60 Going On 16

Magic in a magical land

If I want to over-ride the dreariness  of yet another grey, wet, summer's (hollow laugh) day, here in the West Country, I think back to the time I spent with my dear Friend in New Zealand (aka the Finz) when she stayed in July and, in particular, the day we went to Cothay Manor, just a few miles away in Somerset.

The day we stepped beyond the yew hedge and saw this:

Photo: Jane Parkin

Who can resist a unicorn? 

Photo: Jane Parkin

The gardens are, we agreed, quite magical; they made me think of Le Grand Meaulnes, Alain-Fournier's lost domain, not least because it is very easy to become lost, trying to find Cothay. (Satnav is no help but, somehow, that is just as it should be.)

I had forgotten to charge my camera battery and ran out of juice half way through the morning, so some of these photos are by the Finz, no mean garden designer and plantswoman herself, and who is duly credited, as and when.

Photo: Jane Parkin

Cothay, said to be the England's finest small mediaeval manor house, is also rather magical. 

Photo: Jane Parkin

And over tea and cake, because there has to be tea and cake . . .

Photo: Jane Parkin

we allowed ourselves to become quite spellbound.

Footnote: Cothay featured in BBC1's Gardeners' World in July so, if you are in the UK, you can share some of the magic via BBC iPlayer here. Available until 4 November.

An English village Christmas

Wishing you all a very happy and peaceful Christmas, wherever you are in the world and however you are celebrating.

And tomorrow . . . Holly, the dog who came to stay.

Photos: 60 going on 16 and Dearest Daughter

 

 

Set in stone

As we're now into our third consecutive month of rain, a rare sighting of the sun is too good to miss. So the Edinburgh Boy (who is always ready for an outing) and I headed out across the south-east corner of Exmoor to the neighbouring county of Somerset and the village of Stogumber, where I had to make a call. 

Stogumber lies between the Quantocks and the Brendon Hills and there's a fine old church here, St Mary the Virgin. Parts of St Mary's date back to the 1400s; it was built, as so many Somerset churches, from the wealth generated by the county's flourishing wool trade. I would have posted a photo of the magnificent, 240-year-old candle chandelier or of the intricately painted vaulted ceiling but something went awry with the camera, so I shall just have to go back another time. 

What I can show you is just a small section of the painted wall and ceiling:

and the carved stone Green Man, a link to an older, pre-Christian, earth spirit time; most depictions are in timber - stone versions are a rarity:

 

To one side of the main altar, behind a wrought iron screen is the Sydenham Chapel, built in the 1500s, which enabled the Sydenham family to worship privately, away from the hoi polloi. And this is the tomb of the immensely wealthy, Sir George Sydenham, with his two wives tucked away, almost out of sight, beneath him: 

 

Sir George's daughter, Elizabeth, married Sir Francis Drake. (Yes, that Sir Francis Drake, circumnavigator, defeater of the Armada . . .)

 

 Elizabeth Sydenham

A nearby road, the B3188, is said to be haunted by Sir George's white-clad phantom, riding a headless horse towards the village of Monksilver. (Note to self: keep eyes peeled next time I'm driving down the B3188.)

Watching over parishioners and visitors as they enter the church are these two carved heads, known as Adam and Eve:

and then there are the gargoyles or, to give them their local name, the "hunky punks":

 

And, set into the ancient wall that marks the boundary of the churchyard, an old wooden door: 

 

Somerset may be the adjoining county but it possesses a completely different quality from Devon. Hard to quantify but palpably different. And very mysterious.

London Belongs to Me (again) - part three

So, I am still in the park, well parks, because I have now crossed over the road to Kensington Gardens to see: 

the Serpentine Gallery Pavilion 2009 . . . 

This is a structure that makes me positively joyful. Designed by Kazuyo Sejima and Rue Nishizawa of the Japanese architectural practice SANAA, this is a structure that is all about movement and curves and light and reflection, which not only blends into its surroundings; it disappears into them. But is never lost.

It's for standing under:

and sitting under:

even the chairs are pretty cool:

Sheer brilliance. 

More about this year's structure and the history of the annual Serpentine Gallery Pavilion here.

With all eyes on the Pavilion, it's easy to miss this, or rather these:

a section of one of eight stone benches, set in two groups of four in front of the curved hedges that flank the gallery. This is the other memorial to Diana, Princess of Wales; not the problematic fountain that everyone made such a fuss about. These benches are quieter, more contemplative, and were designed by Ian Hamilton Finlay as a memorial to the gallery's late patron. 

Who could forget the night she turned up at the gallery wearing the revenge dress?

London Belongs to Me (again) - part one

Apologies if you arrived here thinking that you were going to read about Norman Collins's novel*. Its just that one of my favourite book titles just happens to suit this post. Because, for the past few years, whenever I returned to my home city, I felt that it didn't belong to me any longer. Although I never regretted deciding to move and live until recently in an area as beautiful as Exmoor, I was sad to feel a growing sense of disconnection with the city in which I was born and where I spent my first half century.

Not any longer. I went back yesterday and had one of those days that simply gladdens the heart and gave me enough sense of connectedness to keep me going until . . . . well, until the next time.

I arrived with a slightly daunting mental list of 'things I want to do, see, experience today' but accomplished everything on the list - and then some. Far too much for one post but the highlight of the day was meeting someone whose blog I have enjoyed reading and looking at  - sublime photos - for some time. The very first post that I read over at Rus in Urbis was about buddleia growing in cracks in walls and in odd, unexpected places in the city. It struck a chord and C's writing and photos continue to do so. (Apologies for not being able to take you directly to that post but, if you haven't visited Rus in Urbis, why not click on the link and just start reading anyway?)

We met, lunched, talked and laughed here:

the glass-walled Serpentine Bar (formerly the Dell) in Hyde Park. Designed by modernist architect, Patrick Gwynne**, and built in 1965, its splendid views of water and wildfowl make it one of the most delightful locations of any of London's thousands of eating places, whether you are seated inside or out or simply lounging on a deckchair on the terrace. We could have stayed all day and it wouldn't have been too long.

*If you were in pursuit of Norman Collins, I am as admiring of the book as I am of the title (ditto the atmospheric black and white 1948 film starring Alastair Sim and Richard Attenborough); one of the best literary evocations of London at a particular time in its history.

** There used to be another Patrick Gwynne restaurant overlooking the Serpentine. I remember the excitement when it opened in 1964 and visited often over the next 25 years . . . until it was demolished. At least  The Homewood, the house that Patrick Gwynne designed for his parents when he was just 24, has been saved. It now belongs to the National Trust.