Over the past week, Mabel has discovered, and has fallen in love with, our front room. The room that Lisa calls ‘the winter room’. It has the wood burning stove and a soft carpet laid out in front. The apple wood creates heat and light, and in a dimmed and snug space, just whispers “relax, be calm”. Mabel is not alone in loving this room.
One minute more, each day, of daylight. The days are getting longer and the nights are shortening.
Today (bottom) and tomorrow (top). Each day from now on, we gain an extra minute of daylight each day.
But, being back at work now, I miss out on the daily dog walk. That one or two hours of fresh air, stimulation of the senses, and valuable daylight won’t return until we get to the February half-term. There are still the weekends of course, and I see each day as a precious thing.
National lockdown #3, from Wednesday 6th January 00:01 to mid February at the earliest.
Two hundred and ninety days ago we entered into the first nationwide lockdown. A few days after Boris Johnson delivered a live speech from Downing Street to announce it.
Tonight, we received a near as dammit repeat of that; hours after Nicola Sturgeon in Scotland and twenty-four hours after Sir Keir Starmer demanded it.
Today we took delivery of the rapid lateral flow tests at school and tomorrow we embark on the repeat testing program of staff and pupils. The aim to identify asymptomatic carriers and to ensure non-infected people can remain at work or learning.
I meditated today for the first time in a while. It helped. I want to start regular meditation again and yoga too.
It has been a largely bleak day weather-wise. Cold drizzle, freshening breeze from the northeast and only a dash of sunshine first thing this morning.
The PM appeared on the Andrew Marr programme this morning. Highly unconvincing.
The fall out of the past 48 hours, and the government’s incapability to make firm decisions continued today. Some staff, parents and pupils are nervous to return. The National Education Union has sent a template letter to its members to send to their Headteachers saying that they do not believe schools to be safe enough to work in.
But for me, the greatest frustration is the UK government’s inconsistent decisions and delayed actions, alongside the lack of data and evidence to (not) back up their messages. Not to mention the seeming lack of understanding of the inevitable.
The other devolved nations of the UK made up their minds weeks ago about what the new term would look like from day 1, week 1 and week 2. Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland have all set out the difficult truth they perceive will greet us all after the Christmas and New Year break. They have all delayed the full reopening of schools providing clarity, even if it’s not what many people wanted to hear. Here in England, however, we are still unsure this evening, the day before we return.
After our walk this afternoon, I went to see Dad. He was just about to have a Skype call and was looking forward to having a bacon sandwich for his supper. A real bacon sandwich, not puréed. I no longer take eating proper food for granted.
He received another negative test yesterday and so is all clear to visit Mum in the care home this week. Things are looking really good at the moment.
A flock of Fieldfare with a sprinkle of Redwing in the silver birch tree at the bottom of the garden. Seen through my binoculars.
Earlier this morning, I was watching a flock of Fieldfare (Turdus pilaris) perched in the big silver birch tree at the bottom of our garden. It was great to see, I believe, some Redwing (Turdusiliacus) too.
Both are thrushes and both are winter visitors to our shores from Scandinavia and Iceland. The Latin family name for Thrush is Turdus; childish, I know, but still quite amusing. They love the berries from the Hawthorne which are abundant around us. And both birds, but the Redwing in particular, has a penchant for the windfall apples that are mushing in the cold and wet grass under the trees in the orchard.
And the birds continue to be my calm companions throughout all of this madness. They continue to remain unphased by the craziness of it all, just going about their business. The robin flits along the hedgerows where we walk, the seagull drifts overhead and the orchard flocks of species ‘Turdus’ keep growing in numbers.
I even saw one of my summer acquaintances, the Buzzard in the fading light of this afternoon. It was sat regally on the top of a telegraph pole on the lane. It stepped off its perch and fell, gathering enough speed to reach the line of Poplar trees separating two fields. “I have two of your old feathers,” I thought to myself as I drove by.
It has been another crazy day of populism and politics where education, once again, is the football being kicked about. The day started with a government U-turn resulting in all primary schools in London now delaying their full-reopening for two weeks. I suspect, the about turns have not finished just yet.
Last week the government announced that primary schools would reopen as normal next week with a small number of exceptions. Secondary schools would have a more staggered return. And, as usual, no adjustments for special schools or alternative provision schools.
This has raised growing concerns over the past few days as we have seen the daily figures for confirmed tests and hospital admissions getting alarmingly high. So, with just 36 hours (from when I am writing this) until schools return after the Christmas break, we are still unsure of a number key things.
Which age groups should return and when? Which regions are staggered in their return and why schools in areas of the same tier category differ in their directives. How is the rapid lateral-flow testing actually going to be administered and who will do it (teachers, other staff, the army?) What long term impact will all of this have on staffing and staff safety, the infection rates and exams?
Our wonderful neighbour supplied us with some apple wood for burning on our fire. It’s such a lovely feeling to stack barrows of seasoned firewood. Mid-winter has to be the most satisfying time too. I double-gloved my hands and found a fairly protected space to stack them. The nutmeg-brown grain is beautiful to look at and the wood is solid and heavy. And I sit here now, clock ticking in the background, with a supply of reading material and a glass of wine in a crooked arms reach, with the wood glowing Infront of me.
A tired Mabel and the apple wood blazing. Pinch me.
And the best thing, there is a plentiful supply, just next door. We are lucky, and must savour these situations. Especially when so much else appears to be going to shit.
I received a number of ordnance survey maps for Christmas this year. The explorer versions that come with a scratch off code that allows them to be downloaded via an app to my phone.
Today I put it to great use by plotting another extended walk from home to Dedham and back. Just me, Lisa and Mabel starting off with cloudy skies, then about half way round the sun broke through and stayed shining for the rest of the afternoon.
Views across to Dedham church on our walk this lunchtime. Pinch me again.
This region of the country is so flat that when you come across any form of hill or slope it’s a revelation. And the walk down into the edge of the Dedham vale, looking across at the church tower peering through the trees, and back home again was magnificent.
So, whilst the country heads to hell in a hand cart, I will continue to be grateful for what is right there in front of me. Simple pleasures.
Last night, midnight passed with me in a reasonably optimistic mood. I didn’t nod off or have bad thoughts, and so I can look forward to a promising year ahead. Certainly if the predictions of Wakenhyrst are to be believed.
We did our traditional New Year’s Day walk from Stutton earlier. For the first time I am aware of, we managed to time it for when the tide was in and the Stour estuary was gorged with salt water, calm and ripple free. When water is like that it always looks deep, especially when you can’t make out the bottom.
The walk from car to coast is well trodden and very popular at this time of year. Even more so whilst in the grips of a pandemic. And although the fog constantly threatened to descend at any moment, it abated and provided only a distant hint of eeriness.
At peace, song thrush (Turdus philomelos).
Yesterday, whilst walking I came upon the sad sight of a beautiful song thrush, dead by the roadside. At first sadness, then an ornithological fascination, I had never been so close to such a reclusive bird. It’s beautiful song would not be heard nor it have the sense of joy in singing. But, bringing my feet firmly back to earth, I was grateful that it was this time of year and there were no young, back in a nest nearby, reliant on it to feed them.
The plumage was beautiful and layered in a haphazard way but it looked in place and as it should be.
Then after taking a few pictures, I noticed how peaceful it looked. There was no blood or noticeable damage to its skin or limbs. Where it was found would suggest it was hit by a passing vehicle but I would have expected more obvious physical trauma.
As respectfully as possible, I removed a primary wing feather, a tail feather and a couple of breast feathers for my collection at home. And left it where it was, it was just a body after all, but today, I have felt that I should have done more.
It was a carcass of a bird, thousands must die in the UK alone every day. If spirits exist, it would have left this creature a while ago. But, on reflection, I wish I had moved its body to a more peaceful place, away from the glare of all that pass that stretch of pavement or road.
“New Year’s Eve is not a Christian festival. That was why it was never observed at Wake’s End. Or rather, Father never observed it. The servants did. They knew that New Year’s Eve is of the utmost importance because what happens then determines what will happen in the forthcoming year. They also knew that you must be especially careful around midnight, because whatever you’re doing at that time is what you’ll be doing for the next twelve months. This is why you have to keep all the fires blazing, and you mustn’t break anything, or lend money, or cry. You mustn’t wear black, as black betokens mourning. Nor must you fall asleep before the turn of the year, because sleep is akin to death. It’s also vital not to take anything out of the house on New Year’s Eve; that includes rubbish, ashes from the grate, and even potato peelings. You have to wait until you’ve let out the Old Year by opening the back door, and then let in the New by opening the front. Only in this way can you be assured of a good year. Only in this way can you know that the luck of the house has been retained.”
It’s a pretty clear message. It comes from the book Wakenhyrst that I read earlier in the year. But, going on the way the last year has panned out, I’m not going to take any risks. I intend to be as benevolent, kind, hopeful and happy as I possibly can tonight. I will not argue, talk politics, brexit or the Coronavirus. And I certainly will not fall asleep before the clock strikes midnight.
It’s going to be a quiet affair. An opportunity to wave a hearty farewell to 2020. We do not want a repeat of this past year, but fear we will have to face the left overs for a few months of 2021. One thing I am sure about, I will not take ‘normal’ for granted when it returns.
The day started with work and a swiftly scheduled meeting, via Google Meet, to clarify our response to the government’s announcements yesterday. Reopening schools next week has become a much more complex matter depending on which tier the school is in based on its geographical location. All schools in Essex are in Tier 4, but then it differs again if you are a school in a region that is deemed part of the ‘contingency framework’. I just hope we have enough staff to keep the learning sharp and the pupils safe.
I went for a fabulous walk today. Keeping to the higher ground to avoid soggy paths and flooded fields. Stratford St Mary – Hutton – East Bergholt and circular back to the start.
It has stayed frosty all day out in the fields and on the stretches of water. There is still some flooding of fields from the overflow of the Stour, crusting over smooth sheets of ice-glass on top and crucnhy frosted ice crystals at the edges. The blades of grass are also fringed in cold white.
I have never walked through East Bergholt before. Some gems including Constables art studio.
The air was still and heavy. The shiveringly cold moisture weighing down every breath. But the fresh air was good and the views of Dedham vale were stunning, particularly as I had never viewed it from the opposite side before.
On the wall of The Red Lion pub in East Bergholt. This plaque indicated that they had paid theit insurance and so, should a fire breakout, it would be tackled by the fire brigade.
The fields seem to have been abandoned right now. It’s like the farmers have lost interest in them. Muddy, stubbled, untidy looking. But soon, thankfully, the piles of steaming good-stuff dumped in the middle of fields will be ploughed into the soil. Feeding the land ready for seed to be sown and the magic to happen in the spring.
A view across the vale to Dedham, from the north looking south.
I’ll be honest. I am not looking forward to the next couple of months. The past couple have been hard work, mentally and physically. This Christmas break should have provided time to switch off and recharge the batteries. But I have found this very difficult, constantly recieving news on the growing Coronavirus crisis, with one eye cast on the first week in January when schools return.
I also have a sense of guilt. I have spent more time being concerned for the staff and pupils returning to school safely, and then remaining safe, than I have for my own family. This is not a conscious choice. But guilt, as I have always proclaimed, is a wasted feeling and so I try not to spend too much time or energy on it.
Last night, Mabel ate some Christmas cake which I had left on the arm of the sofa. It was there for a matter of seconds, minutes at the most, and so a panic-fuelled phone call was made to the vets. In the car straight away, off to be injected to make her sick, and an anxious wait in the vets car park for news. She emerged about an hour later with the vet and a bottle of liquid charcoal to squirt on to her food over the next two days.
Click the pic for the sound of Mabel, deep-sleep breathing to a backdrop of the times. All at home, Tier 4, and the latest government announcements on the telly.
Why do dogs eat things that are so toxic to them? The other week, I wrote about Yew trees in churchyards. Used across the country to keep animals away from graves and church grounds. The entire animal kingdom seems to know what is bad for them and what is not. Given the opportunity, dogs will eat anything, and put their owners through moments of hellish anguish as a result.
The need for a peaceful walk with her this morning was greater than normal. She seems fine, but we will take her for a blood test tomorrow morning to check. She is currently sleeping next to me as I write this. Her breathing is comforting and resonates pleasingly, despite the background noise of the news (more Coronavirus announcements live from parliament), the kids discussing the ramifications for school, and even the bread maker mixing in the kitchen.
My seagull friend joins us, as always, wherever we walk. A spiritual companion checking in on us and ensuring we are ok.
And it was a lovely walk this morning. The birds were busy despite the frosty air. Great tits flitted along the hedgerows in their little gangs, always maintaining a tree gap between us and them. A song thrush skipped along the ground alongside the fence, just staying out of Mabel’s view. Crows and gulls stalked and strolled the stubbled fields, weaving in and out of the hollow stalks of last summer’s crops. And flocks of Fieldfare scattered in panicked launches when disturbed, only to regroup in flight and return to land a short distance away. Fading into the terrain just before touch-down. I hadn’t seen a kestrel for a while but this morning one was on show hovering over the field. Studying the patch of grass below before twitching its tail feathers, cutting the air with it’s blade-like wings and sweeping off to try again elsewhere.
We’ve been really lucky. All of the walks we have down in and around our locality (not straying too far due to Covid restrictions) have been really good. Interesting things to see, close up and from distance, broad vistas of land and a thousand acres of sky. But today I held my hands up and apologised to the family for taking them on a bit of a stinker.
Head north, east or west from our house and you’re going to do ok. Head south and it’s pretty plain, flat, uninspiring agricultural land. Vast stretches of stubbled fields waiting to be woken in the spring.
Where the footpath runs out (behind us here) we could choose to join the lane glimpsed through the trees, or walk the ad-hoc path next to the field.
Actually, come to think of it, that’s probably the key thing here. In winter, everywhere looks brown and grey. But, and especially under a cement grey sky, farmland looks particularly bleak. But, my seagull companion was there, as usual today.
But a shout out to (some) farmers for doing a little bit of good for us mere mortals. Those kind landowners who allow for a path to be carved by walkers to run parallel to lanes and roads. These aren’t designated footpaths but allow people to keep safe (avoiding traffic) and dry (avoiding mud and pools of rainwater). It’s a small thing but much appreciated by some of us.
The headlines at the moment are talking of us being in “the eye of the storm” in respect of the latest wave of Coronavirus. The NHS is under significant pressure with London, the south-east and East Anglia being picked out as regions of increased concern.
I went to see my Dad this morning. He was being called by the oncologist to review the latest CT scan, and it was good news, the cancer hasn’t spread.
So, although we had a crap walk, which was also longer than I had expected, I have been pretty positive today. We are preparing for the inevitable return to school next week and the government seem to be sticking to the staggered return of year groups and rapid testing of secondary age pupils. But as we know, that could all change.
Today started slowly. An easy morning. I took Stan to meet his girlfriend so they could do a cross-country walk, being in Tier 4 there’s not much else allowed. Then, shortly after I returned the rest of us went on a dog walk ourselves. We met up with them both half way round.
The seagull was with us again, as usual. The sky seemed animated by birds today, The hedgerows too were purring with birdsong. Robins were full of themselves, the ultimate territorial bird, we must have seen half a dozen different birds as we walked from patch to patch. The blackbirds too, females in particular, were swooping from tree to tree, calling there typical warning sound to others; “Trespassers are coming.” At times it looked and sounded more like spring than winter.
2pm
Even the bright sunshine was doing it’s bit to deceive, but the bitter wind on our cheeks and fingers let the rest down. And it was the weather that brought us back down to earth with a bump later in the day. Remaining cold and bright up until the end of the afternoon, when a thick fog descended in a matter of minutes. Away from the coast, this only tends to happen in the colder months.
3.45pm
I felt tired today, not weary from anything in particular, just an accumulation of things. An unshiftable heavy cold, the pandemic and its latest rise with the new variant, brexit (I refuse to give it an initial capital letter status), work stresses (past and impending), family worries. These few days between Christmas and New Year are arguably the best as none of them have anything riding on them; nothing to prepare or sort out. But this year, they give time to spend with my thoughts (the above).
I know there’s always a risk of over-thinking stuff, especially stuff that hasn’t happened yet. But it’s very difficult to ignore it, these are big things.
Time to think, just Mabel and me.
And yet, I know everything will be alright in the end. Even though I know ‘the end’ never actually ever comes. I know it will be ok because I have people around me who I love, and who love me. And I have Mabel. This past month or so, we have habitually sat together on the sofa before I head off to bed. Very often with me writing my blog post. It gives me time for Mabel and I to chew over the day, consider what’s going on and what tomorrow may bring.
There was quite a storm last night, sweeping in from west to east. Flooding has affected many regions in the west country, fortunately here in the east we tend to suffer less.
Lying in bed this morning, I heard the Fieldfare flock in the orchard behind our house. I think there maybe some Redwing there too. A couple of days ago, whilst walking locally, we came by a wall of leafless hawthorn, laden with fruit. The berries were positively glowing in the clear winter sunshine.
A glowing bank of Hawthorne. Chirping with warmth.
We were wrapped up in thick coats, scarves and gloves, but I basked in the colour-rich warmth that emanated from this natural outdoor radiator. Also, just as our central heating at home clicks as the heat expands the coper pipes and the creaking floorboards, so the hedgerow chirped and tweeted in the warmth. As we walked along the makers of this sound rippled along the row just ahead. Like a blanket is waved and aired on my bed at home, so the birds fell out of the tree alongside us, swooping down and up on to the next one or two trees in line.
When we got to the end, a single female blackbird issued its classic repetitive warning chip-chip-churp. As it flew ahead of us, so the dozens of Fieldfare were shocked off their perches and took flight. Their pale bellies catching the sunlight as they flew off and up, disappearing into the low sunshine.
The bare trees in the golden light of the December sunshine.
Like then, today the sun was out, raising spirits. The calm after the storm. And we walked around Ardleigh again, accompanied by a/the lone seagull as our extra companion. Wherever I walk, the seagull is floating overhead.
I am realising, particularly since the first lockdown, how this village we live in is an absolute hidden gem. It sits between Colchester, Manningtree and Dedham and so is understandably overlooked in the area. But since walking around and within it there are clearly some stories untold that are there to be investigated.
How Ardleigh appeared on maps.
Delving a little deeper into the history of the village, I stumbled across the British Newspaper Archive and have had a mooch about. A couple of articles immediately grabbed my attention (below) but I may have to waste a bit of time playing on this site in the coming days and weeks ahead.
From the Essex Standard, 16 February 1844.
A wrong-un from Ardleigh, who was arrested for starting fires in the village. I might go down to the churchyard to take a look for the family. And a phantom ghost, making the news on the road from Wivenhoe. Chasing a man in his horse drawn carriage.
Boxing day still carries loads of theories as to why it is named as it is. The the most popular is that it was the day after Christmas when boxes of money were collected for the poor. For us it means leftovers (in Tupperware boxes) from the day before.
We had a good walk today, just locally but a totally different route, into the village. Then over the railway crossing and back over the fields to home. Just in time for a feast of football and feet up.
I’ve lived in this village for twenty years and have never walked past this world war two pill box.
I feel a whole lot better today. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, just the four of us and the dog and the cats. Storm Bella is closing in as I sit here, I can hear the wind swirling around outside. The fire has been lit, the cheese is out and there’s a lovely glass of red wine next to me.
Tomorrow doesn’t have an historic name to it, it’s just the 27th December but I am hoping it will be much like today. I feel that filling my day with nothing is a wholesome pastime. It’s self-preservation ultimately, time to be a little selfish.
Oh, and my word, did I get some lovely books yesterday for Christmas. Lots of ghost stories and recollections of times past and memories recalled. These themselves are ghosts, I have realised.
On our walk we came across this eerie looking Barn in the corner of the field, next to the railway track.
The Bald Birder 