact that the front garden of the church is planted in New Zealand natives!!