Monthly Archives: September 2018

Cornwall

Taking Pointing to a Whole New Level

I’ve done a lot of pointing in my time — that’s the hacking out of old mortar from ancient masonry and replacing it with fresh, new, lime mortar.  I like doing it — it’s very relaxing and, if you are not alone, you can chat in a particularly unguarded way, with your mind half on the methodical job in hand.

But look at this chap!

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Not so relaxed!

You can’t see his little pick in the photo but I could hear it.  And he didn’t stop there,  above the 700 year old octagonal lantern of the parish church of St Bartholomew, in Lostwithiel, Cornwall.

I don’t know how he got his rope to the top of the tower but here he is higher:

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hacking at the mortar of the church, the body of which was built in the heyday of the town in the twelfth century when it was one of the most important ports in Britain — before the river silted up with the waste from streaming tin on the hills which, ironically, was the source of the town’s wealth.

It is no longer the capital of Cornwall — but a very picturesque and quiet village in which to enjoy a cream tea and watch the twenty-first century go by.

2 of the remaining arches –used to be 8 — see the silt!
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Thoughtful, Wales

Listening through the silence

Last night was very quiet — I went to listen for owls and nightjars  at 4 am but all I could hear was the occasional high pitched bip of a bat passing overhead, looking for the last of the midges.

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Night Sky by gaigegarza966 (CC BY-NC 2.0)

I leaned against the field gate and listened very hard —  faintly there was the white noise of the stream, fifty yards below, a billion splashes and glugs of millions of different, asynchronous frequencies vibrating the air.   But above that there was another sound.  Above, because it seemed to come from above, but below in pitch — a celestial hum.  There was no wind, no traffic for fifty miles, not a plane in the sky — only drifting cloud over a hazy moon and this strange brown noise (or maybe it was purple).  Infinite sound from an infinite number of sources — jet planes in Cardiff, a generator in Machynlleth, the creaking of the trees, dogs in far off farms barking at the moon  (too far away to distinguish individually and too many), thunder on the coast and the sea lapping on the shore, back doors opening (to let out cats), snoring from upstairs windows and sheep (millions of them) eructating — burping in the moon shadows.

All these sounds bounce over the Earth, off the sides of  houses, resonating in tin sheds and ricocheting off cliffs and bouncing off the underside of the clouds.  They can be muffled by the mist and absorbed by the moss and the snow but they all  combine to make the hum of our planet.

We value the darkness of our nights (the lack of light polution) that allows us to see the brightness of the firmament.  Last night I appreciated the stillness of the night that allowed me to hear beyond the silence!

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