Strange Days

 April is being appropriately unpredictable, but so much for April showers!  We've had wall to wall rain in recent days.  It's usually the case that just as our magnolia tree blossoms, the blooms are decimated by the elements.

Still, we took advantage of the brief window of opportunity offered up by Easter Saturday's sunny interlude...

...and set about creating a bark chip path from the centre of our garden, up and around the side of the pond.  As per any task in our garden, it took three times as long as it should have done, courtesy of the numerous pebbles lurking just beneath the soil in any given spot.  Gareth marked the path out and loosened the soil, I turned it over with a garden fork and then we both painstakingly pulled pebbles - large and small - out of the ground and threw them into a bucket.  Upon completion of the task, we had a bucket full.  I'll rinse them off at some point and use them elsewhere to decorative effect.

We also agreed to allow the teen of the house to throw a party over the Easter holidays, forcing us to address niggles with the interior, including re-arranging of furniture (never underestimate the joy of a fresh layout) and the removal of a now redundant fire hood from our kitchen diner fireplace, which was finished with a fresh coat of paint and the addition of a fire extinguisher lamp to light the void.

We also used a pallet to create a shelving unit.  I have big ideas for this, but on the day of the party, was permitted one shelf (the middle one) to decorate as I chose - opting to disguise the uprights with pinned postcards and photographs and adding my eclectic mix of nature finds (pine cones, granite crystal, a crow's skull), a vintage tea pot, tea lights and a crystal ball.  The boys took over the other two.  I've only just spotted a Danger Explosives sign has also infiltrated my shelf.  The booze and blow lamps will not be permanent fixtures!

Lotte wisely gave us a wide berth and slept the day away on the bed upstairs.  I prefer for her winter coat not to be left behind on my clean sheets, so use a honeycomb blanket during the day, which she makes good use of.

On Friday, I braved the wind and rain to pick up some weekend and party supplies.  On my list was "plasters" as I'd recently noticed we had none in our medicine box.  This decision must have been prophetic, as on the way into Morrisons, battling with what turned out to be a broken umbrella I'd found on the rear seat of the car, I cut my right hand index finger across the middle joint.  Initially it looked like a paper cut, but within seconds had started to bleed profusely.  I headed straight to the pharmacy and tried not to bleed all over their counter.  The supermarket's first aider provided me with a plaster and something to stem the bleeding before I was advised to clean myself up in the toilets and report back to the pharmacist so that she could assess the damage.  She thought I needed a stitch.  Having planned an evening out with Sarah to mark our recent birthdays, an evening in A&E was not something I relished.  

I promptly took myself off to another local pharmacy to track down some adhesive stitches and some bandages, which the second pharmacist thought should do the trick.  I agreed to monitor it for a couple of days.  Mercifully, after applying the stitches and adding two bandages, the bleeding seemed to slow and I felt more confident in my decision.

I met Sarah at the Thai restaurant just around the corner for an evening of cocktails and curry.  I snapped the interior of the restaurant - the former function room of the adjoining real ale pub "The Woodman" - whilst waiting for Sarah.

We were so busy catching up, that I only remembered that we hadn't taken a photograph of the occasion as we left.  Sarah took this atmospheric shot of the two of us illuminated by the pub's doorway.  Classy eh?

Over the weekend, having exhausted most of the National Trust properties in our area, we decided to head out to Wenlock Edge to visit a more unusual property, namely Wilderhope Manor.  Wilderhope is a grade one listed gabled Elizabethan manor house built from local limestone for one Francis Smallman in 1585.  So far, so generic National Trust.  Except it isn't.  If you come expecting walls weighed down by works of art and rooms stuffed full of antiques, you will be sorely disappointed.  The manor remained in the Smallman family until 1734 when it was sold to Thomas Lutwyche.  However, it is not believed to have been used as a main residence after this time and by 1936, was in a poor state and unoccupied.  In 1937, the property was purchased by W.A. Cadbury trust and soon after, John Cadbury donated Wilderhope to the National Trust on condition that it was used for a Youth Hostel...and so it remains to this day.

It was at this point, I realised that I'd committed the ultimate photographer's faux pas and failed to check I had a memory card in the camera.  I hadn't.  I therefore relied on my smart phone, which turned out to be perfectly adequate for my needs that day.

Once inside, the atmosphere changed.  With no one there to greet us, the place appeared to be deserted, apart from one other couple who disappeared through the doors heading towards the upper floors.  Were they visitors like us?  Did they volunteer there?  Unsure how to proceed - it is a Youth Hostel after all - we tentatively moved through the building, trying to make sense of the strange vibes the property was emitting.  I knew very little about the property.  The guidebook mentions that the manor is Elizabethan and a Youth Hostel, but little else of note.

I loved the faded grandeur of the bunting against peeling plaster and the sixteenth century fireplace.

There was some impressive plasterwork on display, just visible in this photo.  For obvious reasons, we felt like intruders and I think this was reflected in my photos.

In a room empty apart from a couple of chesterfield sofas, there was what appeared to be a portrait of a former feline resident on the window ledge.  No explanation, just a framed photo.  The place had an air of mystery.

We headed into the corridor and took to the winding staircase, an incredible feat of workmanship, carved out of solid blocks of oak....

...passing windows framing moody looking landscapes, the majority glazed to this day with their original 16th century glass.

The upper floors were a maze of corridors and dormitories, including one named after Thomas Smallman himself, a major in the Royal Army and whose ghost is said to haunt the property.  There have been numerous sightings of Thomas.  Allegedly there is a second ghost, a young girl who greets those she encounters with a friendly smile shortly before following up with a blood curdling scream.

I have only ever stayed in one youth hostel and that one is certainly eclipsed by Wilderhope in terms of style and comfort.  It soon became clear that no one was in residence this weekend.

Check out the master suite and bathroom.  Impressive!

I was also fascinated to learn that the Youth Hostel is available for exclusive use hire (including the kitchen) at a price of £700.00 per night.  Given that the property sleeps 40, it would make an amazing party pad! YHA Wilderhope Manor Hostel | Cheap Shropshire Accommodation & Camping

The property is off the beaten track, with footpaths and commanding views over the fields and valley beyond; a really remarkable place.  However, the spectre of Thomas Smallman looms large in the area.

The story goes that Thomas was on horseback, tasked with delivering despatches to Royalist headquarters in the market town of Shrewsbury.  In hot pursuit were Cromwell's men.  Once on the edge, Cromwell's men gained ground and Thomas was forced to take a leap of faith, jumping off a precipice.  Little did he realise that there was a drop of some 200 feet beyond.  Luckily for Thomas a large crab apple tree broke his fall and he survived to tell the tale.  His horse however, was less fortunate.  On one of the myriad walking routes on Wenlock Edge stands a way marker bearing the name "Major's Leap."

Even without this knowledge, we had a sense that a night spent at Wilderhope is not for the faint hearted.  Gareth and I were separated for a short time and I felt an inexplicable sense of unease.  We reunited near the staircase and Gareth, having passed this bedroom only moments before, noticed that the light near the upper bunk was now switched on.  The other couple had long since left.

We headed back down the winding narrow staircase, wondering what these walls would have to say if they could talk and, more to the point, would we want to hear?

Even without the knot gardens, galleries and ornamentation such properties usually display, Wilderhope is by no means lacking in atmosphere.  Now, if I could only get 20 or so like minded people to agree to my mad scheme to party here for a night.  Wouldn't that be something?

Waterworld

For a typically weather obsessed Brit, I think I can safely say that January appears to have traded places with one of the zodiac's water signs.  There has been a lot of wet stuff about.  Being, as we are, located in the West Midlands regions of the UK and just a hop, skip and a jump from the Welsh border, our regions riverside towns such as Bewdley and Ironbridge, are often severely impacted by rain washing down off the Welsh hills which serves to compound any localised flooding.

It was 11 months ago, when the River Severn last flooded and breached its barriers, as recorded here in my little poetic offering.  Winter Peach Photography: Storms

This time, the barriers held...just.  This was the scene as we approached the town of Bewdley - on foot, as the road in was closed.  The dog in the foreground was perplexed by all of the interest in his home town.  He had his orange ball and all was well in his world.

In town, the community's unease was palpable.

Preparing for worst case scenario, the Environment Agency was in town, raising the flood barriers to their maximum height.

I wasn't wholly surprised to run into local drone photographers Simon and Joanna (our first time meeting in the flesh, although we all pretty much instantly recognised each other).  Simon captured the swollen River Severn and the awesome power of nature in dramatic fashion from above.  You can view it here.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CnZ2_MKBihe/?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

Not so longer this kind of event was labelled a "once in a generation" occurrence.  We don't hear that phrase any more.

Arley, just a few miles down river, had also been affected.  We spoke to a man who had, for the majority of his life, only recalled two such severe floods decades apart in the 1940s and 1960s.  We visited both towns two days running.  Here's the little bridge at Arley on day 1.

And the same bridge from the other side on day 2, completely submerged.

Bewdley on day 2 was much the same...

...the water pumps working overtime.

Mercifully, the flood waters did not breach the barriers, leaving the Environment Agency somewhat red faced after their minute by minute predictions failed to come to fruition.  Many frustrated residents had adopted their emergency plans and either evacuated or moved household contents to upper floors.  Still a relief for all, I'm sure.

Our wonderings also took us to a never-before-visited Nature Reserve.  After dropping our car off for its MOT, we walked back via Fens Pool Nature Reserve, situated in the Pensnett area of the West Midlands.  Once forming part of Pensnett Chase, a medieval hunting ground for the Barons of Dudley, it gradually became industrialised and was used for coal mining, clay extraction and a one time brickworks.  

In addition, part of the Earl of Dudley's private railways ran across the area.  By the 1960s, the area had served its purpose; the colliery waste ground reverting to grassland and the clay pits flooded and turned into ponds.  

Opened as a nature reserve in the early 1990s, it now forms the largest area of open water in Dudley Metropolitan Borough.

Heading onto the Stourbridge canal (opened in 1779), we were greeted by familiar towpath scenes - urban artwork/graffiti...

....Brockmoor Foundary, semi obscured by nature...

...a solitary hunting heron...

....urban alleyways....

...and remnants of our industrial heritage and world renowned glass making (the Red House Glass Cone, just beyond the lock keeper's cottage).

Another day, another adventure.  Except this wasn't just any day, but Gareth's 50th Birthday.  Every year I endure 5 days of Gareth celebrating his "toy boy" status, so forgive me if I am now seem to be labouring the fact that he has notched up half a century.  Gareth doesn't do social media (and I rarely use it other than for business), so it's always interesting and enlightening to say the least to see who actually remembers and sends something tangible like a birthday card, or picks up the phone these days don't you think?  This particularly thoughtful card dropped through the letter box from Vix and Jon.  It's a keeper.

We headed out to Attingham Park, the Shropshire National Trust property beloved by fellow bloggers Vix and Ann.  

The sky was blue and the sun was shining upon arrival.  I was layered up like the Michelin Man and felt nothing as a result.  In fact, you could have rolled me down a bank and into the river and I would most likely have floated along the river quite contentedly.

The house was closed so we headed to the Carriage House Cafe for a lunch of honeyed swede soup and cauliflower and cumin fritters (for once I photographed my food - the fritters were delicious!) 

Refuelled, we headed out to the 18th century estate kitchen garden.  This couple were angled towards the sun, dosing up on vitamin D.

Inside, I was drawn to the wild garden, a haven for wildlife.

Just look at these beautiful seed heads.

Jobs for January.

We found a particularly warm and sunny corner of the garden.  Look at the nails, screws, holes and rawl plugs in this wall.  It's lived a life!

I asked Gareth to give me a 50th Birthday pose.  Just to demonstrate that his punk spirit is still alive and kicking, this was his choice.  More Johnny Cash than "blue steel pose."  In reality, I'm not sure how "punk" you can get in the grounds of an 18th century manor house.

Weaving back along the still swollen river, I grabbed a couple of pleasing vista shots...

...and tried in vain to photograph a falcon in a tree.  The beady eyed bird, despite being safely perched on a branch 15 feet up in the air, still refused to allow me to get anywhere near it, flying from tree to tree until eventually I gave up.

The dying light was exquisite, but with little warning, dark clouds gathered and the sun retreated behind a veil of white cloud.

Soon, it was raining steadily and so we retreated to the safety and relative warmth of the second hand book shop, where I picked up a couple of page turners....

....before exiting through the stables and back out into the courtyard.

Inspired by the lantern glow, we lit a candle that night, trying to add a little of that 18th century rich living vibe to our humble abode.  The smoke was courtesy of an incense stick, in case you're wondering.

Hope you're all keeping warm and dry.  If the winter gloom is getting you down, feast your eyes on these little snowdrops poking through.  Spring is coming.