I meet such lovely people

Tall trees filter the morning sun 
at Lightmoor

I nearly decided against my regular Thursday walk this week. There was a cold nip in the air, frost on the lawn and the garden pond had frozen over. But the weather forecast looked promising, so I asked S to drop me off at Dilke Bridge, from where I headed south for the 7½ mile hike home.  Well it should have been 7½ miles but, as you will discover, it grew a bit.

You see, you meet such lovely people in the forest. The first was a lady, walking her dog. She pointed to another dog and asked if it was mine. I said that it wasn't, as I patted her own very friendly collie.  "It's walking with a limp. It has no collar or identification and I can't decide what to do." She said that she was a veterinary nurse and felt that she couldn't just do nothing.

We watched the animal for a while, as it wandered down the path ahead of us, towards a couple of houses.  I suggested that it looked well fed and cared for and that we could probably let it find its own way home. "I'll be passing near those houses later in my walk," I explained. "If it's still around, I'll take a closer look." The lady looked relieved, thanked me for my help and we both went cheerfully on our way.



My next stop was Mallard's Pike, where they have public loos – so much more convenient than hiding behind a bush!

Mallard's Pike Lake was looking especially lovely in the winter sunshine.

From Mallard's Pike, I set course for Moseley Green, where I met three guys who were looking around them in a 'lost' sort of way.  "Can you tell us where the tunnel is?" asked one of them. They had a photocopy of an old Ordinance Survey map that I found rather difficult to interpret.  It was time to show off!  Taking out my smartphone, I brought up Ordinance Survey MapFinder and tapped the 'locate' icon, whereupon the display obligingly zoomed in on Moseley Green. I could tell they were impressed – this old girl is clearly no idiot (even if she couldn't read their map). "You see where the road kinks," I said, pointing to the map, "That's just over the tunnel mouth."

We chatted for a couple of minutes about mineral railways and tunnels. It certainly pays to have studied ones own copy of Rails Through the Forest, I mused.  Then, as they thanked me and departed, I had an idea.  I have never seen that tunnel myself, but rather than follow them, I would make my way round to the south end and hopefully get some nice photos.

On my way down to the track bed, I passed the remains of this long derelict Free Mine. One of my friends, who has lived in the Forest for many a decade, remembers when it was operational. It must have been a long time ago, judging by the state it's in now.

Reaching the tunnel mouth turned out to be much more difficult that I'd expected, thanks to fallen trees and mud, and for most of the way it was easier to paddle along the stream that now flows down the old track. Eventually I got there.

This tunnel has an interesting history. The building on the right of the tunnel mouth is an old guardroom, built during the Second World War, when the tunnel was requisitioned to store munitions. You can just make out the raised loading platform on the left.

I've blogged about this tunnel before. This is what I wrote in July 2014:

This is Moseley Green, where the old railway line went through a 503 yard-long tunnel that has a story to tell. In 1942 the Admiralty was desperate to find safe places to store munitions, so requisitioned the tunnel.  The tracks were lifted, the three ventilation shafts capped, and on one of the shafts they plonked an anti-aircraft gun.  Now perhaps I'm not the brightest girl around, but wasn't that likely to give the game away?  Imagine the scene... and here comes a German Spionageflugzeug, which quickly notices that the railway line present in 1941 has mysteriously disappeared. Then, flying down to get a closer look, he's fired on from one of the vent shafts!  Perhaps that's why the Admiralty moved out in 1943 and the railway line was reinstated.

Onward once more, retracing my hazardous trek to the tunnel, then continuing along the trackbed to Pillowell, where I was engaged in conversation by three people who were 'laying' a hedge. "It looks to me," I remarked, perhaps rather unkindly, "as if you're flattening it!"  But, of course, they weren't and they went on to explain the art of hedge laying, which is done by carefully thinning the upright stems, then weaving smaller branches between them.  I watched them work for a while, then bade them a cheery farewell and embarked on the final stretch of my walk.

The whole journey had been recorded on my Noom smartphone app. As I remarked earlier, it was longer than I'd expected, but I wasn't complaining.  One really does meet such lovely people. That said, if I haven't shed a few pounds when I weigh in on Saturday morning, I shall feel most aggrieved!

I must have been a beautiful baby

A few weeks ago, several Facebook friends posted photos of themselves as babies or very young children.  I didn't join in, as I couldn't find anything suitable... which is a shame, as this one would have done nicely. Those who know me very well will realize that there's a little joke here. Not bad, eh?

I rediscovered the photo yesterday, whilst rummaging in the under-stairs cupboard. It's in an illustrated baby book that mum and dad compiled, recording my first years of life, and makes fascinating reading; well, fascinating for me, as (of course) it's the one period of my life for which I have no memories.

There are telegrams and cards from friends and relatives, welcoming me to the world in suitably soppy terms...

Something sweet to cuddle

and that's You - Baby dear.

You've made us all so happy

and we love you, now you're here!

My favourite photo is this one, a real period-piece and the best I have of my mum, who died when I was 8. 

There's mum, dad and little me, of course, but how about that television? I guess not many people would have had a TV set in 1948, but dad had been an engineer during the war and liked his high-tech wizardry. 

It was fun trying to work out where the photo was taken.  I'm pretty confident that it's my first home in Bognor Regis, in which case that window in the background (that appears still to have its blackout curtain) would be the first floor one on the left in this photo of dad's shop.

Back to the Baby Book for the last time. Under the heading First Discoveries I like to think that we see stirrings of my forthcoming career in science and technology.

One year:

• Finds the Vim in the kitchen cupboard
• Can move buffer by going on one leg (What's a buffer?)
• Can spin humming top alone
• Switches the television on.

I guess, in a manner of speaking, I've been discovering, moving, spinning and switching things on ever since.  It's remembering to switch them off that's been difficult.

Introducing Ethel

Practicing my Clawhammer technique on Ethel.

Ethel is my new ukulele. My good friend B accompanied me to Ross-on-Wye a few weeks before Christmas, and after much strumming and plucking I was parted from my birthday money (and a bit more) and emerged from the wonderful Ross Music Centre with this little beauty. She's made of maple wood, is very pretty and has a gorgeous, mellow tone.

My first ukulele – the bright blue Plastic Fantastic – was a soprano and I had every intention of replacing her with another soprano-sized one, as I'd grown used to the fret spacing.  B, however, strongly advised me to 'upgrade' to the slightly larger Concert uke and the guy in the shop echoed her sentiments, so they won the day.

There was, however, one problem with Ethel and that was that the strings were set rather too high above the fret board. Consequently, I was having to press the strings hard against the frets to get a clear sound, which was doing my ageing fingers no good at all. This fairly common problem with new ukuleles is corrected by reducing the height of the bridge.

Angie and the Plastic Fantastic at the Rugby World Cup
in Gloucester

Now call me a whimp if you must, but having spent £130 on a new ukulele, I was most reluctant to attempt the job of filing down the bridge. Fortunately, though, I've just restarted Advanced Ukulele Lessons on Wednesday evenings and Matt, our expert tutor, offered to do the work for a very modest charge.  He returned Ethel to me last week, and oh what a difference! Not only had the bridge height been reduced, but he also shaved a bit off the nut (top of the fret board), so now she's perfect.

There remains, however, one problem. I've lost count of the times I was complimented for the way my favourite blue cardigan matched my ukulele. Wood-coloured cardigans don't really suit my complexion, but the temptation to get one may yet prove irresistible!

The consequence of all this is that the trusty Plastic Fantastic has been relegated to the status of 'spare'. But she was my first love and will for ever hold a place in my affections. Together we mastered the rudiments of ukulele playing, and she's definitely not for sale.