I dislike kids

I went on a walk yesterday and had an interesting conversation with one of my companions about modern language. One of the words that came up was 'kids'. We were of the same mind on this and it reminded me that I'd written a post in 2015 on just this topic. I think it deserves a rerun as my views have not changed in the intervening period. To the contrary, my antipathy has grown.

I dislike** kids. Don't get me wrong, I don’t dislike children, young people, babies, infants, toddlers, adolescents, teenagers or youth. But I do dislike the universal use of the word 'kid/kids' to describe any and all of the categories of young folk.
'Kid' has its uses, certainly. It can be a friendly word, a loving word, even – in certain contexts. But words have connotations, subtle nuances of meaning that colour their interpretation. When writers begin to use certain words as if one size fits all, meanings get lost and the underlying sense becomes distorted. In addition to conveying youthfulness, the word 'kid' has associations of irresponsibility, poor judgment, triviality and mischievousness. Responsible behaviour is not expected of 'kids'.  “Kids will be kids”.  'Kids' are not to be trusted or taken seriously. In some ways, it's quite a derogatory word and I wince almost every time I hear it.
I realise I am probably in a minority and am flogging a dead horse and I should just accept that people have been using it in the vernacular for years. But I still think that, in most contexts, 'child' or 'children' are much better choices than the rather lazy 'kid' or 'kids'. I'll keep on plugging away but I suspect that the day can't be far off when I'll go to an art gallery and see a portrait of the Blessed Virgin and Baby Jesus labeled “Mother and Kid.” I kid you not.

**I could have chosen to write 'hate' instead of 'dislike' but hate is another word that is being debased by its ubiquitous usage. I try to be very selective when I use it.

A few more D-Day beaches: Gold, Utah and Arromanches.

We continued our visit to the Normandy Beaches by heading west to Gold and Utah. At Gold, we started by taking in the Arromanches 360 Circular cinema, which shows a really dramatic film about the landings. Well worth going, if you are ever there. At Utah, The D-Day Experience and Dead Man's Corner Museum were two themed museums that, again, were well worth visiting. Absorbing all of the information, sights and sounds really puts the conflict into its proper perspective. But it is still history in hindsight and, let's be honest, history that has been cleansed on the gore. I still can't get my head around what it really must have been like to have been there. I think only those who have been through something similar will know.

Gold Beach, the central of the five landing areas, was located between Port-en-Bessin on the west and La Rivière on the east. It was about 15 miles due west of Sword Beach Taking Gold was the responsibility of the 50th Division of the British Army, with sea transport, mine sweeping, and a naval bombardment force provided by the Royal Navy as well as elements from the Dutch, Polish and other Allied navies. The objectives, all successfully met, at Gold were to secure a beachhead, move west to capture Arromanches and establish contact with the American forces at Omaha, capture Bayeux and the small port at Port-en-Bessin, and to link up with the Canadian forces at Juno to the east. British casualties during the landing at Gold are estimated at 1,000–1,100, of which 350 were killed. German losses are unknown and at least 1,000 were captured.

Mulberry harbours were, quite simply, temporary portable harbours developed in the UK to facilitate the rapid offloading of cargo onto beaches during the Allied invasion. After the Allies successfully held beachheads following D-Day, two prefabricated harbours were taken in sections across the English Channel from Britain with the invading army and assembled off Omaha Beach (Mulberry "A") and, the one above at Gold Beach (Mulberry "B").The harbour at Gold Beach was used for 10 months after D-Day and over 2.5 million men, 500,000 vehicles, and 4 million tons of supplies were landed before it was fully decommissioned. The still only partially-completed Mulberry harbour at Omaha Beach was damaged on 19th June by a violent storm that suddenly arrived from the north-east. After three days the storm finally abated and damage was found to be so severe that the harbour had to be abandoned.

The charity, D-Day Revisited, installed a garden commemorating D-Day at the Chelsea Flower Show this year. Subsequently, the designer, John Everiss moved and rebuilt the garden in seven days at a site overlooking Gold Beach and the Mulberry Harbour. The garden features two life-size sculptures of veteran Bill Pendell who landed on Gold beach during D-Day. It also includes 15 stone plinths bearing a word or sentence which captures the D-Day experience according to 15 veterans, four metallic figures struggling out of big waves, and a carpet of over 10,000 Armeria Maritima or ’Sea Thrift’ which would have been seen by the troops on the beaches of Plymouth and Normandy. It's a very powerful and effective piece and I think the transparency of the figures really works well.

The infra-red images give an added dimension and I particularly like the way the white crosses stand out.

A 'Tommy' wading ashore.

My dad's landing craft beached 200 yards off-shore and I thought of him when I saw this part of the tableau. A pedant would say (and I am that pedant) that this could not have been someone from 41 Commando as they were wearing the green berets of the Marines and not the standard issue tin helmet. The story goes that, as 41 Commando unit were drawing close to the beach, their leader, Lord Lovat, ordered them to remove their tin hats and wear their green berets - the signature of the Commandos unit. All through the war, they never wore a tin hat. Dad's green beret is on top of our piano at home and I see it every time I come through our front door. A treasured possession.

The westernmost of the five landing beaches was code-named Utah. The objective at Utah was to secure a beachhead on the Cotentin Peninsula, the location of important port facilities at Cherbourg. The amphibious assault, primarily by the US 4th Infantry Division and 70th Tank Battalion, was supported by airborne landings of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Division. The intention was to rapidly seal off the Cotentin Peninsula, prevent the Germans from reinforcing Cherbourg and capture the port as quickly as possible. 21,000 troops landed on Utah at the cost of only 197 casualties. Airborne troops arriving by parachute and glider numbered an additional 14,000 men, with 2,500 casualties. Around 700 men were lost in engineering units, the 70th Tank Battalion, and seaborne vessels sunk by the enemy. German losses are unknown. Cherbourg was captured on June 26th, but by this time the Germans had destroyed the port facilities, which were not brought back into full operation until September.

An interesting plaque at Utah Beach recognising the efforts of those who landed first and were involved in clearing the beaches as much as they could before the main body of troops arrived. I had the privilege once of flying back from Atlanta on a Delta flight in 1994 and sitting next to someone who had played an active role in this. He was from Florida and, with some of his surviving colleagues, was going back to Utah Beach to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the landings. He told me that he was 18 at the time and fresh off the farm. Three quarters of the men in his platoon were killed on Utah Beach. A bitter-sweet memory that came flooding back when I saw the plaque and I wish I could have remembered his name.

A pilgrimage to Sword Beach

Royal Marine Badge

As a prelude to our holiday with the family in Brittany, Mrs P and I had a week in Normandy. One of the reasons for this was to visit the D-Day Beaches and to see some of the places that my dad, Marine Derrick Parsons, 41 Royal Marine Commando, encountered on June 6th 1944 and the days thereafter.

His unit, 41 Royal Marine Commando, was part of the 4th Special Service Brigade of the 3rd Infantry Division and landed at Sword Beach, which was the invasion beach furthest to the east of the five involved. It is located between Hermanville and Lion-sur-Mer and, when we visited, it looked like a beach on any seaside resort. The expanse and flatness of all the beaches in this region gives an immediate clue as to why they were deemed suitable for an invasion from the sea. Wouldn't the present day holiday-makers have a shock if hundreds of landing craft suddenly landed?

The following extract from the 41 Commando unit war diary describes what happened as the real landing crafts approached the beaches. As is typical of these journals, the descriptions are matter-of-fact and understated.

0825 - Coastline now perfectly visible and Troop Commanders were able to identify their beach from previous study of low obliques during the briefing.  The beach appeared a bit of a shambles.  It was littered with dead and wounded and burnt out tanks and with Flails flailing through wire and mines, Bulldozers clearing gaps etc.  The beach was quite obviously still under fire as mortar bombs and shells were crashing down fairly plentifully.  It appeared however that Red Beach was getting a better share of this fire than White.
0830 - Shells started falling around the craft and several near hits were reaching ships damaging ramps etc. on some craft but caused no casualties to personnel.

0840 - Due to land.

0845 - Touch down about 200 yards out to sea on Red Beach with our proper Beach, White, 300 yds. away on our left.  Whilst still coming in, Lieut. Colonel Gray had foreseen this and did his best to get the craft to slew right on to the proper beach which was in fact drawing less fire than Red.  In the general confusion, however, his efforts were unsuccessful.  'P' Troop commanded by Captain B.J.B Sloley with a nucleus Advance H.Q. moved swiftly across to White Beach and within about 5 minutes were off the beach almost complete.  Within another 5 minutes a section of A. Troop with Captain C.N.P. Powell, DSO, Troop Commander had followed.  Lieut.Colonel Gray then decided to move this body up to the first lateral and to find a more suitable spot for assembly.

0920 - P. and A. Troops halted at road junction 080809 and waited there for the remainder of the Commando.

0940 - By this time a dozen men of 'X' Troop had joined up and reported that their Troop Commander Captain H.E. Stratford, M.C. had been wounded on landing and that they had also lost about 25 men killed and wounded, on the beach.  'Y' Troop reported that the 2 i/c Major D.L. Barclay had been killed and that the Signal Officer Lieut. A.G. Aldis M.M. was a casualty.  Lieut. Colonel Gray then decided to push on with the troops he had collected and P. Troop followed by Y. Troop and A. started to move into LION. 

The road junction 080809 mentioned above no longer exists in its original form and is now the site of a memorial to 41 Commando.

The memorial itself takes the form of a large sundial with the time the marines landed on the beach marked by the location of a plaque on the dial. I've chosen the above IR image from the many I took because the weeds are not so obvious! Sadly, it had a rather neglected look. Time for the locals to get their act together and spend an afternoon with their trowels.

The inscription on the plaque reads:

6 Juin 1944

MONUMENT DE LA LIBERTE
ERIGE A LA MEMOIRE DU
41 ROYAL MARINES COMMANDO
QUE A DEBARQUE SUR NOTRE
PLAGE S L'HEURE INDIQUEE PAR
L'EMPLACEMENT DE CETTE PIERRE
SUR LE CADRAN SOLAIRE AU SOL

Which translates to:

June 6, 1944

MONUMENT OF FREEDOM
IN MEMORY OF
41 ROYAL MARINE COMMANDO
WHO LANDED ON OUR
BEACH TIME INDICATED BY
THE LOCATION OF THIS STONE
ON THE GROUND SUNDIAL

It also gives the Roll of Honour of those commandos who died during the landing and the subsequent engagements with the enemy. There was considerable close ranging fighting as they moved through the streets.

LIBERATION OF LION-SUR-MER 6TH-7TH JUNE 1944 41 ROYAL MARINE COMMANDO Roll of Honour
Major D.L. Barclay	Marine W.Dabbs
Capt. P.T. Howes-Dufton	Marine A.R.H. Drew
Capt. P.C. Dixon R.A.	Marine J. Egan
Lieut. A.G. Aldis M.M.	Marine C.L. Hunter
Lieut. J.C. Pearson	Marine J.G. Jackson
RSM E.J. Belcher B.E.M.	Marine J.H. Parkinson
Sgt R. Fielding	Marine R. Poultney
Sgt A.U. Hey	Marine F.A. Reynolds
Sgt F.W. Pryor M.M.	Marine E. Spence
Cpl E. Johnson	Marine H.T.W.B Swindale
Cpl J.W. Peat	Marine P.J.W. Trolley
Cpl H. Spawforth	Marine E.C. Welham
Cpl F.G. Wiehtman Bde. Sigs.	Marine E.G. White
L/Cpl J.McNeill	Marine W. Jackson
Marine REC. Brown	Marine J.A. Smith

Dad never said much about his experiences during and after the landing but, to some of us, he did mention that he lost several of his friends, the exact details of which I'll pass over. However, they will be listed above. As many of them are buried in the nearby war cemetery in Hermanville, we went there to pay our respects.

The Hermanville cemetery contains 1,003 Second World War burials, 103 of which are unidentified. The majority of those buried here died on 6th June or during the first days of the drive towards Caen. As with all cemeteries looked after by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, Hermanville exudes an air of respect and quiet dignity. It is an organisation that I rate highly.

Six of the marines named on the 41 Commando Roll of Honour are buried in Hermanville. I found it sobering to think that an inch or two either way or a minute or two sooner or later, my dad could have lain with them. Hence no me and no-one to make this small pilgrimage to remember his comrades. The details of each I've taken directly from their entries in the CWGC Register. Dad's service number started with PO/X because he had first enlisted at Portsmouth. Perhaps those below with PO/X numbers had been with him from the start?

BROWN, ROBERT REGINALD CYRIL

Service Number CH/X 100561
Died 06/06/1944
Aged 24
No. 41 R.M. Commando. Royal Marines
Son of William Charles Horatio and Annie Elizbeth Brown, of Tottenham, Middlesex; husband of Violet Brown (nee Field).

DABBS, WILLIAM

Service Number PLY/X 102644
Died 06/06/1944
Aged 23
No. 41 R.M. Commando. Royal Marines
Son of George Dabbs, and of Nellie Dabbs. of Harden, Staffordshire.

EGAN, JOHN

Service Number PLY/X103476
Died 07/06/1944
Aged 24
No. 41 R.M. Commando. Royal Marines
Son of John and Norah Egan; nephew of Margaret Shanahan, of Miltown, Malbay, Co. Clare, Irish Republic.

POULTNEY, RONALD

Service Number PLY/X104049
Died 06/06/1944
Aged 22
No. 41 R.M. Commando. Royal Marines
Son of Thomas and Esther Elizabeth Poultney, of Leek, Staffordshire.

REYNOLDS, FREDRICK ARTHUR

Service Number PO/X 120294
Died 06/06/1944
Aged 19
No. 41 R.M. Commando. Royal Marines
Son of Thomas Henry and Elizabeth Jane Reynolds, of Westminster, London.

TROLLEY, PHILIP JOHN WESTON Service Number PO/X 121657
Died 06/06/1944
Aged 18
No.41 R.M. Commando. Royal Marines
Son of Edmund Weston Trolley and Vera Annie Trolley, of Banbury, Oxfordshire.

WHITE, ERNEST GEORGE

Service Number CH/X115681
Died 06/06/1944
Aged 22
No. 41 R.M. Commando. Royal Marines
Son of Henry and Louise E. White, of Canning Town, Essex.

During the days following the landing, 41 Commando were actively engaged with and involved in the continuing push-back of the German forces and the consolidation of the territorial gains made. In the process Lion-sur-Mer, Duc-sur-Mer and Hermanville were all liberated. On the 16th and 17th June, they were a key part of the action that became known as The Battle of Douvres Radar Station. This radar station was an extremely important communication hub for the Germans and was very well defended, mainly by Luftwaffe ground forces. The attack itself was preceded by an artillery bombardment and supported by mine-clearing and anti-bunker tanks of 79th Armoured Division. 

At 5:40 pm on the 17th, the 160 men of 41 Commando rushed the bombarded positions and soon after swept over the outer defences. Not long after that, they entered the casemates, tunnels and bunkers, opening fire and they found many shocked and dazed Germans. Having lost nearly all their strong points, for the Germans it was clear that the station could no longer be defended. With their protective concrete breached, they surrendered. The assault was similarly successful on the small station on the northern site that was found to contain thirty eight Germans but almost immediately they also gave up; like the others they had been dazed, shocked and exhausted by the heavy bombardment.
41 Commando had suffered six casualties, including one killed, in the engagement. The relevant extract from the War Diary is given below.

The radar site at Douvres-la-Délivrande is now home to a museum. This is the main bunker which housed the main living quarters for the Germans. It was weird walking around this placing thinking that my father might stood in exactly the same spot, but with a smoking gun in his hand rather than a camera.

16th June 1944

Harass each station.  Commander 1 Corps orders an attack to be put in on both station on the following day.  For this purpose 5th Assault Squadron R.E. and the 22nd Dragoons were attached to the Commando.  The plan for the attack was devised as follows - 3 teams of flails should go forward to the main wire under cover of an artillery barrage lasting 1/2 hr. and should make 3 gaps through the wire and minefields at the following points 006803, 007802, 010801.  The gaps having been made, the Avres were to move through inside the wire covered by fire from the flails and engage any targets presented.  After 10 minutes they were to lay smoke and lay hand placed charges on those targets unsuitable for their Petards.  The Commando was then to follow in with 'B' Tp. on the right through 006803, 'P' Tp. through the centre 007802, 'X' Tp. through 010801 and to mop up, 'Y' was to be held in reserve.  A similar and smaller team of flails and Avres was to make a breach in the Northern Station at about 005811 and 'A' Tp. to follow in.  Zero hour was fixed for 1700 hrs. on the 17th.

17th June 1944

1400 - 'A' Tp. moves to FUP area orchard 003815.  B. X. and Y. to Douvre with FUPs in orchards facing the Radar Station in square 0180.

1630 - Barrage commences intense.

1700 - Flails commence clearing minefields.

1720 - Avres move up and into Radar Station.  Avres suffer two casualties (in tanks) and one flail.  According to plan, yet a little behind time, troops go in at about 1740.  By this time the enemy had been dazed, shocked or frightened into surrender and came out in large numbers with their hands up.  The assault was similarly successful on the small station which was found to contain 38 Germans.  The bag in all was 5 Officers and 222 O.Rs.  'A' Tp. suffered the only casualty, 1 man wounded.  In all 44 tanks had taken part in the assault, all was over by 1830 hrs.  Our troops withdrew to the positions previously occupied in the wood.

The main receiver at Douvres-la-Délivrande and the object of the battle.

One of the primary objectives for the main body of forces landing at Sword Beach was Caen to the south. However, 41 Commando and others were deployed eastwards (X on the map above) to both penetrate further into France and also to secure crossings over the Seine. After traversing the nearby Orne (location of the famous Pegasus Bridge at Ranville, which was captured overnight on the 5th/6th June), 41 Commando fought/worked their way through the following towns and villages: Sallenelles, Amfreville/Hauger, Troarn, Goustranville, St Richer, Putot-en-Auge, St LegerevDuboq, Dozule, Pont l'Eveque, thence to St Maclou and Barentin in the region of the Seine. Their journey after that took them northwards through France to the Ostend area. I'd like to say that, for dad, the fighting had stopped but the worse was to come with his involvement in the Battle of Walcheren in November 1944. I'll describe his experiences there closer to the 75th Anniversary of that engagement. Nothing quite like ending a post on a cliff-hanger!

Once a marine, always a marine. Dad in his dress uniform. I think this was taken before all of the events described above.

 

Behold, Borismageddon did smite the land and he was verily afraid

Peter Riddell, Observer, 28th July 2019

Yes, I am still on holiday, and, yes, I hadn’t planned to write anything political whilst away. But I couldn’t let the victory of Boris Johnson pass unremarked. 

And so it has come to pass. The Borismageddon is upon us. The UK is now officially the laughing stock of Europe, led by a man who vies only with Donald Trump for the lack of esteem in which he’s held in foreign capitals. The Brexiteers predicted that we’d be punching above our weight and they’ve delivered a nuclear whoopee cushion and we are all the butt of the joke. EU leaders know who Boris Johnson is, and their opinions are not flattering. They’re not going to be disposed to do any favours for the man who brought the European project down with lies about bent bananas and, more recently, lying about kippers.

In his first rambling free form speech as Prime Minister, we saw Boris Johnson lecture the nation like a gerbil on crack. He sounded as though he was making it all up as he went along, and I suspect he probably was. Amongst the faux bumbling, the spewing out of promises that he had neither the intention nor wherewithal of keeping, our new PM was true to form. He lied. He lied with no sense of shame. He lied with no self-awareness. He claimed that it was merely a “remote possibility” that the EU would not reopen negotiations on the terms of the UK’s exit. Yet he knows that it’s a “remote possibility” in the same sense that it’s a remote possibility that the sun will come up in the east tomorrow morning. It’s a remote possibility in the same sense that Facebook will collect all your personal data and claim that it’s doing you a favour. 

The Brextremists can long longer blame a government of closet remainers for the failure of Brexit, so the new PM is just getting his excuses in early. When the vanity of Brexit comes crashing into reality it will be the fault of the EU. It will be the fault of MPs. It will be the fault of Jezza and his comrades. What it won’t ever be is the fault of the British Empire nostalgics and fantasists who created the myth of Brexit in the first place.

It’s one thing to anticipate a Boris Johnson government, but you only really grasp the true horror once it has actually happened. We now have the most right wing government in living memory, packed full of Ayn Rand fans, Brextremists, death penalty enthusiasts, failed ministers and those whose only criticism of Margaret Thatcher is that she didn’t punish the working classes harshly enough. And as if that wasn’t bad enough it is led by an empty egoist who cynically acts the clown, taking the country down a path of lies, in pursuit of a fantasy that doesn’t exist.

We didn’t witness a cabinet reshuffle. It was the wholesale appointment of a new government by a man who has no democratic legitimacy beyond the approbation of the selectorate of the Conservative party. Boris Johnson ruthlessly axed all those who didn’t give him their full support.  It's a purge that a Stalinist would be proud of. This is a man who believes that individuality is something that only applies to him. The role of everyone else in the universe is to bask in his self-esteem. The new Prime Minister has signalled that he’s going to pursue the most extreme form of Brexit possible and that the concerns of remainers are of no consequence. 
 
The Tories are now telling us that Boris Johnson will either do or die. Apparently, Malcolm Rifkind (remember him?) appeared on Sky News last night to tell us that this new government could make a success of Brexit and then Boris Johnson will be a national hero. There’s never been a greater display of wishful thinking since Theresa May bought a pair of red shoes and clicked her heels together three times in the hope that it would deliver her to the end of the yellow brick Brexit road. Even if Boris Johnson does deliver Brexit, he’ll be delivering something that many, many people have repeatedly, insistently, consistently, stated that they do not want. You don’t become a hero by forcing an unwanted dish down an unwilling throat in the hope that it will suddenly become tasty. You become a hated abuser.

It's predicted that Boris Johnson will be the worst PM that the UK has ever had. His reign will end with bombast, in self-delusion and with the UK in tatters. He likes to think he's a modern day Churchill. He's not, comparison with Neville Chamberlin would be more accurate.

Walking around Walkhampton

The weather was set fair and off we went for a walk with one of our regular Thursday groups. Back on the eastern edge of Dartmoor for this one.

The route took us on an almost figure-of-eight route with our starting point, Lowery Cross car park, at the centre. I clocked 6.2 miles on my GPS. An interesting route and one that we had not done before. There doesn't seem to be an end to the places that we haven't visited yet.

Heading down a lane from our starting point, with Walkhampton church in the distance. We dropped about 400 feet over the first half mile of the walk. As the saying goes, what goes down, must go back up.

Situated on a hilltop half a mile from the village of Walkhampton, St Mary's church, with its 85 feet pinnacled tower, dominates the surrounding landscape. It is built in local granite and originates from 1259 although most of it now dates from the 1450s.Interestingly, the bells were cast by Pennington, from our own parish, in 1764 and 1769 The fact that the church lies outside of its village indicates that it predates the village and was built in this location at a point being central to several local farms. Sadly, this is one of the few churches we've come across that remain closed to visitors outside of service times.

Next door to the Church is the old Church House, which is well documented and dates from the early sixteenth century. A plaque on the wall gives the date of 1698, but it is thought that this was probably put there when alterations took place to build the second floor. 

The Church House originally belonged to the parishioners and would have been managed by the church wardens. Its original purpose was to brew and sell ale and it would have been open for business straight after church services - a Public House owned by its customers, what more could one ask for! Besides the brewing of Church Ale, it was the Council Chamber, a collection centre for local Tithes, the distribution centre of bread for the poor and, of course, an inn on the route from Buckfast Abbey to Tavistock Abbey. It ceased trading in 1894 and was restored in the early 1980's. It is reputed to be the oldest house in the parish and certainly the one with the most history attached to it.

We quite often encounter cows on our walks and rarely have any problems with them, although, as with all large animals, their docility should not be taken for granted - especially if there are calves around.

A fingerpost pointing to Dartmoor - what more invitation is needed?

A gateway to the open moor, with Great Staple Tor in the distance. Going through the gate is like stepping over the threshold into another dimension.

Lots of beech nuts or beech mast around. And some of them were larger than normal and gave a reasonably sized nibble. Due to their high fat content, oil extracted from the masts was used for cooking and lighting in the past, and once it had matured was claimed to be no inferior to olive oil.  There is an eighteenth century reference to the kernels being put in soups. Another old source comments that suitably treated they could be turned into bread, it is also claimed that roasted beechnuts have been used as a coffee substitute.
All beech trees are capable of producing seeds as the trees produce both male and female flowers. The trees have mast years (is this year a mast year?), where an abundance of seeds is produced. This is induced by climatic factors, and observations have shown that drought years are often accompanied or followed by heavy mast years.

We walked a couple of miles along the track of the old Princetown Railway, a 10¼ mile single track branch railway line that ran from Yelverton to Princetown via four intermediate stations, Dousland, Burrator and Sheepstor Halt, Ingra Tor Halt and King Tor Halt. The line closed in 1956 and is now a very popular cycling and walking route.
Here's a thing: what is it about some cyclists that makes them never use warning bells when they are sharing a path with walkers? Do they delight at the prospect of running us down? Or are they, as I think, simply mindless dolts who couldn't care a toss about those of us on foot? Not that I wish them ill but I hope they are perennially saddle sore and have punctures galore.

Lunch stop with a view. Well worth the effort of getting there.

The Devonport Leat was constructed in the 1790s to carry fresh drinking water from the high ground of Dartmoor to the expanding dockyards at Plymouth Dock, renamed in the early 1800s to Devonport. It originally ran for some 30 miles but now stops at Burrator Reservoir. Here some of the water goes to Dousland water works and the rest falls down a waterfall into the reservoir. 

A kissing gate at Burrator and Sheepstor Halt station that led down towards the dam and reservoir. As is the case here, quite often these gates alongside railways have posts and struts made from bent railway rails. The etymology of the name is that the gate merely "kisses" (touches) the enclosure either side, rather than needing to be securely latched - and you thought it was to do with old-fashioned philematology!

Looking across Burrator Reservoir towards Sheepstor. Compare and contrast with the IR version of the same scene below. I know which one I find more interesting.

When you've got an itch, you've just got to scratch it.

I'll finish up this post with a few infra-red images. I carry the camera so I might as well show some of the photographs I took. As experience grows, I'm being far more selective about using it and am getting a better feel for what may turn out to be a reasonable image. Beauty is very much in the eye of the beholder for some of them as they are a representation of reality rather than the real thing.

Looking down from the edge of Yennadon Down, where we started, roughly to the north. IR makes the sky look much more menacing than it was. Keen eyes will pick out Walkhampton church and Brentor, making it an image that is worth studying as there's so much in it.

Walkhampton church as we approached it over the fields.

The church tower.

This shot has a rather Victorian sepia feel to it. Although the church is constructed of granite blocks, they are so smooth that they could be mistaken for concrete.

Looking across Burrator Reservoir towards Sheepstor. I prefer this one to the full spectrum version above.

Another walk along the Coastal Footpath, plus the church of St Juliot.

PAnother hot day and another chance to complete another stretch of the Cornish Coastal Footpath. This one filled in a gap between Boscastle and Crackington Haven. With this one under our boots, we should be able to finish the remaining miles in 4 or 5 sessions, depending on how energetic we feel about tackling some of the notoriously difficult sections. Not that this one was easy. But we did it and that was very satisfying. Our day was concluded with a visit to St Juliot's church, which has associations with the author, Thomas Hardy.

Our route was pretty simple: keep the sea to the right and head south west. 5.5 miles of  what can be justifiably described as 'moderate to strenuous' walking - with there being more of the strenuous than the moderate. We took a taxi from the centre of Boscastle up the The Strangles, just outside of Crackington Haven, and walked from there.

Our route from a satellite. It looks pretty flat from up there - just proving that appearances can be deceptive The red dot to the right is the location of St Juliot's church, which we visited on our way back home.

Looking south west along the route we'll be taking, although not as far as we can see. We'll be going as far as the white tower that can be seen in the mid-ground. High Cliff, the second lump, is the highest point on the coast of Cornwall and reaches 735 feet (223m) above sea level. And it felt like it when we got to the top.

Looking north east with the white domes of the Morwenstowe tracking station in the distance. Lundy Island can be just about made out on the horizon, giving a visibility of around 30 miles.

Who goes down...……………

……….must go up. I'm not sure how many steps we encountered on this walk but there were hundreds.

By and large, wayside flowers are well passed their prime and coming across a very short section of wall in pretty much full bloom was a very pleasant surprise. What was it about this particular spot that meant that the flowering was delayed? It was well sheltered and that may account for it.

Even to a non-geologist as me, the stretch of coastline between Boscastle and Crackington Haven is truly impressive. The cliffs tower above the sea and the wind-battered, bare rock faces tumble in a series of strange and dramatic formations. This concertina of black shale, sandstone and quartz was formed millions of years ago and is what is known to nerds as the Crackington Formation. Sounds like an obscure '60s rock band to me.

And so we came to the harbour at Boscastle. A delightful place and always a pleasant place to walk around - more so in the out-of-season months when there are fewer people around. The white tower I mentioned earlier on can be seen on the headland. It was formerly an observation tower for whatever was there to be observed at the time.

A Stonechat. There were lots of these all along our walk, flitting from the tops of vegetation and field posts. Perpetually on the move, making getting a decent shot quite difficult.

 

St Juliot or Saint Julitta. Another fascinating gem of a church. It is rather isolated and has a congregation of just 4. It has struggled in the past before its unique claim to fame. The medieval building, particularly the tower, was dilapidated and an architect was engaged in 1867 to make some renovations and, essentially, save the building. The architect was a struggling novelist: Thomas Hardy. He met and fell in love with the Rector’s sister-in-law, Emma Gifford. She encouraged his writing, and after this rebuild he gave up architecture and promptly published his second novel “A Pair of Blue Eyes". The rest is history. Their marriage was not a happy one, regrettably. Hardy married a second time, but this was prejudiced by emotional “baggage” from the marriage to Emma. The setting could easily feature in a Hardy novel and it probably does. It is both beautiful and atmospheric and yet another example of a building that must be preserved.

The Screen and Pulpit are Victorian, installed by Hardy - though not entirely in accordance with his instructions. He had planned to repair the original medieval screen rather than replace it, but the builder he employed for the work is said to have told him, "I said to myself I won’t stand on a pound or two while I’m about it, I’ll give ‘em a new screen instead of that patched up old thing!" and Hardy had to give in. The pulpit was also installed during Hardy's restoration, though again, it was not part of his original plan.

The patron saint of the church , St Julitta, was yet another relatively obscure Christian martyr who came to a gruesome end. She and her three-year-old son, Cyricus, had fled to Tarsus and were identified as Christians. Julitta was tortured and Cyricus, being held by the governor of Tarsus, scratched the governor's face and was killed by being thrown down by some stairs. Julitta did not weep but celebrated the fact that her son had earned the crown of martyrdom. In anger, the governor then decreed that Julitta’s sides should be ripped apart with hooks, and then she was beheaded. Her body, along with that of Cyricus, was flung outside the city, on the heap of bodies belonging to criminals, but two maids rescued the corpses of the mother and child and buried them in a nearby field. What a nice story!

The picture above is of the Thomas Hardy window designed by Simon Whistler. It was presented to the church by the Thomas Hardy Society and dedicated in July 2003. The window consists of scenes from the romance of Hardy and Emma Gifford, his first wife - these scenes taking place in the area around St Juliot, including Beeny Cliff and the Valency river valley. These scenes are frequently referred to in Hardy's poetry, particularly in those poems he wrote in response to Emma's death. 
As I never travel carrying a big piece of black cardboard, because of the light coming in through the engraved glass, it is impossible for my photographs to do justice to how beautiful this window is. My advice is, go to St Juliot and see for yourself.

Why go to Saint-Juliot? What's Juliot to me?
I was but made fancy
By some necromancy
That much of my life claims the spot as its key.

Yes. I have had dreams of that place in the West,
And a maiden abiding
Thereat as in hiding;
Fair-eyed and white-shouldered, broad-browed and brown-tressed.

And of how, coastward bound on a night long ago,
There lonely I found her,
The sea-birds around her,
And other than nigh things uncaring to know.

So sweet her life there (in my thought has it seemed)
That quickly she drew me
To take her unto me,
And lodge her long years with me. Such have I dreamed.

But nought of that maid from Saint-Juliot I see;
Can she ever have been here,
And shed her life's sheen here,
The woman I thought a long housemate with me?

Does there even a place like Saint-Juliot exist?
Or a Vallency Valley
With stream and leafed alley,
Or Beeny, or Bos with its flounce flinging mist?

(A Dream or No: February 1913)

This detail in the right hand window depicts Emma riding her horse near Beeny Cliffs, a couple of miles to the west of the church. We walked across the top of these but not until we'd negotiated yet another of the flights of steps. Emma had it easy if all she had to do was to ride there!

The church in infra-red. It works for me.

As does this infra-red shot of the graveyard.