Monthly Archives: October 2023

Books, weather

Knighton Rain Festival

Knighton Festival of books, art, music and, as it happened, weather took place this week-end.

I was invited to give a talk about my book set in Mid-Wales, Iolo’s Revenge. I have been preparing it nervously for months. We set off early and Bill had studied the map — Shropshire was enjoying the heaviest rainfall since Catherine’s friend Laura got married and the church was cut off by flood water and the bride had to wade across fields in wellies!

Knighton station was closed — all the town’s four trains per day were cancelled because the line along the Teme valley was inundated. Stranded, bedraggled, young people with rucksacks were wandering the steep, wet streets. The ladies in the town’s cafes doling out tea, sympathy and all-day-breakfasts.

I boomed out the extracts from my book over their wonderful sound system, it sounded quite good, even to me and the select collection of stoical festival faithful laughed in all the right places and showed their interest with lots of intelligent questions and comments. I really enjoyed it!

Proper use of the flood plain next to the river Clun in Shropshire near Clununford. We found a road home that was passable though many others were not!

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Birds

Hunting the Elusive Ouzel!

I have been intrigued by ring ouzels since I read Gilbert White’s Natural History of Selborne, when I was about twelve. He was so excited about a bird I had never heard of, let alone seen. He said they were rare but reported flocks of 20, getting a friend to shoot four, just to be sure — times were different then! We too have hunted them high and low, but without a gun.

We’ve sought them in Scotland at 3600 ft, going twice to Cairngorm and braving the elements — on one occasion getting the most transient glimpse of a one scruffy, windswept pair as we left the car park at a lower level. On both occasion we also didn’t see a ptarmigan!

This autumn we have redoubled our efforts — searching in the Elan Valley in Wales which is reputed to be on their migration path. Above is Bill’s photo. We should perhaps re-name them the car-park bird — this one popped into view within 3 minutes of stopping the car!

In 1768 Gilbert White was looking for Ring Ousels in Selbourne, near Southampton. I think this eccentric Georgian clergyman was the first to realise that these spring and autumn visitors to his parish were migrating. He knew they bred in the north of England and worked out that they passed his way, feeding on ivy berries in the spring and returned, en route for warmer climes in autumn when they fed on haws. It is the rowan berries that persuade them to stop over in the Elan valley. Sadly we only saw one bird but he was rather fine!

Addendum (for Paula — see comments ): Here is an image of a fine Hoodie for you! They are fantastic characters!

hooded crow
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Travel

Orford Ness revisited.

Last time I stayed at the Jolly Sailor it was a rickety building standing on a higgledy-piggledy quay in a disorder of scruffy little fishing boats pulled up onto the mud, amid tangled ropes and lobster pots.

When we revisited it recently it had moved into another century and appeared to have moved inland and had sprouted a large car park, albeit below sea level, the whole protected by a sea wall. There were no fishermen, nor even firefighters, singing sea shanties and playing fiddles in the heaving public bar. I felt sure it was the same pub as the bar seemed right. No one could help me. No one remembered.

The mere was familiar but it was blowing a gale and the rigging of the little pleasure boats shrieked like a manic celestial harp or a skein of hysterical geese. From the sea wall we could see the castle and the church so we went to investigate.

The 12th century castle looks new due to recent rendering with tinted lime mortar to protect its crumbling stonework. “The ramparts have been reduced to lurching waves of grassy ditch and hummock,” said the Readers Digest book in the bar.

The pretty village is manicured and painted with Farrow and Ball Sardine but that is where the fishiness ends.

Gone is the smoker’s shack by the water where kippers, pigeons, oysters and eels hung, filling the air with a delicious miasma. There is a very clean deli on the new quay but it was closed.

Exploring the churchyard,

I warm to the little man who guards the mediaeval font in St Bartholomew’s church, Orford.

I missed the singing and the good humour of my last visit, but not the food poisoning from the smokery on the mud!

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