Sun, stiles and snowdrops.

This was a good walk. Not too far to drive and with sun (blue skies most of the way), stiles (lots of them! Must have been 20+ but who was counting?), snowdrops (not quite at their best but giving a good show) and spires (at Linkinhorne and South Hill). And the next day, it poured down so we were lucky to fit it in.

We started and ended at the South Hill Parish Hall in Golberdon, which is about 2 miles from where we live. The 7.6 mile route took us north-ish along the Lynher Valley to Linkinhorne and then back to Golberdon via South Hill and Morniick. A delightful combination of farmland and quiet country lanes - and stiles.

Looking towards Bodmin Moor, with - left to right - Caradon Hill, Cheesewring and Sharpitor. Done 'em all.

Snowdrops in sunlight. Give it another week or so and the displays will be amazing. They'll be followed by hosts of daffodils and drifts of bluebells. Snowdrops (Galanthus nivalis) are one of the first bulbs to flower and are a signal of the start of spring - a little premature, methinks. The flower is a symbol of hope - hope for a good year to come. And I'm not thinking of Brexit. Galanthus, by the way, means 'milk flower'.

Crossing the Lynher via a narrow clapper bridge. At this time of year, it's not the width that is the problem, rather the generous covering of very slippery moss and lichen. We've yet to lose someone but I always have my camera primed for an action shot of someone getting wet.

Just an old oak tree. Is this what a blasted oak looks like?

Our group of intrepid walks negotiating yet another stile. At least this one had a handrail to aid climbing the vertical stome wall. Look at the blue sky.

According to legend, the snowdrop became the symbol of hope when Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden. When Eve was about to give up hope that the cold winters would never end, an angel appeared. She transformed some of the snowflakes into snowdrop flowers, proving that the winters do eventually give way to the spring.

The interior of St Melor's church in Linkinhorne. Its services are probably the most traditional locally and they even hold a regular choral evensong. The patron saint of St Melor's is St Melorus, a saint with a fascinating backstory. He was the son of Melianus, the Duke of Cornouaille, in Brittany, France.  When he was seven years old, his uncle, Rivoldus, killed Melianus, so that he could become the Duke. To make matters worse, he cut off one hand and one foot of his nephew Melorus, and forced him to go to a monastery.  Somebody gave the poor boy a silver hand and a brass foot.  God worked a miracle, and soon Melorus could use his silver hand and brass foot, just like his real hand and foot. These prosthetics also grew in size as the boy grew. Melorus advanced in virtue and holiness and by the time he was fourteen years old, he was working miracles.  Rivoldus then became afraid of his holy nephew and asked the boy's guardian, Cerialtanus, to get rid of his nephew, Melorus.  Cerialtanus then cut off the boy's head.  The dead body of Melorus was the cause of many miracles, and God saw to it that his murderers all died.  Then Melorus was buried with great honour and respect. 

A stained glass depiction of St Melorus. There was no sign of either a silver hand or a brass foot. Given their scope for artistic licence, I was surprised not to see them feature prominently in this window. An opportunity missed, in my opinion.

Looking back across the fields to St Melor's. I like the ethereal appearance of the leafless trees.

Some house signs that caught my fancy on our way round. Wagmuggle? No idea what this means and no-one else, including Mr Google, seems to know either. Pennti Myghal? The owner of the house told me it was Cornish for 'Michael's Cottage' but he wasn't the eponymous Michael. 1817 JP? Yet another house owner told us that his great grandfather, James Pearce, had built the house in, you've guessed already, 1817.

The tower of St Sampson's church in South Hill. A story for another time but, compared with that for St Melorus, a very tame tale. But it is a very interesting church - the oldest around these parts.

The last of my interesting facts about snowdrops - the name does not mean 'drop' of snow, it means drop as in eardrop - the old word for earring. Fancy that.

Heading back to our starting point with Kit Hill and its stack as a landmark. We live half way up it - Kit Hill, not the stack.