Purdah Blog Part 2: Excelsior Woods

Ignoring the context, we are settling into a not unpleasant routine of self-isolation, with a lot of help from some good weather. Pottering the house and garden doing some jobs, going for a walk late afternoon, observing the correct degree of separation, of course, and then settling down for the evening. Early days yet but off to a good start.

This evening's walk - around 1.5 miles - took us down to a nearby ford and then up and around Excelsior Woods, also known as Deer Park Woods. Way back in the 1300s, the original Duke of Cornwall did have a deer park - Kerribullock - around here. Nowadays the only remaining signs of this are some stretches of the original boundary wall.

A surprising find - a currant bush of some sort.

In these woods it's really not difficult to keep 6 foot from anyone we may come across, but we didn't.

The name, Excelsior Woods comes from this mine. The tunnel was driven with the intention of intersecting the North Engine Shaft of Kit Hill Mine (situated near the stack at the summit of the hill) at a point 660 feet below the surface. This would have drained the mine around the shaft and the ³⁄₄ mile long tunnel may have cut through a number of undiscovered tin and copper lodes that were believed to exist beneath Kit Hill.
Miners began driving the 8’X 8’ tunnel in about 1880 but a shortage of funds led to the abandonment of the tunnel a few years later when it was only half way to North Engine Shaft. Work was recommenced on a smaller scale in the late 1930’s under the auspices of a local chemist and tin miner Captain George Moor. An air compressor for working rock drills was installed near the entrance, with an air line to the working face 2100 feet in, while there were hand-operated fans and their associated trunking to provide fresh air and to clear smoke from the tunnel after blasting. A single line tram road ran the length of the tunnel.
Captain Moor continued the tunnel southward for a short distance at a reduced size but it was then abandoned and attention switched to reworking the old mine dump area near the entrance for Wolfram. This dump was worked out by 1941 and a small shaft was then sunk at the southern end of the wood which yielded some wolfram. By 1942 new plant had been installed on the site and it’s recorded that at least two tons of Wolfram were recovered. The project was, however, short lived and all mining ceased by 1946. There was some further development of the shaft by Nthe ew Consols Mine at Luckett in the late 1940’s or early 1950’s but in 1954 it was found to be abandoned and no further mining has taken place since that date

Looking into the tunnel. With a decent pair of wellies, it's possible to go in quite a way. I've done this once but could only go so far as I didn't have a headlamp with me. Something for the future. And a reminder from the past: the infamous Dark Arch at Bedwas Pit (see here to find out more. It's spooky).)

Just listen to the water dripping off the walls. You can also make out some birds chirping in the background and Mrs P yawning.

More water. Sounds lovely...……..

 

………..but needs some careful negotiation on the way back. The best way is straight across.

Hooray, our Magnolia stellate is coming into blossom.

And the sun goes down in the west.

Purdah Blog: Part !

In deference to age (only  mine fall into the relevant category) and underlying medical issues (only mine fall into the relevant category), we've entered into isolation and social exclusion. To a miserable old introvert like me, it's like all my Christmases at once! A slight exaggeration there but I suspect I am better equipped for not seeing people than most. And anyway, my ideal companion is stuck here with me.  Being incarcerated with someone you don't get on with doesn't bear thinking about, does it? We are lucky as there are certainly worse places to be under these circumstances: our garden is big enough for us to potter around in and it's easy to walk in the neighbouring countryside without impinging on anyone  else's personal space.

Our garden looks at its best at this time of year. Daffodils, primroses and hellebores in profusion.

The veg plot is almost ready for planting, but the beds in the foreground are where our dahlias will bloom.

An evening 2.5 miler from Cotehele Quay, taking all of the necessary distancing precautions, of course.

Lots of primroses everywhere on the walk, ranging from mass planting like this bank at the quay to individual plants scattered along the sides of the paths.

Evening falls on the Tamar.

The weir on the Morden Stream just up from Cotehele Mill. This is where the leat for the mill wheel (overshot, if you are wondering) comes from.

A flash of daffodils.

Although Cotehele House is closed 'until further notice' the National Trust are giving free access to the grounds to walkers.

The uplights on the trees would look even better if it was darker.

The Modern Weir. Just listen to the sound of the water and, every now and again, the birdsong.

On the path away from the weir. This illustrates the way in which the sound of running water acted as an accompaniment for most of our walk.

 

 

Coronaviral Politics

When writing about something like the coronavirus epidemic it’s vital to take care that any information you give is correct and accurate. It’s no hyperbole to say that in an epidemic, incorrect or false information can literally make the difference between life and death. It is incumbent upon all of us to ensure that we are measured and thoughtful in our words and language. This is not a time for panic or hysteria.

Yet it has to be said, the response of the British government so far does not inspire confidence. It is not scaremongering to ask why it is that other European countries – countries where the spread of the epidemic is no greater than it is in the UK – have adopted more stringent measures to prevent the spread of the virus than the UK has. The response from the British government to this crisis has been chaotic, ad hoc, and confused. We are led by a bumbling and mumbling oaf who lies and lies again, a man who has never considered anything except his own selfish interest. He, and his government, does not inspire confidence.

When I was a child, a long, long time ago, there was a widespread grudging acceptance that ‘they’ knew what they were doing. They might have been selfish and greedy, but they were smarter than us, better educated, better informed. And then in the 1980s the British government tried to tell us that we could protect ourselves from a nuclear explosion by hiding under the kitchen table and any pretence that ‘they’ were competent went up in a mushroom cloud. There’s been a long slow decline in public faith in British institutions ever since. And now we have Boris Johnson, lying his way into power, smirking and smug, mumbling and stumbling, venal and vain. No one with a functioning set of neurones can believe that this man has our best interests at heart. It is not unreasonable to ask whether Boris Johnson and his cronies, who are motivated solely by money and greed, have taken the decision to protect the economy at the expense of the people. Because if that’s the case, it is unforgivable.

We’re hearing a lot about herd immunity. Boris Johnson and the Conservative government have no doubt thought about the rest of us as a herd for quite a while. The phrase means that immunity within a population prevents an infection from spreading as most people are resistant. Most estimates that I’ve been able to find suggest that herd immunity is only effective once around 60% of a population have an immune system which is resistant to the infective agent. The worrying thing, however, is that most people are not currently immune to the covid-19 virus. Since there is as yet no vaccine and won’t be for at least a year, currently the only way that anyone can develop immunity is to contract the infection and allow their immune system to build up antibodies against the virus.  It is true, and it cannot be stressed enough, that the overwhelming majority of people who contract the virus will experience mild symptoms or even no symptoms at all.  However the issue here is that the disease appears to have a mortality rate of 1%. Allowing 60% of 66 million people to contract a virus and then 1% of them will die … well you do the maths. Yet these aren’t just numbers, they’re human lives.

Other countries are trying to protect their citizens from the outbreak and to minimise the number who contract the infection. This will have a dire effect on the economies of those countries. The strategy of the UK government is to allow the infection to happen, but to try and make it happen slowly enough that the NHS will not be overwhelmed and to minimise the damage to the UK economy. The only way to allow herd immunity to build up is to allow the infection to spread, with entirely predictable consequences. People will die as a result of Conservative policy. It won’t be the fit, the economically active, the better fed, the well sheltered. It will be the old, the chronically ill, the homeless, the poor. It will be those whom the Conservatives with their price of everything and value of nothing philosophy will consider expendable. What makes this worse is that the NHS is reeling from the effects of a decade of austerity and creeping privatisation. It is a system which is creaking and straining at the best of times.

We will get through this, with love, compassion, care, and kindness. We will get through this if we respect each other, and above all if we adopt common sense measures. Avoid large public gatherings. Wash your hands thoroughly and regularly. Don’t hoard or panic buy. Stay at home if you think you have symptoms. Minimise contact with those who are at high risk – the elderly, the chronically sick and those with compromised immune systems. And this will pass as all things must pass. There is life on the other side of the fear, there is dawn on the other side of the darkness.

When it does pass, that is the time for deliberate on the lessons that we have learned, lessons about the venality of the British government and the Conservative party. Lessons that the next leader of the Labour party must take on board. Get that right and there's a chance that we'll teach Bozza his own lesson that he won't like.

A walk with a lttle bit of everything, especially mud

It was Thursday and time for another walk with our U3A group from Gunnislake. A reasonable weather forecast and a route that was new to Mrs P and myself. In the event it turned out to be an excellent jaunt, with much to see and enjoy.

We started near Liskeard station and took a bus to Duloe. From there we followed the Looe river down the valley to the sea, at Looe. It came out at just under 6 miles. It didn't rain and, when the sun shone, it was quite warm. As the elevation profile shows, the first mile or so was quite flat, followed by quite a steep descent and then flat again as we walked along the river bank. What gave this walk an extra twist was...…………….

…….mud. Plenty of mud. Foot gripping, muscle sapping mud. 

Following an arduous 300 yard walk from the bus stop, we decided that it was time for our mid-morning break. And where best to rest up than in the local church - St Cuby's at Duloe? If you think the tower is leaning, you'd be right. It was much taller than this but the Victorians took the upper stage off to try and stabilise it. They put the pyramidal roof on at the same time. It was thought that, originally, there would have been a spire because the size of the tower appears to be too big for anything else. There is a local legend that the tower was leaning due to all of the smuggled goods stored there. Who knows if it's true but it's a good story.St Cuby (or Cybi) was a bishop who is said to have preached and founded churches at Duloe and Tregony before carrying out most of his ministry in Wales. He was a cousin of Dewi Sant, as his mother was the sister of Nonna, Dewi Sant's mother.

St Cuby's lies within a raised circular churchyard which is probably a lan (Celtic-style holy enclosure) and indicates a very early religious affiliation. The church as we see it today is medieval and later. The tower is mainly 13^th century, the Coleshull chantry chapel is late 15^th century, while the remainder of the fabric is the result of a regrettably, but perhaps necessarily, thorough Victorian rebuilding.
One of the unexpected pleasures of St Cuby's was the fine collection of elaborately carved slate monuments/headstones that can be found there. This coffin shaped one is of in memory of Ann Smith and is dated 1592. She has a high-crowned hat and ruff, with a very ornately patterned gown. In one hand she holds a pair of gloves and in the other a (prayer?) book. Another little detail that I like is the carved skull between her feet. A 'memento mori'. 

This slate is a memorial to Mary Arundell who was buried on 8th June 1629. Her age was not given but the assumption is that she was quite young. The monument is odd in that it shows two female figures but commemorates only one person. One explanation is that the smaller figure is apparently that of a little child and may symbolise the idea that Mary had made a miraculous recovery from a serious illness when she was very young. We'll never know for sure but it's got to be something along these lines.

This is my favourite one of the carvings as there's a lot to subtle detail to take in. There are two female figures facing each other over an altar. The woman on the right is wearing Jacobean garb and kneeling behind her  are two daughters, one of whom has a skull carved above her head, indicating that she had pre-deceased her mother. The woman on the opposite side is wearing clothes from the later period of Charles I. She has two sons behind her and also another son and a daughter, both of whom have a skull above them. The identity of this family is unknown as all of the shields are blank, which begs the question of why it was never finished off. It could be part of a tomb chest although there is no evidence of such a tomb having been in the church.

Another unusual feature of St Cuby's is the 15th century chantry chapel of Sir John Colshull. A chantry chapel is a place where prayers (paid for!) were said for the dead at regular intervals, the idea being that this would aid in his/her resurrection. In his day, Sir John was one of the three most important men in Cornwall. The  tomb shows the knight in his plate armour. It's impressive, albeit showing a little wear.

A reminder of the days when pews came with a price and only the rich could afford to get a seat. Luckily the Incorporate Church Building Society (looks like they got the name wrong on the board) was there to provide free seats. 

With a rapidly growing population, in the early decades of the 19^th century there was a severe shortage of churches. In some parts of London there were barely enough places in parish churches for one in nine of the population. And many people in the Church of England feared the rise of nonconformity and competition from Methodism. In the 19^th Century, the ICBS was responsible for the building and enlargement of hundreds of Anglican churches and chapels. Many hundreds of thousands of new spaces were provided in parish churches, the majority of them free for anyone to occupy, in contrast to the then customary provision of private pews.

And here are some of the free pews for the peasants. I wonder if you have to be means tested to see if you are poor enough to sit in them today? Or, perhaps, with the falling attendance seen in most churches, nowadays people are paid to use them?

Just sunshine on the choir stalls.

Dropping down to the river along a very steep track, although it doesn't look as steep as it really was in this photograph. I think we were all happy that we weren't doing this bit in the reverse direction.

Not a straightforward river side walk. Lots of natural hazards and awkward bits to negotiate.

The river in full spate. This was actually a ford. I'm not sure how often it is passable as the river seems pretty deep here.

Duck! Yet another thing to negotiate.

It's a good year for catkins.

It's also a good year for ferns. It's mind boggling to think of how many spores will eventually be released from the sporangia we can see. Well, it boggles my mind if not yours. But, then, I'm very easily boggled. It's an age thing.

An Oystercatcher with its stocky beak. Apparently it's got the biggest beak of all of our waders. Just the job for coping with its diet of shellfish - cockles and mussels (alive, alive oh) but rarely oysters in the UK. One of my bird books tells me that there are two subspecies of Oystercatchers - the 'stabbers', that prise open their food, and the 'hammerers' that smash the shells of their prey. The scientific name for the bird, Haematopus ostralegus, comes from the Greek haima αἳμα (blood), pous πούς (foot) and the Latin ostrea (oyster) and legere (to collect or pick). Here's a random fact: A group of Oystercatchers are known as a "parcel" or "stew". And another one: when feeding inland, they feed on worms, digging for which their stout beak is just what is needed.

Curlew or Eurasian Curlew. Another wader but with a completely different beak. This one is curved and ideally designed for probing in mud and silt for worms, shrimps etc. Here's another curlew fact: because of the way the beak is constructed for strength, it's tongue is relatively short and cannot help in the feeding process. Fancy that.
The curlew's genus name Numenius refers to the shape of its bill. Numenius comes from two Greek words, ‘neos’ meaning new and ‘mene’ for moon, alluding to the crescent-shaped of the bill. The species name also refers to the shape of its bill, as arquata is the Latin for the archery bow. Put it all together and you get Numenius arquata.

And the river flows into the sea. Almost but not quite. Boats moored alongside the quay at East Looe.

Whilst in West Looe, just across the river, the boats are stuck on the mud.