Holmes the Kuni Kuni pig

Dear Readers, on Wednesday I spent the day with my Finance Team colleagues in a yurt at Spitalfields City Farm. We were on an Away Day, and for many of us it was an opportunity to meet in person for the first time in several years. It was lovely to be in such a different environment, and I’m sure it made us more creative to be surrounded by sheep, pigs, chickens and sunflowers. If you are looking for a venue with a difference, I can’t recommend it highly enough.

I arrived early and managed to sneak in a quick visit with Holmes, the very chatty Kuni Kuni pig. Holmes is twelve years old now, and lost his brother Watson last year, but he seems very pragmatic, wandering over to say hello and enjoying a quick back rub. Pigs are amongst my favourite animals, and seeing him reminded me of my time working on a city farm in Dundee. The pigs there once made a break for it and headed to the bus station, where they wreaked havoc for half an hour until I could lure them home with some windfall apples. Holmes apparently loves crab apples, so it is clearly a piggy favourite.

Beatrix the Herdwick Sheep

Beatrix lost an ear in a dog attack when she was just a lamb, but seems very happy at Spitalfields. She seems to enjoy just watching the world go by.

Grace

Grace was ten years old this year, a good age for a sheep. She was adopted by the farm as a very scrawny, poorly orphan in May 2012 but has clearly been living her best life ever since. She is a Suffolk x Southdown sheep.

Spitalfields City Farm is part of the Rare Breeds Survival Trust, for its small herd of Castlemilk Moorit and Portland sheep. There are less than 1500 registered breeding ewes in the country, but the farm has a small herd. These are compact sheep with a fine creamy fleece, and the breed was developed by Sir Jock Buchanan-Jardine on his Scottish estate. The ancestry of the sheep includes both Manx and Shetland sheep and the wild Mouflon, so no wonder they look so rugged and self-assured. When Sir Jock died, the majority of his flock was culled, but a ram and six ewes were rescued by Joe Henson of the Cotswold Wildlife Park. All of the existing sheep are descended from these animals. It’s important to conserve breeds of domestic animal that might otherwise become extinct, not only for their own sake but because we never know what characteristics might be useful in the future as the climate changes.

Katriona the Castlemilk Ewe. Now 15 years old!

The farm also has donkeys….

….some very fine goats….

and this magnificent fluff ball of a cat, who came to check us out, demanded a chin rub and then sauntered past, as cats do.

And the farm has the most magnificent bee hotel that I have ever seen in my life. Five star accommodation if ever I saw any.

And so, instead of moving from room to room for our different Away Day sessions we could wander past the runner beans and the tomatoes, stopping en route to admire a goat or tickle a pig. I for one was certainly more relaxed than I would have been in a more conventional business environment, and surely that can only be a good thing. Plus, after two years of being confined to quarters, it was such a pleasure to hear the birds singing, and the bees humming. I’m sure such a place fosters out-of-the-box thinking.

Dear Readers, Aunt H’s memorial service went very well on Sunday – the church was packed, and the tributes felt as if they gave a real picture of a whole human being, with all their faults and virtues. Sometimes on these occasions it feels as if the person honoured was a saint, but this one recognised that Aunt H was definitely not a saint, and yet was respected and loved, and very much missed, and I think that’s a much better way to be remembered. Although she died in February 2021 she was still very much alive in everyone’s memory, and there was a lot of fond laughter, and plenty of tears.

And on Monday, we caught the train back to London from Crewkerne station for what could be the last time. Now that Aunt H and her sister Aunt M are gone, there’s no reason for us to come back to this part of Somerset. I’ve been coming for twenty years but my husband has been coming since he was a teenager, so it’s even more of the end of an era for him. But, as with my ongoing relationship with Dorset even though my parents have died, it’s up to us whether we want to keep coming back. Only time will tell.

The station itself, though, is a rather fine Grade II  listed building made of the local yellow stone. It dates back to 1860, and was probably pretty busy back in the day. However, it now has one train per hour going in each direction (when there aren’t train strikes and cancellations). This has to be carefully timed as there is only one line, which can make for some epic delays on a bad day. Today, however, was a good day.

Crewkerne Station – Main Building (Photo One)

I have long been fascinated by the way that ‘weeds’ are so very local. At Crewkerne, for example, there is a row of evening primrose, interspersed with mullein and ragwort.

A fine row of evening primroses – the flowers always remind me of tannoys.

Lots of Oxford Ragwort…

…and a very stately mullein alongside some Herb Robert and some groundsel.

Now, normally when we were at Crewkerne Station the small but sprightly figure of Aunt H would either be meeting us at the gate, or dropping us off. Now that she’s gone, I suddenly realised that I’d never gone beyond the traffic bridge over the line.

Filled with a sense of adventure (and 40 minutes to wait until the train arrived) I headed down the platform.

First up was this railway building, all shuttered now. I wonder if it used to be a workshop? It certainly has a very high entrance way, big enough to pop in a steam train I imagine (though maybe not wide enough).

And then, on the other side of the bridge, there was a quiet bank of wild and cultivated flowers. None of the trains are longer than six carriages these days, so no one ever comes here. There was creeping thistle and ox-eye daisies, billowing grasses and yarrow.

There is lords and ladies, just setting its berries…

And day-lilies and yellow loosestrife….

..and a whole tribe of noisy sparrows.

Someone had planted some yellow achillea back in the day…

…but some rosebay willowherb had planted itself.

It was magical, this little wind-blown spot beyond the bridge. It made me wonder how much else there is to be discovered just around the corner. If we take a different route, what might we find? Overhead, the jackdaws chinked which for me is the sound of the West Country. I realised how tense I had been after all the preparations for the Memorial Service, and I could feel my poor brain wondering what I could find to be worried about next. But for now, I could just breathe, and be happy that things had gone well, and that there were still strange and wild spots everywhere, if I had the eyes to see them, and the gumption to diverge from my usual route.

Doves on Crewkerne Station

Photo One By Geof Sheppard – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8921876

Dear Readers, on our last day in Broadway before Aunt H’s memorial service we took what could be a last walk up to the remnant of ancient bluebell wood that stands on a hill just behind the village. Last time I was there it was bluebell season, and it was full of native bluebells.

It is still a magical place though – you enter through a little overgrown path, and you have to bow your head to get in, which seems somehow appropriate once you’re amongst the huge oak trees.

There is a path around the inside of the wood, but in many places you have to limbo under branches or tiptoe over fallen logs. In contrast to the woods of North London, this one is not very frequently visited, and so it retains its wildness.

Here and there, massive trees have fallen, or have died but continue to stand. Dead wood is so important for all kinds of animals and fungi, and there is only one small den right at the entrance to the wood, rather than the dozens that appear in my local woods.

And everywhere the hoverflies are dancing in shafts of sunlight, and the trees are creaking in the wind. Visiting it for this last time feels sad, but also calming, in view of the formal goings on tomorrow. I can take a piece of the wood with me in my heart, to calm me in the weeks ahead.

View over the hills and back towards Broadway village

Well lovely Readers, no sooner do I do a post about Phacelia, and its role as a cover crop/green manure, than I see this field just outside Tisbury in Somerset. The farmer has planted a strip of wildflowers right along the edge of the field and it’s busting with Phacelia. It looks very pretty, and hopefully the bees are delighted.

We always wait outside Tisbury for a while on the way to Crewkerne, as it becomes a single-track at this point and so you don’t want to encounter any trains coming in the opposite direction. It gave me a chance to watch a red kite hanging above the field – I must have seen a dozen on the stretch down to Andover, and drove my long-suffering husband mad by pointing them out every time, even though he was wearing his reading glasses and couldn’t see them.

We waited so long that I was able to take this short film of the crops in the field waving in the breeze, to a soundtrack of South Western Railway air conditioning. Enjoy.

At the next station there was an accidentally Piet Oudolf-ish combination of grasses and ragwort.

Templecombe has won an award for its floral displays, and clearly a lot of time and effort has gone into them. I definitely have raised-bed envy – these, with their double-decker construction, look just the thing for my front garden.

And at Sherborne I was much taken by this combination of leaf, brickwork and purple door.

So now we’re in Ilminster, staying at the Haunted Hotel (The Shrubbery in case you fancy some paranormal activity). However, the 12-foot tall metal giraffe that used to grace the gardens is apparently in pieces near the shed. How are the mighty fallen.

I have been tasked with finding some flowers for Aunt H’s memorial service on Sunday, but the only florist in town is now a ‘floral studio’ and so I have had to resort to Interflora, though hopefully they will use a reasonably local florist. I do hope I don’t end up with something too multi-coloured, although I love the flamboyant Aunt H definitely didn’t. Oh well, we shall have to see. What a shame I didn’t have time to just leap out of the train and gather a bunch of Phacelia. I’m sure it would have been as pretty as anything that a florist will be able to produce.

Delosperma (Or Mesembryanthum as we used to call it)

Dear Readers, I don’t know who makes these things up, but apparently June 23rd (which is when I’m writing this post) is National Pink Day. Whether other colours are similarly rewarded I’m not sure. In Nova Scotia, International Pink Day was designated to protest against homophobic and transphobic bullying, and to support those who are its victims, but National Pink Day simply seems to be about celebrating the colour, and is no doubt an opportunity for fashion editors worldwide to opine. However, for this week’s quiz I thought I would draw your attention to some pink (ish) flowers, to see how many you can match to their names.

As usual, all answers in by 5 p.m. UK time on Saturday 2nd July please (and where on earth did June go?). Answers and plaudits will be published on Sunday 3rd July. So, if you think the plant in photo 1 is Common Ramping Fumitory, your answer is 1) A.

Onwards!

Plants

A. Common Ramping Fumitory (Fumaria officinalis)

B. Ragged Robin (Silene flos-cuculi)

C. Grass Vetchling (Lathyrus nissolia)

D. Pink Sorrel (Oxalis articulata)

E. Thrift (Armeria maritima)

F. Herb Robert (Geranium robertianum)

G. Purple Loosestrife (Lythrum salicaria)

H. Great Willowherb (Epilobium hirsutum)

I. Musk Mallow (Malva moschata)

J. Common Centaury (Centaurium erythraea)

Photos

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Photo of the only albatross in the Northern Hemisphere (from The Yorkshireman https://the-yorkshireman.com/the-northern-hemispheres-only-albatross-has-returned-to-the-yorkshire-coast/)

Dear Readers, this week Fran and Bobby Freelove, Mike from Alittlebitoutoffocus and Anne all got 10/10, so well done everybody! There’s something plant-related tomorrow 🙂 so let’s see how we all get on….

1) F. Common Guillemot

2) B. Kittiwake

3) C. Arctic Tern

4) G. Little Auk

5) A. Mediterranean Gull

6) E. Razorbill

7) D. Sandwich Tern

8) I. Storm Petrel

9) H. Northern Fulmar

10) J. Little Tern

Photo Credits

Photo One by Hobbyfotowiki, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Two by © Copyright Anne Burgess and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

Photo Three by AWeith, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Four by Sir Iain, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0CC BY-SA 4.0 Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Five by https://www.flickr.com/photos/naturalengland/36310015891

Photo Six by Charles J. Sharp, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Seven by MPF, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0CC BY-SA 4.0 Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Eight by Richard Crossley, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Nine by Avenue, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Ten by JJ Harrison (https://www.jjharrison.com.au/), CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Wild Garlic along a Broadway path

Dear Readers, I feel a little shame-faced about this post as I notice that I’ve already said goodbye to Somerset several times, but here we are again. Regular readers will remember that we used to visit Broadway, where John’s aunt H lived. Sadly, she died last year, and this weekend we will be fighting our way through train strikes to get to the village for the Memorial service on Sunday. The house is sold, and this really is the end of an era.

There are many things that I remember. I loved seeing the rabbits in the garden, and in the nearby fields – there used to be rabbits in Wanstead Park, just up the road from where I used to live, but not any more. They’ve gone the way of the cuckoos and the water voles that I grew up with. At least they’re still around in Somerset.

I loved this country lane right outside John’s aunt’s house, with its abundant wildflowers that changed through the seasons.

Bluebells, stitchwort and dandelions

I remember how much I loved hearing the rooks cawing in the trees as they refurbished their nests and fed their nestlings.

I remember how I loved watching the wasps feeding on nectar in the ivy flowers outside the house.

But most of all, I remember the garden, where primroses, cyclamen, snowdrops and bluebells had run riot over the years.

Cyclamen from Aunt H’s garden

And I loved this West Country speciality, Eastern Gladiolus, a most elegant plant  that seems to pop up everywhere.

Eastern Gladiolus (Gladiolus communis ssp byzantina)

So, on Sunday we will gather in the church of St Aldhelm and St. Eadburga, which has been witnessing christenings, marriages and memorial services since the 13th Century. The church is perched on a hill outside the village, and in the summer you can hear the skylarks trilling above the nearby fields. Sometimes swallows nest in the church porch, and polite notices will ask you to keep the door closed in case they fly into the church itself and can’t get out.  Aunt H was a devout woman who led a life of service, and who gave many of her final years to the church, so it’s fitting that we gather in the building that she loved so much to say a final goodbye. I hope that, if she looks down, she will be satisfied that the goings on are being done properly, even without her being physically present to make sure that we’re behaving ourselves.

St Adhelm and St Eadburga’s Church, Broadway, Somerset (Photo by Ruth Sharville)

Dear Readers, we sat in the garden on Tuesday night (Midsummer Eve) and two parakeets dropped into the hawthorn tree to see what they could find. Parakeets are creatures of habit, and I suspect that these two have been popping in to eat a few peanuts from the feeder regularly for the past few months. Today, alas, there were nasty humans sitting on the patio chairs and drinking shandy,  and so the birds stuck to the treetops with the sun setting splendidly behind them.

The parakeets kept one eye on us for the whole five minutes that they were in the hawthorn. They were clearly munching on something, but I did wonder if it was displacement activity, and that they were really waiting to see if we would go indoors. But one has to keep some sort of balance between having a garden for wildlife, and a garden for humans. After all, the robin keeps coming down and ‘asking’ us to move the pot plants so that s/he can get at the creepy crawlies underneath, so I think that’s quite enough physical activity.

After about ten minutes they headed off in the general direction of Coldfall Wood, squawking as they went. There are apparently designated tracks in the sky that the parakeets follow every day, like small green commuters, though without the problems of signal failures and train strikes. How splendid it would be to be a parakeet!