Happy Belated Birthday

Well, doesn’t time fly, I have just realised that this blog passed its second birthday twelve days ago and I never even noticed… I can’t say that I have always articularly enjoyed the experience, especially when coming under attack from the loony, racist morons out there; and this is why I took a couple of breaks from posting here. However, I have had a bit of a rethink about the sort of stuff that I want to be posting and hopefully the posts will become much more regular from here on in.

Going back to the loony, racist morons out there, I don’t know how some of the bloggers like my blogging friend over at This is Not my Country put up with the constant attacks. Thanks to all who have left kind and thought provoking comments; and to all those who have left racist and insulting comments, I really do try to see your point of view, but I cant stick my head that far up my arse!

A Trip To Cornwall - V

Tuesday morning, and our last few hours in Cornwall. We have yet another delicious, substantial breakfast before taking our leave of a very welcoming hostess and heading off for Newquay airport. We are not in any particular hurry as our flight is not until well after midday, and we guess that 11:30 would be time enough to arrive, and all we have to do en route is to refuel the hire car.

So we stop off in Pentewan, which I just knew would appeal to BondWoman, it is quite a picturesque little village, but not in a twee or quaint sort of way. We park in the little “free” car park and walk out onto the sands where there used to be a dock, the remains of which are still visible although now silted up. The weather, as for the last couple of days, is absolutely glorious, and in itself makes me loathed to leave Cornwall; but leave we must.

Back into the car and I navigate BW through the clay country beyond St. Austell, rather than taking the most direct route, thinking that we would find petrol in St. Columb Major; I had forgotten just how many filling stations in Cornwall had closed down, even before I left. Eventually we found the one that we had been told, on picking up the car, was close to the airport only to find that it had no petrol, only diesel. By now, having pootled through the clay country, we were beginning to run out of time.

The only thing left was to head off down the main road into Newquay some four or five miles distant and hope to find a filling station on the outskirts; getting caught in the centre of the town was simply not an option. Luckily we found such a place right on the fringe of the town and refuelled the car. If time was getting tight before, it was fast running out by now; and I have to say that the trip out to the airport was something of an experience, as this is the first time that I have ever seen BW drive like a maniac; and she is always accusing me of “driving like a loon”!

Finally we arrive - in one piece - and drop off the car with Europcar, who I have to say were absolutely brilliant; as soon as BW said we were running late the guy just took the keys rushed the paperwork through in about three minutes, not even bothering to check the car. Although I guess if there had been any problems the resulting cost would have shown up on the credit card eventually. I would highly recommend them to anyone.

So we get checked in with time to spare, all we can do now is wait, which is something I am not good at; but the opportunities for people watching make it a little more bearable. The flight is called, and BW chooses just this moment to lose an earring, and we spend quite some time looking for it, eventually having to abandon it in favour of not missing the plane. The plane is another affair completely, one of these tiny things powered by pedals and rubber bands I think; I actually hate them with a passion, there is never enough headroom for me to stand up straight.

I have to say that the flight back to Edinburgh has to go down as one of the most uncomfortable that I have ever endured. The plane itself was noisy, smelly, and uncomfortably hot, the journey was pretty bumpy all of the way back, the landing at Edinburgh, well I can’t even begin to describe that. All in all by the time I got off of the plane in Edinburgh I was feeling extremely nauseous, and have never more welcomed a cold wind in my face before.

With hindsight, although it was a great long weekend, and Cornwall is a very beautiful place, it was really good to be back home in Auld Reekie. The Bonds are off to Berlin on the last week of May, so watch this space…

All pictures from the trip can be found here.

A Trip to Cornwall - IV

More apologies another long one…

Having had a busy day on the Sunday we decided to take it reasonably easy on the Monday, our fourth day in Cornwall. Having spent most of the previous day driving we decided to get a bit of walking in, especially as it was a beautiful sunny morning which seemed to promise none of the showers of Friday and Saturday. I suggested one of my favourite circular walks - one often undertaken in younger days - from Gorran Haven around the cliffs to the Dodman Point which has some spectacular views of the south coast of Cornwall in both directions.

The drive to Gorran Haven was pretty uneventful, BondWoman having driven it the day before did not need my excellent navigation skills; which left me with the chance to take in some of the changes of the last eight years since I left Cornwall. I suppose that we must have arrived in the car park somewhere around 10:30 am, mainly because BW had a little work to catch up on before leaving the B & B. I have to say that I was in a bit of a quandary about a coat as it was a really beautiful morning; but I needed the pockets for the camera, bins, etc. and figured that if I did not have it I would definitely need it. As it turned out it was my biggest mistake of the day!

We walked down into the village to pick up the cliff path, yet another leg of the Cornwall Coast Path, which gives wonderful views of Gorran Haven as one walks up out of the village. As I looked back into the village it suddenly dawned on me how much the place had changed since I had spent my childhood days roaming these very cliffs, and I have to say not for the better - at least in my opinion. We followed the cliff path around to Vault Beach (often marked as Bow Beach on some maps) about a mile and a bit from Gorran Haven, and by the time we got there the coat was off and being severely regretted.

Vault Beach is a quite beautiful spot, as it is well away from any roads, and any sound other than that from nature comes from the odd boat or aeroplane that may stray past on the odd occasion. It is a beach of white sand, although to be truthful I would say that it is a very fine grit rather than sand, a little over a mile from end to end. This place has very fond memories for me, memories of beach fishing, bass straight out of the sea onto a driftwood fire, moonlight trysts with a particularly sexy lady; all came flooding back. Ah, well, I suppose that BW will want the whole story when she reads this.

The next mile and a bit to the Dodman itself is not that exciting as it skirts along the edge of agricultural land, a lot of which has been reclaimed from the swathes of gorse that used to inhabit it many years ago. The Cross on the Dodman was erected, by a local parson, in 1896 to serve as a daymark for shipping, as this was a notorious spot for shipwrecks. However, in the following year, it failed to save two war ships; and in more recent times (1966) the pleasure boat Darlwin fell foul of the area and went down with all passengers.

From the Dodman we headed a little back inland to Penare, then back over the top following the road which parallels the costal path back to Gorran Haven. I suppose  the round trip is something like five to five and a half miles which took us the best part of two and a half hours. On returning to the car park we ran bang into a very old friend who I had not seen in some twenty odd years; unfortunately we could not have an extended reunion as he was heading off to St. Austell for a meeting, but it was good to have even a brief chat.

Next, after a small snack, we head off to Mevagissey, where I spent the twenty nine years, between January 1971 and May 2000, of my life; thankfully I did not meet anyone with tales to tell of my past here. When we had parked, having paid an extortionate amount for the privilege, I suggested that we first walked up out of Meva and down to a very lovely beach, Polstreath. This is another very lovely beach, where I have spent many an hour just sitting on a rock, whilst my dog ran riot, watching the sea and simply enjoying the tranquillity. It is reached only via the cliff path and a very steep set of steps. BW was quite enchanted, and do believe that if she had a cossie she would have been into the sea without any hesitation at all.

Back up and into Mevagissey proper, BW by this time is suggesting that we find somewhere that we can sit in the sun and have a beer; now I am not that sure that this will be possible, but finally think of the only place, on the harbour, that this could be possible. As it happens we are coming into Meva from the right side to visit this hostelry, and guess what, it is no longer there and has apparently bee closed for some time. So, I finally persuade BW to visit an old haunt of mine own, not knowing how welcome I would be as the last time I was in there I was banned. In we went, I will not mention names to protect the guilty, and I made a very inauspicious start by mistaking the landlord for his father. I have to say that time and distance had wiped from my memory just what a miserable old sod he was, and still is; he certainly didn’t endear himself to BW.

Eventually I found out that BW really took against Mevagissey, for two main reasons a) she could not get to sit in the sun with a beer and chill out for a while and b) because the whole place looked pretty tatty and in need of several lorry loads of tins of paint; and I have to admit that with the benefit of eight years away from the place I have to agree with her. I especially agree with her on the first point, because, as she pointed out, there were people milling around with fistfuls of dosh (OK I may exaggerate a little with the ‘fistfuls’) ready to pay premium prices to be able to sit out and chill with a beer. On her second point the thought that crossed my mind was ‘so, what’s changed’, the answer to which is ‘nothing’.

So, rather disappointed with Meva, we headed of back to the B & B with thoughts in our head about where we would eat that night. BondWoman wanted to eat somewhere special as it was our last night in Cornwall, so when we got back to Boslinney Barn she did a little judicious Googling and came up with the Nare Head Hotel, about a half hour drive from the B & B. Now, having the bit well and truly between her teeth, BW rings to check if it is possible to eat; it is, so off we set through the narrow Cornish lanes I know and love heading for Veryan.

The Nare itself is a couple of miles beyond Veryan overlooking Carne Beach, another very peaceful spot. We are a little early so we head down onto the beach and take our second beach walk of the day, and very beautiful it was in the early evening light. I have to confess, even though we had not taken clothing suitable for such surroundings (we ate in The Quarterdeck), that the service was attentive, but not overly so, and the food was excellent; the house red was not too bad either foe a house wine. Unfortunately I had to drink all but a glass and a bit of it as BW was driving; ah, the sacrifices one has to make.

Replete from our gorgeous meal we headed back to the B & B where a bottle of red awaited us, finally BW could catch me up in the wine stakes. This was duly drunk before we retired for our beauty sleep before the following day’s return to Auld Reekie.

Pics

All pictures from the trip can be found here.

A Trip to Cornwall - III

Apologies this is going to be a long one.

Sunday morning, awake bright and early for an 8:30 breakfast and a whole day exploring quite a short length of Cornwall’s coastline ending up on the Roseland Peninsula. First off I navigate BondWoman through some very narrow lanes to Gorran Haven (more from here in the next post) where I spent many a happy hour as a child growing up; OK so I lie, I grew up there but my childhood was less than happy unless I was off on my own exploring the cliffs.

From here we head over the top of the headland, which finally comes to a point at the Dodman, and down to Hemmick Beach; this is a very pretty little spot which is quite difficult to get to, but is very much worth the effort for those who enjoy beaches. Personally I do not enjoy beaches as much as I did as a child, but BW loves swimming in the sea, and I suspect that she would have been quite tempted if she had had her cossie with her.

Over the top of another hill and down into Porthluney Cove, better known to locals as Caerhays Beach; again this is a very pretty spot with a safe beach, and is much more easily accessible than Hemmick. I spent many an hour as a child, having made the substantial walk from Gorran Haven, digging up this beach at low tide in search of sand worms to facilitate my childhood passion of angling. As we drove up the hill towards Caerhays proper we stopped in a small lay-by about three quarters of the way up for a very fine view of the Dodman in an extraordinary light right after a quite heavy shower.

The next stop was Portholland, and by this time we are really into the very narrow lanes which follow the coastline. Portholland is a very tiny place, not much more than a hamlet, but has a very fine beach indeed; it is also a very good stop off point for anyone walking the Cornish Coastal Path. From here there is a very narrow track hugging the cliff around to what I think to be one of the most picturesque villages in Cornwall; yes, indeed, I know that I am biased towards the south coast of Cornwall.

Portloe is quaint, and my advice to anyone would be to park in the car park on the eastern edge of the village and walk down into it for the full effect; not that there is much parking space in the village anyway. Until now we had only been out of the car briefly, but here we stayed a little longer than we had so far and took a bit of a walk on the cliffs getting some wonderful views back into the village, which is a conservation area thank god, it can no longer be spoilt by pandering to the tourist accommodation blight. Portloe has both a good hotel and a very good pub, all that is really needed in a Cornish village.

After Portloe we head down through the village and out of the western end towards Veryan stopping en route at Broom Parc, a really lovely old house which achieved fame when being used for the TV version of The Camomile Lawn. Veryan itself is, I suppose, a typical Cornish village, and is nothing special, that is except for the ‘round houses’ for which it is famous. The round houses themselves are quite charming, and were, apparently, built that way to ‘keep the devil out of the corners’.

We had hope to find somewhere for a coffee in Veryan, but no luck; so we head off on the road to Portscatho, not that I was in any hurry to get there as you will learn later. We had not driven very far before we came down a hill and found an absolutely stunning spot Melinsey Mill, which is a very arty crafty sort of place, and as it offered a café that was open we decided to stop and take on refreshments, in my case a cup of peppermint tea to help digest the huge breakfast that had been consumed.

After a walk around the rather whacky gardens of the mill we could no longer postpone the inevitable - Portscatho! Now this is one of the very very few places in Cornwall which I could happily give a very wide berth indeed; but I had promised to show BW Cornwall and thought it only fair to show here the more tasteless side as well. Portscatho is a nothing sort of place these days, given over to holiday cottages and second homes (a subject very dear to my heart - NOT). There are a few ‘artists’ residing there, but from what I saw in the couple of galleries I cannot say that I was at all impressed with the standard of work on display. There was one painting of a wave breaking painted by someone who had absolutely no idea of how waves form let alone break. Enough already, let’s get out of here!

Leaving mediocrity behind s we head out to St. Anthony Head; now this is one of the most spectacular places on the south Cornish coast providing fantastic views up and across the Carrick Roads into both Falmouth and St. Mawes. The headland itself is riddled with all sorts of paths providing great walking opportunities; we walked down to the lighthouse, a stunning building in itself. We were very lucky that when we were there the light was just outstanding, which is not all that unusual in Cornwall as the reflected light from the sea all around makes Cornwall in many ways quite unique.

Time to head off to the final stop of the day, St. Just in Roseland. Again this is pretty much a typical Cornish village with not much going on, but it has a quite beautiful little church which nestles in quite stunning surroundings. I would say that this church and the churchyard surrounding it are definitely a ‘must not miss’, it is purely and simply such a peaceful spot.

Heading back we stop of in Mevagissey (more of this in the next post) for food. Parking on the harbour we find a quite unprepossessing place which actually served us some very good food indeed along with some very good bottled beer; and with views out over the harbour it was, all in all, a good end to a great day. Food and beer finished we retired to the B & B for a glass of red and some much needed sleep.

Pics

All pictures from the trip can be found here.

A Trip to Cornwall - II

So, we had made it to Cornwall and had got ourselves a good night’s sleep, despite the noise from some air-conditioning equipment or something just outside our room. On Saturday morning we were up with the sparrows and decided to have a poke around Porthleven before breakfast; not that we were in any hurry as we were not planning to get to the B & B that BondWoman had booked us into until late afternoon.

We walked out along the harbour, along the beach coming back up onto a road after about three quarters of a mile and heading out into the countryside. We both felt it good to be away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and this was only enhanced by the birdsong and the smell of the spring flowers in the hedgerows. I suppose that in all it took us about forty five minutes to walk from the pub/hotel across the beach into the countryside and back around to the Harbour Inn again, and sad people that we are arrive first for breakfast.

Breakfast over, BW said that she would like to go to St. Michael’s Mount; I was not at all sure, rightly as it proved, that we would be able to get across to the mount itself, but we would be sure of getting a good view of it, which we did. From there we drove through Penzance and Newlyn, both pretty unprepossessing places, but not too bad given that both are working harbours, and headed for Lamorna Cove.

Lamorna Cove is a truly beautiful spot, although we didn’t think so when we got back to the car to find that the parking vulture had swooped and given us a fixed penalty notice; we had no change for the pay and display machine, and I convinced BW that at 10am we would probably get away with twenty minutes or so that we would be exploring - fat chance! But I digress, Lamorna is probably most famous for the artist Lamorna Birch; and, to be honest, that is the reason that I visit this magical place whenever I have the chance.

Onwards and upwards, by this time quite depressed about the fixed penalty notice, we headed for Porthcurno and the Telegraph Museum there; BW likes her odd fix of industrial heritage. Porthcurno has a very important place in the history of, and indeed even of present day, communications with the world. This is a very interesting place indeed, and the collection itself is housed within the tunnels carved into the cliffs during the Second World War to house and protect the installation.

Next stop, St. Agnes and the Blue Hills tin mine, I told you BW like the old industrial heritage. This is indeed a fascinating place, although I did not learn anything from it as I have always been interested in tin mining in Cornwall, and I think that BW came away with a better idea of how tin was mined and processed. She even came away with a pair of tin cufflinks for Junior Bond, long story… This place is just about the best place to learn some of the history of tin mining as it is run by a family of ex tin miners. I have to say I cringed when BW asked the guy “how do you know it is tinstone”, and have to confess that his reply “I just do” made me smile somewhat.

On leaving the Blue Hills mine we drove back across Cornwall to St. Austell and a visit to my brother, this the family stuff I was down there to sort out, all of which was done rather amicably, without me feeling that I wanted to strangle him. Then on to the B & B Boslinney Barn where I was to get quite a shock as it is run by a very old friend, Ginny. We got a very warm welcome and the customary cream tea that everyone gets on arrival. This gave me a chance to catch up on what has been happening in Mevagissey recently, well a bloke has to know who is doing what to who now doesn’t he? After which we headed for The Crown Inn at St. Ewe for a meal and a couple of pints, before heading back to a glass of red before getting our heads down…

Pics

All pictures from the trip can be found here.

Cheeky Bastard!

I had a pingback on yesterday’s post this morning which, when I followed the link, led to this post… Now I know that it links back to my original post, but there is nothing that credits me as the author of the piece, in fact it claims this person 2nomads as the author. Now I don’t mind anyone using my words or photographs if they have the decency to ask first, but this person just goes ahead and nicks things from others because he/she simply can’t be bothered to write anything for themselves. Any one who does such a thing deserves to be called a “cheeky bastard”, and believe me I am being ultra polite there!

I suppose that in some ways I should be flattered that my words are good enough to plagiarise, but it only serves to make me extremely annoyed and irritated…

Update 29-04-2008:

It is pointless following the link in this post as it is now defunct; in fact the whole blog that had the offending post in it has now been pulled by the hosting company. After several attempts to contact the owner of the blog, without success, I eventually complained to the hosting company who were more than helpful in sorting the problem out. Let this be a warning to all who think that they can nick someone else’s work without first asking permission. In fact let THIS be a warning to anyone who thinks that nicking stuff from the web is OK.

A Trip to Cornwall - I

BondWoman and myself flew down to Cornwall for a short break last Friday; well I say a short break, it was more that BW could take a look at my old haunts, and for me to sort out some long standing stuff with my brother. This is the first post of a few over the next few days sharing this trip with you; althought I can’t guarantee that it will be a daily occurrence.

Actually we were supposed to fly down to Newquay from Glasgow on the Saturday, but Flybe in their infinite wisdom cancelled the flight and switched us to a flight from Edinburgh the day before, not that I was complaining about an extra day in my beloved Cornwall, or of not having to travel to Glasgow to fly. I have to say that this is the most civilised way to get to Cornwall from Edinburgh; I mean about an hour and a half as opposed to a fourteen hour train journey and a similar length drive. On arrival at Newquay airport I was not at all surprised to find that the terminal building was nothing much more than a mud hut, I mean TINY!

So, we pick up the hire car and head off down to the Lizard, BW had booked us into a B & B near Mevagissey from Saturday to Tuesday, but they could not accomodate us for the extra night, so we found The Harbour Inn at Porthleven for the extra night. Anyway off we head towards Newquay, which I tactfully guide BW around; personally I can’t understand why anybody would want to live there, it’s a nothing sort of town. Eventaully, both of us pretty hungry by now (well gone mid-day) we arrive at the outskirts of Helston where there was the opportunity to get some nibbles to leave in the car for the duration of our stay, also a couple of pasties to satisfy our immediate hunger.

Pasties being left to cool off a bit, we drove out of Helston and up to a viewpoint overlooking RNAS Culdrose, about a coule of miles, wher we sat and consumed the pasties in the midst of one of the heaviest hail showers imaginable. It was at this point that we decided that The Lizard would be far too busy at that time of day, at least for us; so we took a look at the map to find somwhere that we could park up and take a bit of a cliff walk to ease the stiffness of travelling. Eventually we settled on Lion Rock between Lizard Point and Mulliion Cove where we took a half hour stroll out across the cliffs and back; it was so good to feel the wind and hear the sea pounding the base of the cliffs.

Back into the car and off we set in search of Porthleven and The Harbour Inn, a nice enough place but, we think, slightly overpriced for what it is. We get settled into the room and immediately down to the bar for a couple of pints of St Austell Brewery’s finest offerings before taking a turn around Porthleven itself, which is a quite attractive place in itself. The finally, back to eat, and I have to say that the food was good, better than I had exected, along with a couple more pints of good beer before hitting the bed…

Pics:-

All pictures from the trip can be found here.

Worth a Try?

No not really! I just read this story which made me laugh out loud. Instead of apying up and looking big this guy tried to outwit the police, which as we all know, for the average punter, is not easy at the best of times and ended up in deeper water than he started out in. I mean one has to ask what sort of an idiot would go to all of the time and trouble to avoid a £120 speeding fine and three points… Personally I think he deserves the 80 days, but I think that he also deserves a 12 month driving ban as well to teach him a lesson. The worst part is tha now the taxpayer has to fork out to keep this frigging idiot in prison. Hopefully his employer, if he has one, will not be seeing the funny side of his little escapade and will give him the Grand Order of the Boot, and serve him right if he/she does. After all, for being so stupid this guy deserves everything he gets from here on in.

At Last a Verdict

Just reading this story is something of a relief; as I imagine it must be for William and Harry, when one thinks of what they have had to endure for the last ten years, and which they have done with remarkable resillience. And why have they had to endure so much? All for the ravings of a bloody lunatic! The cost of this bloody fiasco to the British public, at the last count some £12 million, yes £12 million! The British taxpayer has had to bear this burden all because a raving loony could not, or did not want to, accept what most people, with a little common sense, were either pretty sure of, or at the very least suspected, right from the outset. I think that, at the very least, he should reimburse the British taxpayer to the tune of at least £10 million, especially as he is guilty of leading us down so many bloody blind alleys…

I am not in the least sayng that there should have been no inquiry; there needed to be to establish what actually happened, and who, if anyone, was culpable. But I personally think that allowing a raving lunatic to pull the strings, and make others dance to his tune is utterly shameful, especially when one thinks of the better uses to which the said £12 million could have been put.

A Walk on the Taynish Peninsula

On Easter Monday BondWoman and myself were out on the West Coast, Pat The Chooks territory, with some time to spend in the morning before visiting some friends and setting off back to Auld Reekie. We decided that lunch would be taken at one of our favourite places the Tayvallich Inn, as it was when we travelled out on Good Friday. This would be our second visit over the weekend, as the reason for going there on Good Friday was so that BW could indulge in her passion for their mussels which, much to her chagrin, were not available; hence the decision to return there on Easter Monday, BW was determined to get her mussels!

This still left us with some time to kill before lunch; so we decided to go a bit beyond the Tayvallich Inn and explore the Taynish Peninsula, as we had never been down there before, and it had appealed to us for quite some time.

I have to confess that it is a really beautiful place indeed with a wonderful, but quite short (only 5km, 3 miles), woodland walk which we extended a little by heading right down to the very tip of the peninsula. As for a description of the walk I will leave that to the text scanned from the Scottish Natural Heritage leaflet “Oakwoods on a hidden peninsula” which says it all; the larger photographs are mine and the smaller ones from the SNH leaflet.

More than Trees

The peninsula of Taynish has shoreline, grassland, scrub, bog, heath and woodland, each of which is home to a host of plants, insects, birds and mammals that thrive here. You’ll see some of them easily - but a few seldom, if at all! Otters live on the reserve, building their holts (resting places) in banks among the trees, sometimes using a badger’s den. You may see them in the water, fishing and tumbling with great skill. You might also glimpse a shy roe deer in the woods.

Masses of mosses, lots of lichens

Taynish’s clean, humid air attracts many types of fern as well as the mosses, liverworts and lichens that often go unnoticed. Their variety and abundance add to the reserve’s importance.

Look for patches of filmy fern growing on trees and rocks - it’s almost transparent. You’ll see clumps of mosses everywhere, with names like mouse-tail, tamarisk, feather, fork and forest star.

The most obvious lichens growing on the oak trees are old man’s beard - which is easy to recognise - and lungwort.

Palette of the seasons

In winter, old man’s beard turns the woodland grey-green while holly berries provide spots of colour. The leafless birches add a purplish tinge to many shades of brown. Spring brings white wood anemones, the unforgettable haze of bluebells and yellow primroses. In summer, you’ll be dazzled by dragonflies and enchanted by up to 20 kinds of butterflies, including the threatened marsh fritillary. Lots of other insects feed on the plants and dead wood. Autumn is vibrant with the ochres, russets, reds and browns of oak, birch, willow, hazel and alder. and migrant willow warblers, and the woodlands are alive with song. Tree pipits dart from perch to perch, tiny goldcrests hang upside down from leaves, and treecreepers spiral up trunks in search of insects. Tawny owls prefer to hunt - and hoot - from dusk onwards.

Birds in song and silence

Bird spotting is easy here! Some birds are resident, such as the soaring, mewing buzzard and the natty-plumaged great spotted woodpecker, but redstart and wood warbler arrive in spring, singing lustily in search of mates. By May, there are lots of resident wrens and migrant willow warblers, and the woodlands are alive with song.

Tree pipits dart from perch to perch, tiny goldcrests hang upside down from leaves, and treecreepers spiral up trunks in search of insects. Tawny owls prefer to hunt - and hoot - from dusk onwards.

Helping nature do the work

Eleven thousand years ago. Ice Age glaciers scoured out Loch Sween (named after Dubhghall mac Suibhne, a Lord of Kintyre) and Linne Mhuirich. Birch, juniper, hazel and willow colonised the land after the ice melted, followed by alder, holly and oak. However, the woodlands are now called ’semi-natural’ because they were managed, in various ways, through the ages.

To help the woods keep their near-natural character and rich wildlife, SNH is encouraging the spread of native trees by controlling deer, which browse on young trees. We’re also removing rhododendron, which crowds out other plants. Cattle still graze here as they have since the Iron Age, keeping meadows rich with flowers and butterflies.

A tale of settlers

People settled here about 5000 years ago and used the trees for shelter, furnishings, firewood and stockades around their homes. There was probably a fort on the Barr Mor and Dun Mhuirich stands nearby. Later, Iron Age people built platforms in the woods and erected their round huts on them. Archaeologists know this from the remains of timber post-holes they’ve found. The charcoal burners of more recent times simply re-used the old platforms.

A tale of charcoal burners

Industrial iron-smelting needed charcoal to create the necessary heat. This led to great numbers of charcoal burners working in oak woodlands. There were two iron furnaces in Argyll (at Bonawe and Furnace) and even remote woods were put to use. The Taynish ones were busy throughout the 19th century. The burners stacked timber on the Iron Age platforms, covered the timber with turf and set it alight. After 24 hours, the charcoal was ready for transporting to the furnaces.

A tale of woodmen

Oak bark is rich in tannin, which was used to make leather from animal hides. During the 18th century, wars and a growing population increased the demand for leather and oak trees were felled for their bark. Landowners, like Duncan Campbell of Taynish, managed their woodlands carefully - and arrested locals for stealing their timber! The stumps of trees felled in spring were protected from grazing animals and allowed to produce new shoots for harvesting 20 years later. You can still see evidence of this ‘coppicing’.

A tale of farmers

Around 5000 years ago, the first settlers kept animals and sowed crops at Taynish. They cleared trees from the south end of the peninsula and Barr Mor’s summit. Oxen, pigs and sheep grazed in the woodland, changing its character over the centuries.

Early people grew emmer wheat and small spelt, the forerunner of modern wheat, and later farmers grazed black cattle. Climb to the top of the Barr Mor and picture the days when Taynish was isolated except from the sea. How much has changed?

A tale of millers

From 1724 until the 1880s, Taynish Mill ground the grain from Taynish estate. When Peter and Archibald Brown became tenants in 1803, they agreed to bring all their corn and bere (a kind of barley) to Duntaynish Mill. Water powered the mill - currently being restored - with its huge kiln for drying the grain.

A tale of boatmen

Until recently, Argyll’s coastal communities depended on sea transport, often the ‘puffer’ of Para Handy fame. Charcoal and bark left by water. Boats would have brought materials to build Taynish House for MacNeill of Ross in 1650 and, when Campbell of Inverneill built his piggery nearby in the 18th century, the pigs would have sailed here too.

Sit down by the Mill Shore, scan Loch Sween and imagine the lapping of water on hulls and the swish of oars - or come by boat yourself next time!

Walking the woodlands

Visit the reserve at any time but wear strong, waterproof footwear and clothing. Explore the woodlands by following the 5km (3 mile) circular route shown on the map or take the easy wheelchair-accessible route to the Mill. If you’re energetic, follow the trail up the Barr Mor.

The mill building is being stabilised so please don’t go in, for your own safety. Taynish house and Duntaynish and their policies are privately owned and not accessible to visitors. Enjoy the rest of Taynish as the hidden peninsula that you discovered!

Where is it?

A woodland view

Farmland on the peninsula

Paranoia Gone Mad

I just stumbled across this story which horrified me… It highlights just how paranoid Americans have become about security; the security staff not only humiliated this poor woman, but also caused her a large amount of pain, both in the removal, and the re-insertion of her nipple rings. I think the question that just begs asking is how would they have coped with an Albert (that is, for the uninitiated, a penis piercing)?

T5 Cock-up

I have been following this story with great interest. I mean years in the building, and they still can’t get it right! It is not as if they are using cutting edge technology here, they are using technology that has been tried and tested; and yet, despite all of the time that they have had to install and test it, it still doesn’t work… And, at the end of the day, who suffers, the traveller, that’s who!

The one thing that made me laugh out loud about this tale of woe, was in the week when it came out that BA were thinking of sending baggage to Milan to be sorted; I mean to say, that strikes me as a typical British solution…

If one didn’t laugh one would cry; although I suppose that one could cry laughing at this cock-eyed mess, after all you couldn’t write it! At the end of the day there is someone, somewhere, who should be getting the Grand Order of the Size Eleven Boot, and that planted firmly on his/her arse!

Better than Nothing…

I just read this on the BBC News website, which actually begs the question as to why such measures were not taken LONG ago, I mean the technology has been there to be able to do this for as long as the technology to set up such sites has been around. It is a simple matter to have a table of banned email addresses in the database against which people are checked. However, it does beg the question as to how effective this measure will be; after all it is easy to set up alternative email addresses with providers like Yahoo, Hotmail etc. etc.. Policing such a law could prove to be quite difficult given the ease of setting up an email address, especially when you do not have to prove your identity; it would be easy to take someone’s name and address from the phone book to set up such an email address without actually having to prove that you are that person…

Don’t misunderstand me, I think that this is a good idea, and one that should have been in place long ago, especially since the technology has been there to support it. However, I am concerned that how it is going to be policed has not been thoroughly thought through. Maybe it would just be better to prevent sex offenders from having an online presence at all; but, having said that, I can already hear the civil liberties bods sharpening their knives to complain about that idea.

Festival!

Here we are in the first week of April and all that is being discussed is the bloody Festival; BondWoman has persuaded me to accompany her to some launch of the events timetable for some event or other, and the Festival even pops up in today’s Grauniad! Seems that The Grauniad thinks that this year’s Festival is going to be “edgy”; of course, being The Grauniad, “the Festival” is the International Festival, they would not deign to mention the Fringe, except in passing of course.

Now I do not have a problem with the Festival, well not many problems, it is good for the city and we get to see a lot of stuff that we wouldn’t normally go to see in the normal run of day to day living. But, and this is a BIG but, for a month and a bit Edinburgh simply descends into chaos, one can’t move in the city without tripping over either tourists, or those handing out the flyers to promote their particular shows. Believe me by the middle of August any sane person who lives in the city would want to put as much distance between themselves and Edinburgh as is humanly possible.

Enough already, I am sure that I will be returning to this topic before too long!

Woman or Hero?

Whilst having breakfast this morning I was struck by an item on the Today Programme which only served to highlight the ingrained sexism that was rampant in the Britain of the 1930’s/40’s. It was an item about an extremely brave woman, Pearl Witherington (who became Pearl Cornioley); you can read more about her story here, and here. This extraordinarily brave woman was parachuted into wartime France, where she took charge of and organised a large part of the resistance movement. Her post-war reward, the offer of a civil MBE:-

After the war, Pearl was recommended for a military honour but, as a woman, she was ineligible. When she was instead offered the civil MBE she refused.

I think the telling phrase here is “as a woman, she was ineligible”; of course a mere woman could not hvave had the guts or intelligence to be courageous. Her response in refusal was:-

“There was nothing civil about what I did,” she said many years later. In her letter of rejection, released yesterday, she said the offer was unjust: “The work which I undertook was of a purely military nature in enemy occupied country. I personally was responsible for the training and organisation of nearly 3,000 men for sabotage and guerrilla warfare.”

It took over sixty years for her to be acknowledged as a parachutist by the RAF

For her, the greatest award came only two years ago when the RAF finally presented her with her parachute wings.

this in itself says a lot about the sexist attitudes that remained in place within the realms of the Ministry of Defence until relatively recently.

FFS, surely a hero is a hero no matter what gender the person is, and surely anyone who undertakes to do something that can later be seen as heroic deserves to have their heroism recognised, rather than to be patronised by those people who sat behind their desks and never stuck their heads above the parapet.