A tale of two sisters

My colourisation experiment today features a photograph from over ninety years ago of two girls posing in a seaside studio with a parasol. The photograph was taken in Brighton on the breezy south coast of England, where parasols tend to be confined to the photographers' studio. The date of the photograph I estimate as 1929 or there about. The young girl on the right of the picture, as we look at it, is my dad's cousin, Audrey Kent and the one on the left is her sister Zeili. I met them several times when I was young but really can't remember that much about them. I know Zeili had a fixation on collecting stamps for charity, even to the extent of cutting stamps off birth, marriage and death certificates, much to my chagrin as she also clipped out useful information on some. Audrey was, by all accounts, quite an accomplished ballet dancer and ran a ballet school in Brighton for many years. Her most famous students were the daughters of Lawrence Olivier and Joan Plowright. Neither Zeili nor Audrey married and they lived together for most of their lives. They look very close in the photograph and I think the colourised version highlights the spark in Audrey's character.

A little bit of colour

I still can't make my mind up about AI. 

Artificial intelligence (AI) colourising programmes are all the rage: smart little apps where you can feed a monochrome image in at one end, and a beautifully realistic full-colour rendition emerges from the other end. To be honest, sometimes it is beautiful, sometimes realistic and sometimes it is colourful, but rarely all three. And sometimes it has the look of the kind of thing a three-year old, fed too much chocolate and given too many coloured crayons, would produce. I get to thinking that the old, faded, and bleached-out vision of faces from a bygone era is more lifelike than some daisy-fresh technicolour dream. And then I feed another old Victorian pasteboard photo into the AI machine and see life emerge, and it takes me back to the thrill I used to get when black and white images would slowly emerge from a dish of developer solution. And that was a thrill that is still vivid to me. I keep promising myself that, one day, I'll go back to wet film techniques.

As I say, I can't make my mind up about AI. I will spend the day with these two colourful but unknown Victorian girls (from a collection of old photographs I have of relatives from Sussex) and see what they say about artificial intelligence.

Lockdown 3 Walks: #2: Kit Hill Circular

Our second Lockdown 3 walk in our locality. We hear and obey Mr Wankcock

This one was just up the road from us and was a circumnavigation around the top of Kit Hill. At just over two miles, it's was a stroll to fill a Saturday afternoon gap. And a walk with panoramic 360 views of sea, moors and Plymouth Sound...

...Except for today, when the mist was down and the visibility was poor. OK, not good for one of the senses but excellent for another. The mist deadens sounds and adds another dimension to an otherwise familiar route. Here are a few lines from the poem, Pearl Fog, by Carl Sandburg. They seem to be very appropriate:
"Open the door now.
Go roll up the collar of your coat
To walk in the changing scarf of mist".

The weak and watery winter sun above the stack at South Kit Hill Mine. I like the unknown walkers emerging from the mist.

The top of the Incline, normally an impressive view of a relic of industrial archaeology.

Just a tree with a rather unnaturally green coating of moss. Was it really this colour? I certainly don't remember it like this.

The silent frozen flooded quarry. Turn back the clock, say 150 years, and this would have been a noisy industrial scene with blasting and hammering taking place and chisels skilfully shaping the granite on site.

Judging by the broken pieces we could see, the ice was about an inch thick. Not thick enough for ice-skating.

Another tree in the mist. The conditions seem to accentuate their shape. As Lemm Sissay just said on a TV programme we are watching (Winter Walks on BBC4), bare leaved trees look as if there are rooting in the sky. And, he's right, they do.

Kit Hill has a very important archaeological landscape, with significant prehistoric activity and a rich and highly visible mining heritage. Even apparent holes in the ground are probably part of this, either as a sign of localised working of granite outcrops or, perhaps, an association with early mining efforts. And most of the holes are listed and recorded as archaeological sites in their own right,

Mrs P disappearing into the mist. "Now where's our car?"

Lockdown 3 Walks: #1: Stoke Climsland Circular

Covid Lockdown 3 has just been imposed and we are restricted to walking within our 'local area' only. Although this has not been officially defined in terms of miles, the general consensus is that 'local area' means 'within your parish'. This being the case, we'll be walking around Stoke Climsland parish, a mix of new and old routes. We'll start off with one we've done before, starting at the Old School and heading up Rowden Lane, across to Downhouse and Pempwell and then back to the Old School via Climson.

The route was around 4.5 miles which, today, was about right. Bright and dry but frosty.

In those parts where the sun had yet to penetrate, the frost still lay and make the commonplace, like these strands of barbed wire, a little more interesting. And, perhaps, rather more sinister?

Panorama looking east-ish towards the ridge of Hingston Down. Look closely and the old chimney stack of the Hingston Mine can be seen on the horizon. Reputedly the site (the ridge, not the mine) of a battle between the Danes and the Cornish.

Looking almost directly east with the partially snow-covered North Hessary Tor on Dartmoor visible in the distance. The mist is still hanging over this part of the River Tamar. 

Looking south-ish now towards Kit Hill.

Sky, clouds, trees and mist. A glorious combination. Made all the better by walking with Mrs P. In order of preference, I'd say my best walking combinations are: with Mrs P, by myself, with small groups of friends and then with larger groups. For me, the best walks are those when you can hear the sounds of the countryside as well as seeing the sights. I find walking with too many people too noisy and intrusive. Not that I don't enjoy them but they are more social occasions rather than opportunities to really experience the environment.

Frosty leaves.

Clouds and trees on the Daniel's farmland. 

Stoke Climsland church, with its 15th century pinnacled tower.

I've always admired this headstone in the graveyard. Almost completely covered in lichen, a testament to the fresh air in these parts.

For the first time, I looked at the inscription on the face of the 'lichen headstone' and it was rather intriguing. It reads:
Sacred to the memory of
William R Buckingham
Q.M.Sgt M.A.Sect A.O.C
Entered into Rest
Sept 19th 1914
Aged 43
Also Edith
Beloved wife of the above
Died July 16th 1955
Also Irene May
Devoted daughter of the above
Died June 16th 1956
Age 54
So, what's the story of William Buckingham? He was a military man and died during WW1. Was there any connection? Looks like a job for Mr Google and a few genealogy sites.

My first thought when I saw the inscription was "here's someone else who was involved in WW1 and who should feature in our Roll of Honour". It turns out that this is not the case but is none the less interesting for that. Luckily a quick search on Find-my-Past produces William Robert Buckingham's service record and this does not just give a lot of detail about his life but also brings up some serendipitous 'sideways' information. I do like these unexpected digressions when they come up.

William Buckingham was born in Landrake, just outside of Saltash, and joined the army on January 4th 1898 when he was 26 years old. Prior to joining up, he appears to have worked as a millwright (Millwrights are responsible for installing and maintaining machinery) at the Lynher Iron Works in Polbathic, near St Germans. His mechanical background made him a good fit for his army role in the Machinery Artificer Section of the Army Ordnance Corps. He enlisted as an Armament Artificer and was promoted through Armament Sergeant and Armament Staff Sergeant to Armament Quarter Master Sergeant. His duties took him abroad and he served in Singapore, Aden and, latterly, India. He married Edith and they had three children: the daughter mentioned on the headstone, Irene Mary, was born in Devonport and baptised in Singapore. William's final posting was to Kirkee in the Punjab in India. Although he was a career soldier and had enlisted for a 21 year period, he was discharged as being medically unfit whilst in India when he had served just over 15 years. Why he was discharged is not given in his discharge certificate but the fact that he was serving abroad and finally left the army from the Royal Victoria Military Hospital in Netley, Hampshire, which specialised in, amongst other things, tropical diseases, would suggest that, perhaps, he succumbed to some untreatable malady. He was discharged on 15th February 15th 1913 and died in Kelly Bray on September 19th 1914. Quite a story, really, and I'll remember William's career every time I mow around his headstone when I'm on graveyard maintenance duties.

Another digression: William's service record is formally recorded as 'Royal Hospital Chelsea Pensioner Soldier Service Record'. From 1692 until 1955, all Army pensions were administered by and paid from the Royal Hospital Chelsea, which is why all Army pensioners were often referred to as Chelsea Pensioners. Those who lived 'Out', in the UK or abroad and received their pension in cash from agents around the country were known as Out-Pensioners. Over time, the term Out-Pensioner fell out of common usage and, in more recent times, it's only those Pensioners who retire to and live within the Royal Hospital who are now officially known as Chelsea Pensioners. In case you are wondering, the pension William was granted when he was discharged was 30d per day (around £400 a year) for the rest of his life. He left £157 to his widow in his will. 

First Walk of 2021: Nun's Cross

 Our first walk of 2021 and where better to go than Dartmoor? Because of the crowds enjoying the snow, our first choice destination was not attractive and we decided to go through Princetown and head out towards Whiteworks and Nun's Cross. As we thought, this isolated part of the moor was relatively deserted and the number of people we met was less than around 10.

The weather was cold, with a few snow showers - bracing is perhaps the best description. A great place to walk and one that left me feeling that this was what walking on Dartmoor was all about.

If you look at the route map, you'll see that it wanders around a little - unintentionally. Lost = not knowing where you are. Lost with a GPS = knowing exactly where you are but where you are isn't where you thought you were and where you wanted to be!

We clocked 4.8 miles for this one. We started just north of Nun's Cross and headed out on the track to the Eylesbarrow Mine complex. The intention then was to take a track back to Nun's Cross Farm but this stretch didn't exactly go according to plan because of an indistinct path. After a bit of rather tiring tussock negotiation, we got back on our route.

Panorama towards Burrator. There was very little snow up here, which was surprising as it was at a considerably higher elevation than we were on our previous walk from Norsworthy Bridge. This was about as good as the visibility got.

Siward's Cross or Nun's Cross. This cross stands at the junction of two main tracks across the moor; The Abbots’ way and the Monks’ Path. Both tracks link the Abbey at Buckfast with those at Tavistock and Buckland. The Monks’ Path takes an East/West direction from Fox Tor Farm, passing through Nuns’ Cross, through to Crazywell Pool and beyond. Whereas the Abbots’ Way takes a more South West/ North East direction from Plym Ford to Princetown. The ancient name of Siward’s Cross was quoted in the 1240 perambulation of the Forest of Dartmoor documents. This name is thought to have derived from Earl Siward, a Saxon, who owned the lands around Tavistock prior to the Norman Conquest. The word ‘Siward’ is engraved across the arms of the eastern face of the cross. No-one, it appears, can confidently give the reason for its alternative name of Nuns’ Cross. There is no historical evidence linking either the cross or the area with any nuns. The most plausible explanation is that it is a derivation of the Cornu-Celtic word ‘Nans’. This means a valley, dale or ravine and, as the cross stands near the head of the Swincombe Valley, this could have given rise to the name of Nun’s Cross.

After Nun's Cross, Jan's Cross. She wasn't, of course, but her customary good humour was tested when we had to make our deviation.

The icy track up to Eylesbarrow.

Eylesbarrow mine was a tin mine that was active during the first half of the 19th century. In its early years it was one of the largest and most prosperous of the Dartmoor tin mines. This building, I would surmise, had some sort of mechanical function because of the size of the two graniite blocks either side of it.

A wheel pit that was fed by an overshot leat. For water-powered features like this, the water could be channelled many miles and the area is pocked with leats, water courses and reservoirs.

Although you can't see it, down at the bottom of this valley lies the nascent River Plym.

A frosty panoramic view to the east.

Nun’s Cross Farm is a well known landmark on the ‘high Moor’ to most of us Dartmoor walkers. The Dartmoor Rescue Group have used it as a base to co-ordinate call-outs on the Southern Moor and is currently used as a temporary bunk-house by a local school (Mount Kelly in Tavistock). It is also used for school parties, Duke of Edinburgh Award, Ten Tors etc and it can even be hired out privately by the brave and hardy for £55 a night. Quite a bargain as it's equipped  for 36 people.
The house was built-in 1870 by a John Hooper who had leased the land from the Dutchy of Cornwall and after he and his wife took occupancy in 1871, they proceeded to raise a family. Mr & Mrs Hooper lived well into their 90’s and after that the house itself fell into disrepair and dilapidation. 

New Year's Eve Walk - Deancombe

It's New Year's Eve and we snuck in a short walk on Dartmoor. And a Happy New Year to all my readers.

An out and back walk of just over 2 miles up the Deancombe Valley. Nothing too demanding but with good views and some archaeology.

At the start of Deancombe Lane which took us up to Deancombe Farm.

The first buildings we came to are those associated with Middleworth Farm. The earliest recorded farm on this site was in 1281 although it is thought that earlier Saxon buildings probably existed. The farm was abandoned in the early 1900's when it, and many others, were the subject of compulsory purchase when Burrator Reservoir was constructed. The farms were all very similar being built from granite collected from the area; the houses were small with the many outbuildings being very close to the house. All are now tumbling down but the remains can still be made out. The whole valley has abandoned hedges and stone walls where the fields used to be. This is a fascinating area to visit; it makes you realize how hard their lives must have been back in those days. This was subsistence level farming and must have been a constant battle against the bad weather and the rocky soil.

Looking over the trees to Sheepstor.

A lichen clad signpost. The middle path to Sheepstor Down is the one we'll take the next time we walk this way.

The substantial remains of Deancombe Farm spread along the side of Deancombe Lane. The farm was first recorded in 1381, slightly later than Middleworth Farm There are no less than twenty one ruined buildings at the site, including a possible pigsty and pen, a converted longhouse, the foundations of a barn, an outer courtyard in which stands this large granite trough, two ruined barns, and the ruins of the more recent house on the opposite side of the lane at the bend. The ruins are mainly covered in moss now but you can make out how the farm sat in the landscape. It is a very evocative place.

I think the best title for this one is 'Dripping Moss on a Tree'.

And the sun did shine and there was a blue sky - momentarily.

Looking towards Sharpitor, with the rather attractive browns of bracken.

I've always been puzzled by this large granite stone with a piece split off its top face. I've arrived at the conclusion that it was probably a gate post or lintel that was taken off at some stage. It's actually in a very convenient position, being on the side of the lane.

A good example of pointless bureaucracy. Who needs reminding of the limitations of the Road Traffic Act at this remote position?

Compare with the previous shot of Sharpitor taken about 5 minutes earlier. The weather on Dartmoor changes quite quickly.

Snowman

Snow-woman

Back at the car and the snow was coming down thick and fast.

Great Mis Tor.

Looking from Pork Hill towards Kit Hill in the distance. The sun is just about setting and the valleys were beginning to fill up with mist.

Same position but looking more to the south where Plymouth Sound should be.

And the gentle sound of water to end with.