Feeding the Darkness

Sunday afternoon. Lounge in front of the TV? Go for a walk? Potter in the garden? No! Let's go to the Old Chapel in Calstock and watch a performance by the Journeymen Theatre Company of their production, Feeding the Darkness. It was described as "shining a light on State sanctioned torture through story, poem and song". Admittedly not everyone's idea of wiling away a weekend afternoon but, difficult as the subject matter is, it's something that we should all be aware of. For if we are not, then we are, indeed, 'Feeding the Darkness'

The production, sponsored by Quaker Concern for the Abolition of Torture, was a two-hander, written and performed by Lynn and David Morris. In eleven short sequences, based on actual transcripts or verbal accounts, they took us through various aspects of torture. And at the same time, reminded us of Article 2 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights: No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment. It was not sensationalist but matter-of-fact, stomach-churning and thought provoking. If it comes your way, take time to go and see it. You'll come away ashamed at our governments complicity in many countries. You'll also come away better informed and better able to engage with the proponents of torture.

Speaking of whom, one interesting snippet they passed on to us was the fact that, since the elevation of Donald Trump, calls for them to perform their 'show' have exceeded anything they've had in the past. And I find that both heartening and incredibly sad. 

A Walk from Bray Shop

A 6.5 mile walk with our U3A Thursday group. Starting and ending in the hamlet of Bray Shop, about 2 miles from home, we ventured into parts of our locality that we'd never previously visited. It was cold, with the temperatures hovering not far above zero, and misty with none of the long range views over Bodmin Moor that would have been possible.

The route. A mixture of quiet lanes, footpaths across fields and some ancient 'green lanes'. And the two ascents shown on the elevation profile were as steep as they look.

An example of the lack of views on this walk. On a clearer day Roughtor and Brown Willy, Cornwall's highest point, on Bodmin Moor would be on the horizon.

One of the two patches of snowdrops I noticed. They are not quite fully open yet but can't be far off. Absolutely no daffodils were to be seen or, for that matter, any other flowers.

I was surprised to come across this graveyard at Lanhargy, just half a mile outside of Bray Shop. It was well kept and, as there were a few relatively recent burials, I assume that that it is still consecrated.

Next door is the original Lanhargy Methodist Chapel, now fully restored and occupied as a dwelling.

Spot the difference. I came across this photograph of the chapel as it was presented in the estate agent's details of its sale in the late 1900s. It had been derelict for many years before it was finally sold. Conversion is a much better option than demolition, a fate that fell to at least four other (Downhouse, Kelly Bray, Luckett and Monks' Cross) chapels.

Lanhargy chapel dates from, guess when, 1802, although the present building is the result of several rebuilds during its lifetime. An adjacent building had been used as a Sunday School.

Just down the lane from Lanhargy is Bray Shop with its own chapel. Another one converted into a dwelling, this conversion has been done since our time down here. Services were being held here until the early part of the new century. It started out as a Bible Christian chapel who were an offshoot of the Methodist Church, the predominant form of Christianity in Cornwall during the 1700s and 1800s. This group were also known as Bryanites after their founder, William Bryan and were strongest in the UK in North East Cornwall and North Devon .  They lasted as a separate denomination until the early 1900s and then were gradually incorporated into mainstream Methodism. There were many variants of Methodism in the early days, each one with its own chapel. Bray Shop is a good example of this: a very small hamlet that managed to support two chapels for a century or so. If people didn't like the brand of Methodism being promoted locally, they went off and built their own chapel. At one time Stoke Climsland parish, which never had a population of more than 1600, boasted seven chapels and one church. Nowadays it has one of each.

Bray Shop chapel has its own burial ground attached. It's quite well maintained and, as for Lanhargy, there is evidence of recent burials, mainly from just one or two local families. I guess they like to maintain the family tradition and be laid to rest with their forebears. I wonder how long graveyards such as these will be maintained? I'm quite familiar with this one as I've spent time here tracking down the headstone of the parents of one William Conibear, who died in WW1 and who is listed on our local war memorial.

Look behind you

I've been rummaging through a couple of shoeboxes of old photographs I took over when my mother died last year. Amongst the familiar faces, I came across the above photograph of a young girl sat on a bench within one of those municipal shelters you often find in rain-soaked Britain. The shelter looks vaguely familiar to and I'd hazard a guess that it may have been along the seafront in Hove or Brighton. The young girl? I've really no idea but, if I'm correct in assuming that it was taken in Brighton, she may well have been one of my father's cousins. One of Rita, Audrey or Zelie Kent?

 

Look closely and a mysterious head appears within the lower left frame of the window behind the shelter. Could this, perhaps, be someone who had been forced out of this photo opportunity but was intent on leaving his mark on recorded history nevertheless? Perhaps it was Cousin Cyril? Or maybe even my father? It was the sort of thing he'd do.

Digital techniques allow us, of course, to selectively enlarge that part we are interested in, in order to obtain more clues as to who this interloper may be. An initial attempt provides us with few clues - merely an out-of-focus shape, reminiscent of a human head.

Technology, however, is nothing if it is not smart these days, and there are many software programmes available that will automatically enhance images of such poor quality. Making use of one such programme I recently obtained from a Russian supplier, I came up with something rather surprising, and not a little sinister. I will say no more other than you saw it here first. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

To Trewortha Village sans camera

What a day for a walk with our monthly group: dry, clear but cold. And what a route: up onto the Twelve Men's Moor area of Bodmin Moor, heading for the long abandoned mediaeval village at Trewortha and passing through Bronze Age settlements and 18/19/20th century industrial archaeology. Quite a tough out and back 8 miler. What a shame that I'd forgotten to put a memory card in my camera and all the views and interesting sights went unrecorded. Still, they are lodged in my memory and are not lost entirely.

Portscatho January 2017: Part 5

All good things come to an end and so did our sojourn on the Roseland Peninsular. We took a chance with the weather and finished off with two shorter walks to join up the dots between previously completed stretches. Walk 1 (after a Magical Mystery Tour on a Number 50 bus) was a 4 mile linear one from Veryan back to Portscatho. Walk two was a circular 4 miler from Portloe to Portholland and back to Portloe via the Coastal Footpath. Hey, no rain on either of them.

I like coming across the unusual in unexpected places and this wasn't far from the start of our first walk just outside of Veryan. A cheery piece of burnished metalwork by the footpath as it passed through an old mill in a wooded valley down to the sea.

Looking east across the sands of Pendower Beach towards Nare Head, which we've already walked a while back.

Looking west at the end of our walk towards Portscatho across Porthcurnick Beach.

The Hidden Hut at Porthcurnick. I've read that it has a cult following for its food and foodie events in the summer months. It's not that hidden but it's a bit of a walk to get there.

And on to Walk 2. The next three shots, taken within a minute of each other, illustrate what makes walking the Coastal Footpath so interesting and varied. Shot 1: looking out to sea at Perbagus Point above Portholland Cove.

Shot 2: a few degrees to the right of Shot 1.

Shot 3: a few more degrees to the right of Shot 2.

Flowers by the wayside: an early Common Violet.

Flowers by the wayside: early flowering Pasties (Crimpus oggyensis). Distinguished by their diaphanous petals and rich pseudo-stamen clusters designed to tempt passing foragers. A rare find and a case of 'finders' keepers', in clear contravention of the 1968 Wildlife Act which prohibits the picking and eating of wildflowers.

Looking west up the coast with Gull Rock clearly visible off Nare Head.

A Robin lurking in the bracken.

A Grey Heron lurking on the rocks. It's not often that we see them on the seashore. It's frozen in concentration and will stay perfectly still by the water's edge for long lengths of time, searching for fish. Grey Herons seem to have an uncanny ability to freeze, all concentration focused on their quarry. I wonder what it was waiting for. Crabs? Small fish? Shrimps? Probably anything it could catch.

Looking down on the end of our second walk, Portloe. A small fishing/tourist village featured as St Gweep in a rather strange comedy in the 1990s called Wild West and starring Dawn French and Catherine Tate. It once had an RNLI lifeboat (circa 1870) but they discovered that the weather that caused demands on their services came from the direction that prevented them getting the lifeboat out of the harbour. They persevered for a few years and then decided to pack their oars away. Nowadays, people are more likely to have heard of the gastropub near the slipway, the Lugger, than Portloe itself.

I liked the undulating handrail on the side of the footpath as it dropped into the village.

One of the guides to this particular walk had the strange instruction: 'turn right at the duck'. Know we know, even though the duck looks suspiciously like a gull. To avoid confusing any rambling ornithologists, perhaps the walk guide should be revised to say 'turn right at the gull'?

She seems to be saying "I'll keep an eye out for you for when you are next passing". We might just do that.

Portscatho January 2017: Part 4

Another day, another walk. But this time with five friends who had come to visit for the day. Our route, just 4 miles, took us across the peninsular from Portscatho to Roseland church and from there we traced a circular track around Messack Point. Windy in parts but dry. Lots of vistas and good company, with a very nice meal at the Plume and Feathers at Portscatho at the end of it.

This map shows the position of St Just and the size of the parish of the same name. Although much, much smaller than St Mawes, St Just is the parish church and that's where all the burials (and baptisms and marriages) from St Mawes have taken place over the centuries.

The church of St Just in Roseland, founded in 505 by St Just, a son of an early Cornish king, Geraint. The location of this church, situated as it is on the banks of a creek, makes it a very popular tourist attraction. And understandably so as it is in a lovely tranquil spot. Roseland, by the way, derives from the Cornish word for heath, rhos.

The view across the creek from the church. It is a popular mooring spot for yachts as it has direct access to sailing in the Carrick Roads. All of the yachts have been taken out of the water for the winter months.

Inside the light and airy church. It has a very nice atmosphere.

The church was full of many colourful kneelers, most of which had an animal or plant theme. These few were about remembrance.Taken with some friends in the USA in mind.

Set in a sub-tropical garden planted up by a Victorian plantsman called Tresseder, the graveyard rambles over a very wide and hilly area and is an intriguing jumble of styles and ages. So much to look at, so little time to do so.

Here's one that piqued my interest. Of all the headstones in all the graveyards we visit, why is it that those with a WW1 connection leap out at me? More often than not, I don't seek them out deliberately but I still come across them. One of the inscriptions reads: Richard Amyas Preston, RAMC, killed in France 1918 aged 26. The gauntlet has been thrown down and the challenge accepted. What can we find out about Richard Amyas Preston? Actually quite a lot for very little effort.

Richard was educated at the London Hospital, but before taking his M.B., B.S. degree he served in the Balkan War of 1912-13. When the Great War broke out he was holding an appointment at the Poplar Hospital, which he resigned on receiving a commission in the Royal Army Medical Corp. Richard originally joined the R.A.M.C. Special Reserve at the rank of Lieutenant on 6th August 1914. He mobilized on the 12th, then entered the war in France on 20th August 1914. He was promoted to Captain on 1st April 1915, then gained a permanent regular army commission at the rank of Lieutenant (T/Captain) on 1st January 1917. On 10th September 1917 he was given the rank of acting Lieutenant Colonel whilst in command of the 58th Field Ambulance. He gained the full rank of Captain on 12th February 1918. Richard was mortally wounded while attending to the removal of patients under heavy bombardment, dying the same day (7th June 1918). He is buried in the Sezanne Communal Cemetery at Marne in France. He was clearly a very brave man as he was awarded the Military Cross and the Croix de Guerre and was mentioned in dispatches twice.

We came across this carved quotation by a wooden bridge over a stream as we dropped into Messack Wood. I was mightily impressed when one of our walkers was able to quote, without hesitation, the rest of it at length. It's from the Desiderata, a prose poem from 1927 by Max Ehrmann. Why was it where it was? No idea. Google failed me on this one.

Not too sure what I did wrong with this shot of a Curlew as it seems to be in focus.

There were quite a few Redshanks poking around in the mud. Shanks = old name for legs and, guess what, they've got red legs.

A single Camelia with, I think, an early White-tailed Bumble Bee out on a forage.

And it was back along the banks of the creek to our starting point at the church.

Porrtscatho January 2017: Part 3

We've been trying to complete the 312 miles of the Cornwall Coastal Footpath for an embarrassingly long time. Our excuse is that we find it difficult to allocate enough time to walk significant chunks of it, hence one of the reasons for 'getting away' and concentrating on completing discrete sections. Quite often we find ourselves in the position of having to 'fill in' short stretches: today was one such when a short walk enabled us to join two pieces together. Just 3 miles in unexpectedly dry conditions above, but with plenty of mud below. It was basically a circumnavigation of St Anthony's Head.

For those wondering where the Roseland Peninsular is, here's a map. Just think due south of Truro and to the right of Falmouth.

Not as clear as for our last coastal jaunt. Looking eastwards across Porthbeor Beach with Nare Head in the distance.

We passed by St Anthony's church again and I took the opportunity to take this photograph looking up into the central spire. The outside is octagonal and you can pick out the eight segments of this around the central section.

Fairly common seabird just out of focus Part 34: Curlew. Downward curved beak so curlew or whimbrel. No whimbrels this far south so it must be a curlew.

Not-so-common seabird just out of focus Part 23: Purple Sandpiper. We've seen lots of them on the Scottish islands but they are not common in Cornwall.

I'm not a great lover of 'arty' shots and this isn't intended to be 'arty'. Simply a collection of bee hives that attracted me. Just think of all the bees contained in them just waiting for the temperatures to rise enough so they could go foraging. Not that foraging at this time of year would be productive.

The lighthouse at St Anthony's Head giving sailors a marker into the Carrick Roads.

Ditto.

St Gerent's church at Gerrans, just up the hill from Portscatho. Norman in origins but extensively restored by the dreaded Victorians. But they did leave the tower alone. It's unusual amongst churches in the county because it is octagonal. So what, you say? Wasn't St Anthony's church tower also octagonal? Yes, but that was a Victorian remodel in wood (to match the tower of Place House?): St Gerent's is in its original stone.

A very pleasant and light interior with two aisles.

Some of the original carved oak pew bench ends have been retained. If only they could talk. I wonder if anyone has written a book from the perspective of a bench end? Imagine what they have lived through: funerals, marriages, baptisms, celebrations of joy and catastrophe ..and so on.

Near the porch was an unusual round-headed Celtic cross. Lost for many years apparently and then recovered from the walls of a farm building.