What have the Normans ever done for us?

Well, they brought French into our language, and it's still there. Indeed, it's reckoned that 45% of English words originate from Latin, mostly courtesy of the Norman Conquest. Even my own name is Latin and since I rather like it, I suppose I should record my thanks to those Normans.

Most famously, the Normans knew how to throw together a simple, secure castle; literally an earthen hill, with wooden stakes around it and living space within  — the classic Motte and Bailey.  They built hundreds of them, including a well-preserved one at Miserden, in the Cotswolds.

Which brings me to my third thing that the Norman did for us, for they inspired Ellis Peters to write her Cadfael novels. These are set in the period of The Anarchy (1135-1154) when Norman rule had degenerated into civil war, with the Empress Maud and Stephen contending for the throne.

I have Lucy to thank for rekindling my interest in Cadfael — the intrepid, crime-solving Benedictine monk from Shrewsbury. I read A Morbid Taste for Bones several years ago, but otherwise satisfied myself by watching the excellent ITV adaptations, staring Derek Jacobi. I have DVDs of them all. One book that escaped the attentions of the film makers was the last in Ellis Peter's series, Brother Cadfael's Penance, which features the castle of La Musarderie, otherwise known as Miserden.

This long introduction explains why Lucy and I recently met in Miserden for a leisurely lunch at The Carpenters Arms, there to plan our own assault on the ancient castle.  Since it promised to be an energetic escapade, we wisely loaded ourselves with a few hundred calories of energy in the shape of these mouthwatering mixed grills. An army marches on its stomach, does it not?

Off we set, descending from the village in the direction of the River Frome. Here's Lucy, her trusty walking stick at the ready, standing at the edge of the castle's defensive ditch, with the Motte rising to the right. Like us, you'll have to imagine this area devoid of trees and with the castle's stone walls rising high above the earthworks.

Here's another look of the defensive ditch, and below a view of the River Frome, taken from the top of the Motte. In the 12th century, the ditch it would have been deeper and (according to the Wikipedia article) would have been flooded by water from the Frome, creating a moat.  Not an easy obstacle for an attacking army to cross.

A weakness of the castle, though, was that the land between it and the village is higher than the Motte. In Brother Cadfael's Penance it is on this ground that the Empress Maud is able to range her siege engines and archers, and bombard the fort. When Lucy and I were there, neither of us had read far enough to discover whether she won... and now that I do know, I'm not telling you! Buying me a drink at The Rising Sun just might elicit the answer, but a surer way would be to splash out £3.79 for the Kindle edition of the book. I don't think you'll be disappointed.

The Weather Wol

The last Christmas present of 2015 has found a home.  I was going to call it a Weather Cock but, of course, it isn't. It's a Weather Wol. I looked up the term for a male owl, in the hope that it might be something interesting or raunchy, but there isn't one; male or female, they're just owls. So, in honour of the most famous of all owls, and his friend Christopher Robin, it's called Wol.

Wol came with an odd prong-like end that is supposed to be stuck into the ground, but it didn't look very secure.  More importantly, Wol would be too low, sheltered by the garden fencing, so up the clothes line pole he went. You may just be able to spot that my technical training has once more come to the fore — he's held in place with lots of Gaffer Tape.

Now all Wol needs is some wind to spring him into action. Then, on stormy morning, I will be able to peer out of my kitchen window, observe his little anemometer cups whizzing around and conclude that drinking another cup of tea in my cosy lounge is a Very Sensible Thing To Do.

On the Exeter Canal

The night after our adventure around Minions was spent at the Countess Wear Premier Inn, in Exeter. I like Premier Inns.  They may not be the height of luxury but the beds are comfortable, the baths or showers are spotlessly clean and the breakfasts are great – Full English (if you want it) and cereal, fruit juice, croissants, toast and coffee in abundance. What more does a girl need before facing the day?  Answer: a lot less than she actually consumed!

To walk it off, I strolled down to the Exeter Canal, then headed off in the direction of Turf Lock and the Exe estuary. Ship Canals like the Exeter lack the bucolic charm of narrow-boat canals, but my walk along the towpath was pleasant enough as I headed south. As so often happens on my walks in the Forest of Dean, I seemed to be the only one not cycling, jogging or walking a dog or two, with just my little ruck sack and camera for company.

I never did make it as far as Turf Lock, spending far too long peering through binoculars at egrets and herons in the water meadows, and watching cormorants dive for fish. So, rather than describe this walk, here's a sample of the wildlife I met on the way...  well, those that came close enough to photograph.

I walked slowly past this one, asking myself whether it was a cormorant or a shag, when it obligingly spread its wings to dry them – a classic cormorant pose! 

The RSPB website describes cormorants as somewhat primitive in appearance, with their long necks making them appear almost reptilian. Zooming in on my previous photo, I have to agree. It looks permanently startled!

A serious wildlife photographer I shall never be.  Not only do I lack a camera with a 2ft long lens and a tripod to mount it on but, more importantly, I lack the patience.  Several minutes, willing an egret or a heron to fly my way was enough for me, but, just as I turned for home, I was rewarded with a good view of this obliging fellow.  I just wish he would have looked my way.

Thankfully, a bold robin flew in to save the day. He see'd me and I see'd 'e, and both of us were happy for it to be that way.  Great! Now I have a good photo for my Christmas cards.

The real Minions

I've just returned from a three day break in the West Country, visiting a very poorly brother-in-law and celebrating an aunt's 90th birthday. Between these two contrasting events we found time to explore a bit of our beloved Cornwall – this time the moorland north of Liskeard, centred on Minions.  No, that's not the little yellow creatures with blue trousers and cheeky grins, but a tiny village, high on the the moorland to the north of Liskeard.  This particular Minions has long been a favourite spot of mine, with its rugged scenery, Bronze Age stone circles and industrial remains.

These are The Hurlers, the remains of villainous men who dared to play Cornish Hurling on a Sunday and paid the penalty by being turned into stones. You have been warned! Since it was also a Sunday that we chose to visit, we were most careful to behave ourselves.

This stone looks rather too carefully shaped to be a petrified hurler, so I think it's one of the marker stones erected by Ralegh Radford in the 1930's to replace a missing one.

From The Hurlers it is but a short walk to The Cheesewring, a natural granite formation, worn to an amazing shape by moorland wind and rain.

It looks as if the next puff of wind would surely topple it, but it's been there for a long, long time. What my photos fail to show is that, while we were there, it was again taking quite a buffeting from the howling wind. This next photo may aid your imagination...

Finally, on our way back to Minions, we sought out the remains of the old Liskeard & Caradon Railway and some of the copper and tin mines it served – mines where fortunes were won and lost, and where hundreds of men once worked.

This is Wheal Jenkin, sitting astride the old railway line. Beyond is Caradon Hill, from where we used to receive Westward Television when I was a kid.

1908 Ordnance Survey map

Finally, to complete the Minions story, when the other Minions became famous the film company donated this colourful addition to the road sign.  So popular did it become, with drivers stopping their cars and children running onto the road to be photographed, that Cornwall Council judged it to be a danger and removed it. Shame, really.